I argue that contemporary artists fix the features of their works not only through their actions of making and presenting objects, but also through auxiliary activities such as corresponding with curators and institutions. I refer to such fixing of features as the artist’s sanction: artists sanction features of their work through publicly accessible actions and communications, such as making a physical object with particular features, corresponding with curators and producing artist statements. I show, through an extended example, that in order (...) to grasp the nature of contemporary artworks, and thus be in a position to interpret them, we must attend to the features the artist has sanctioned. However, this does not amount to saying that the artist’s intention fixes the features of the work. While related to intentions, sanctions are not identical to them; and, indeed, the features the artist has sanctioned may conflict, in some cases, with those she intended. I distinguish my view from actual and hypothetical intentionalism and show that considering the artist’s sanction does not force us to accept any particular interpretation of the work. I also show that, while it has special relevance to our understanding of contemporary artworks, the notion of the sanction is in fact relevant to traditional Western art as well. (shrink)

Is an artwork simply identical to some physical object? While clearly not viable for art forms like literature and music, the view that artworks are physical objects is appealing for the singular visual arts , since it accords with our intuitions about the nature of visual artworks. A traditional challenge to the view holds that physical objects cannot possess representational properties, and thus visual artworks, most of which do have such properties, cannot be identical to physical objects. -/- In chapter (...) 1 I consider four formulations of this challenge and show that each is readily defeated once we recognize the confusion that underlies it. Arthur Danto has suggested that artworks cannot be physical objects, since two objects with the same physical features might correspond to very different artworks. Danto holds that only interpretation can account for the differences between the works, and thus that artworks are constituted by Interpretation. In chapter 2 I argue that Danto is wrong to claim that viewers' intepretations constitute artworks. To make sense of the fact that interpretation is subject to norms of adequacy, we must hold that the artwork is the object, not the product, of interpretation. A consequence is that a stage of epistemic labor, namely apprehension of the artwork, is required prior to interpretation. In chapter 3, I discuss the process of apprehension and advance a positive view according to which the nature of the artwork Is established by the artist's sanction. The artist creates sanctions through her publicly accessible actions and communications, such as the act of making a physical object with particular features, the presentation of an artist statement to accompany the object, correspondence with curators, and so forth. -/- Through the presentation of a variety of real and hypothetical examples of contemporary artworks, I argue that only the artist's sanction can account for the nature and characteristics of particular works. Moreover, the notion of the artist's sanction is applicable to both contemporary and historical artworks, and helps to bridge the apparent gap between them. (shrink)

Poet and playwright Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s scientific studies grew out of a disenchantment with the reductionist science of his time. He believed a more accurate description of nature was possible. Goethe’s scientific method paralleled the methodology of art current in his era, and very likely arose, at least in part, from pre-existing traditions of knowledge in the visual arts. The study of similarities between Goethe’s scientific method and the methodology of art could provide insights into both disciplines, and insights (...) into the intentions that drove Goethe’s scientific studies. (shrink)

The paper considers an argument of Richard Wollheim’s, originally presented in a 1976 symposium with Goodman and Wiggins, which disappeared when the symposium contribution was ‘reprinted’ in the supplementary essays to the expanded edition of Art and Its Objects (Wollheim, 1980). It lays out the argument’s original context, locating its objectives by means of a comparison with Goodman’s autographic/allographic distinction, with its attendant discussion of the ‘history of production’, and presents Wollheim’s defence of ‘the artist’s theory’. This defence coheres in (...) interesting ways with Wollheim’s aesthetics emphasis on the importance of the artist’s intention (suitably understood) as part of a specification of what the work itself is. This conception reinforces the importance Wollheim grants both to the fulfilled intentions of the artist and to a suitably positioned, suitably informed, and suitably sensitive spectator. Both should be modelled as operating under the aegis of the artist’s theory, a notion this ‘missing’ argument serves to emphasize. (shrink)

Heidegger's totally objective view of aesthetic truth, That the meaning of aesthetic experience is revealed only in and through the art-Object, Fails to appreciate the contributions of subjectivity to that meaningfulness. This is shown by pointing out that interpretation of an artwork can be relevant for our aesthetic appreciation and that sometimes subjective factors such as the artist's intentions, And the viewer's personal, Cultural background, Are relevant to interpretation.

The extent to which the artist’s intentions are a relevant consideration in the interpretation of art has long been the subject of critical debate. First, I outline the various philosophical positions which have been established, specifically focusing on the debate between hypothetical intentionalism and moderate actual intentionalism. Then I look at some previous test cases which have, as yet, failed to demonstrate a decisive victory for either side. Finally, I offer two new test cases, one from the field of contemporary (...) visual art and the other from literary theory. I argue that the former serves to debunk hypothetical intentionalism and the latter lends support to the moderate actual intentionalist position. (shrink)

In aesthetics, the topic of intentions comes up most often in the perennial debate between intentionalists and anti-intentionalists over standards of interpretation. The underlying assumptions about the nature and functions of intentions are, however, rarely explicitly developed, even though divergent and at times tendentious premises are often relied upon in this controversy. Livingston provides a survey of contentions about the nature and status of intentions and intentionalist psychology more generally, arguing for an account that recognizes the multiple functions fulfilled by (...) intentions in the lives of temporally situated agents who deliberate over what to do, settle on ends and means, and try to realize some of their plans. Artists’ intentions are the same sorts of attitudes that we attribute to ourselves and to others as we attempt to describe, explain, and predict our actions. As such, intentions are relevant not only to debates over the interpretation of works of art but also to a range of other basic topics in the philosophy of art, including artistic creation and authorship, the ontology of art, the nature of texts, works, versions, and life-works, and the status and nature of fiction and fictional truth. With regard to the controversy over the interpretation of art, Livingston advocates a ‘partial’ intentionalism. Intentions are never infallible, so there is a conceptual gap between the completed work and the intentions that initiated and guided its making. Yet in spite of the fallibility of intentions and of our beliefs and claims about them, intentions regularly contribute to the determination of a work’s features, including implicit meanings, the recognition of which requires the uptake of the artist’s intentional design. Partial intentionalism also finds support in the idea that at least one sort of artistic value depends on the artist’s skilful accomplishment of intentions. (shrink)

The role of the artist's intention in the interpretation of art has been the topic of a lively and ongoing discussion in analytic aesthetics. First, I sketch the current state of this debate, focusing especially on two competing views: actual and hypothetical intentionalism. Secondly, I discuss the search for a suitable test case, that is, a work of art that is interpreted differently by actual and hypothetical intentionalists, with only one of these interpretations being plausible. Many examples from (...) many different art forms have been considered in this respect, but none of these test cases has proved convincing. Thirdly, I introduce two new test cases taken from contemporary visual art. I explain why these examples are better suited as test cases and how they lend support to the actual intentionalist position. (shrink)

Investigating how people respond to and view AI-created artworks is becoming increasingly crucial as the technology’s current application spreads due to its affordability and accessibility. This study examined how AI art alters people’s evaluation, purchase intention, and collection intention toward Chinese-style and Western-style paintings, and whether art expertise plays a role. Study 1 recruited participants without professional art experience and found that those who made the paintings would not change their liking rating, purchase intention, and collection (...) class='Hi'>intention. In addition, they showed ingroup preference, favoring Chinese-style relative to Western-style paintings, in line with previous evidence on cultural preference in empirical aesthetics. Study 2 further investigated the modulation effect of art expertise. Art experts evaluated less favorably AI-generated paintings relative to artist-made paintings, while non-experts showed no preference. There was also an interaction effect between the author and the art expertise and interaction between the painting style and the art expertise. Collectively, the findings in this study showed that who made the art matters for experts and that the painting style affects aesthetic evaluation and ultimate reception of it. These results would also provide implications for AI-art practitioners. (shrink)

The emotions distinctive of human beings, as opposed to other animals, are emotions that presuppose possession of a language and hence powers of intellect and rational will. The objects distinctive of human emotions presuppose mastery of a language and possession of rational abilities. Music itself has been considered to be the purest artistic expression of human emotions and of the striving of the human will. The emotions, in particular temporary emotions, have characteristic multiple associations, manifestations, and forms of expression. This (...) chapter distinguishes between the neural/physiological and somatic associations, on the one hand, and the behavioural manifestations and verbal expressions of the emotions, on the other. Behavioural manifestations and expressions of emotion and emotionally motivated actions lie along a volitional spectrum that ranges from the non‐voluntary to the involuntary, and from the voluntary but not intentional to the intentional and deliberate. (shrink)

This chapter focuses on one of the common fallacies in Western philosophy, 'intentional fallacy (IF)'. The IF is an odd kind of fallacy. Rather than being a fallacy focused on logic and argumentation, it is a fallacy that focuses on art, relating to how we judge art and engage in literary criticism. The IF focuses on the fact that we often think that there is one right interpretation of a work of art. According to David Fenner, the IF “states that (...) we do not need to know, nor can we on most occasions, what was in the mind of the artist in order to interpret the art work”. So, it seems unreasonable to use the artist's intention as the most important way to understand a work of art as the artist's intention is often unavailable. The IF is an error in art interpretation that causes us to realize important things about art. (shrink)

In aesthetics, the topic of intentions comes up most often in the perennial debate between intentionalists and anti-intentionalists over standards of interpretation. The underlying assumptions about the nature and functions of intentions are, however, rarely explicitly developed, even though divergent and at times tendentious premises are often relied upon in this controversy. Livingston provides a survey of contentions about the nature and status of intentions and intentionalist psychology more generally, arguing for an account that recognizes the multiple functions fulfilled by (...) intentions in the lives of temporally situated agents who deliberate over what to do, settle on ends and means, and try to realize some of their plans. Artists’ intentions are the same sorts of attitudes that we attribute to ourselves and to others as we attempt to describe, explain, and predict our actions. As such, intentions are relevant not only to debates over the interpretation of works of art but also to a range of other basic topics in the philosophy of art, including artistic creation and authorship, the ontology of art, the nature of texts, works, versions, and life-works, and the status and nature of fiction and fictional truth. With regard to the controversy over the interpretation of art, Livingston advocates a ‘partial’ intentionalism. Intentions are never infallible, so there is a conceptual gap between the completed work and the intentions that initiated and guided its making. Yet in spite of the fallibility of intentions and of our beliefs and claims about them, intentions regularly contribute to the determination of a work’s features, including implicit meanings, the recognition of which requires the uptake of the artist’s intentional design. Partial intentionalism also finds support in the idea that at least one sort of artistic value depends on the artist’s skilful accomplishment of intentions. (shrink)

Regarded for decades as a fallacy, intentionalist interpretation is beginning to attract a following among philosophers of art. Intentionalism is the doctrine that the actual intentions of artists are relevant to the interpretation of the artworks they create – just as actual intentions are relevant to the interpretation of the everyday words and deeds of other people. Although there are several forms of actual intentionalism, I defend the form known as modest actual intentionalism, which holds that the correct interpretation of (...) an artwork is compatible with the author's actual intention, which itself must be supported by the artwork. Looking at literary works specifically, I consider criticisms of actual intentionalism – for example, the contention that such a stance substitutes paraphrase for a reading of the text. In particular, I argue against hypothetical intentionalism, which maintains that the correct interpretation of an artwork is constrained by the best hypotheses of the artist's intentions. As I show, the methodology of this position is in fact designed to track the author's actual intentions, and furthermore, hypothetical intentionalism does not accurately depict existing interpretive practices. (shrink)

We applaud Bullot and Reber's attempt to encompass the function of artworks within their psycho-historical model of art appreciation. However, we suggest that in order to fully realize this aim, they require a clearer distinction between an artist's intentions toward an artwork and its proper functions. We also show how such a distinction improves the internal coherence of their model.

Regarded for decades as a fallacy, intentionalist interpretation is beginning to attract a following among philosophers of art. Intentionalism is the doctrine that the actual intentions of artists are relevant to the interpretation of the artworks they create – just as actual intentions are relevant to the interpretation of the everyday words and deeds of other people. Although there are several forms of actual intentionalism, I defend the form known as modest actual intentionalism, which holds that the correct interpretation of (...) an artwork is compatible with the author's actual intention, which itself must be supported by the artwork. Looking at literary works specifically, I consider criticisms of actual intentionalism – for example, the contention that such a stance substitutes paraphrase for a reading of the text. In particular, I argue against hypothetical intentionalism, which maintains that the correct interpretation of an artwork is constrained by the best hypotheses of the artist's intentions. As I show, the methodology of this position is in fact designed to track the author's actual intentions, and furthermore, hypothetical intentionalism does not accurately depict existing interpretive practices. (shrink)

I argue that biographical information is akin to other non-aesthetic, social, historical, or political information. As such, artist’s biographies are always relevant and important when interpreting art. While the meaning and value of a piece of art is not determined by any single piece of contextual information, neither is its meaning and value ever entirely separated from context. In some cases, however, a piece of art that is technically magnificent may be experienced as repugnant when the artist has committed egregious (...) acts. (shrink)

This paper explores what happens when artists fail to execute their goals. I argue that taxonomies of failure in general, and of failed-art in particular, should focus on the attempts which generate the failed-entity, and that to do this they must be sensitive to an attempt’s orientation. This account of failed-attempts delivers three important new insights into artistic practice: there can be no accidental art, only deliberate and incidental art; art’s intention-dependence entails the possibility of performative failure, but not (...) of failed-art; and art’s intention-dependence is perfectly compatible with the role that luck plays in artistic creation. (shrink)

In Art and intention Paisley Livingston develops a broad and balanced perspective on perennial disputes between intentionalists and anti-intentionalists in philosophical aesthetics and critical theory. He surveys and assesses a wide range of rival assumptions about the nature of intentions and the status of intentionalist psychology. With detailed reference to examples from diverse media, art forms, and traditions, he demonstrates that insights into the multiple functions of intentions have important implications for our understanding of artistic creation and authorship, the (...) ontology of art, conceptions of texts, works, and versions, basic issues pertaining to the nature of fiction and fictional truth, and the theory of art interpretation and appreciation. Livingston argues that neither the inspirationist nor rationalistic conceptions can capture the blending of deliberate and intentional, spontaneous and unintentional processes in the creation of art. Texts, works, and artistic structures and performances cannot be adequately individuated in the absence of a recognition of the relevant makers4intentions. The distinction between complete and incomplete works receives an action-theoretic analysis that makes possible an elucidation of several different senses of "fragment" in critical discourse. Livingston develops an account of authorship, contending that the recognition of intentions is in fact crucial to our understanding of diverse forms of collective art-making. An artist's short-term intentions and long-term plans and policies interact in complex ways in the emergence of an artistic oeuvre, and our uptake of such attitudes makes an important difference to our appreciation of the relations between items belonging to a single life-work. The intentionalism Livingston advocates is, however, a partial one, and accommodates a number of important anti-intentionalist contentions. Intentions are fallible, and works of art, like other artefacts, can be put to a bewildering diversity of uses. Yet some important aspects of art's meaning and value are linked to the artist's aims and activities. (shrink)

The artistic design stance is an important part of art appreciation, but it remains unclear how it can be applied to artworks for which art historical context is no longer available, such as Ice Age art. We propose that some of the designer's intentions can be gathered noninferentially through direct experience with prehistoric artworks.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Journal of Aesthetic Education 38.2 (2004) 38-52 [Access article in PDF] Artist-Audience Communication: Tolstoy Reclaimed Saam Trivedi Whoever is really conversant with art recognizes in [Tolstoy's What is Art?] the voice of the master.1There has to be some presumption that, as one of the greatest artists who ever lived, Tolstoy might actually have known what he was talking about.2It is widely accepted in contemporary Anglo-American aesthetics that, despite (...) Tolstoy's own literary achievements, his "moralism" about art is a view without much merit. For the most part, I concur with this current consensus about Tolstoy. However, despite the many flaws in his view, I think Tolstoy was on to something, after all. In particular, I believe a concept of artist-audience communication similar to what Tolstoy had in mind can be fleshed out so as to avoid the problems that Tolstoy ran into, while reclaiming the insights in his view.3In what follows, I begin by suggesting briefly that recognizing a quasi-Tolstoyan concept of artist-audience communication may have important implications for how we should approach artworks, and thus also for aesthetic education. Next, I spell out this concept. I then offer trenchant criticisms of Tolstoy's view. Finally, I point out affinities between Tolstoy's concept and mine, while also distinguishing my concept of artist-audience communication from Tolstoy's concept of artistic communication. It will emerge, I hope, that while I disagree more than agree with Tolstoy, the issues where I agree with him may be more significant. Artist-Audience Communication I begin by discussing briefly how talk of a quasi-Tolstoyan artist-audience communication bears relevance for how we should approach artworks, and thus has relevance for aesthetic education. If I am right, then in approaching [End Page 38] and experiencing artworks, we should seek a correct experiential understanding of them that is shared between the artist and audience, and between ourselves and other members of the audience. This does not meanthat we seek what the artist did intend in creating the artwork, as actual intentionalism would have us do. Rather, as members of a competent audience, we should first analyze what a given artwork means by attending to the work itself.4 This includes the broad art-historical context of production (including the period, style, category, or genre of the work; the artist's public persona; the oeuvre of the artist; works by the artist's contemporaries; the social, cultural, and political milieu of the artist; and so on) and the public conventions that apply to it. In cases of irony, satire, and allusion, we may also need to broaden the context and appeal to artistic intentions. Then we should attribute this "work-meaning" to the historical artist as part of what she or he could have intended, so long as this was historically possible. If this historically possible work-meaning coincides with what she or he did intend in that artistic intentions are successfully realized in the work, then we have a real sharing of a correct, experiential understanding of the work between artist and audience, and thus real communication between them in the sense of artist-audience communication explained above. On the other hand, if what the artist did intend is not realized in the work and thus does not coincide with work-meaning as part of what she or he could have intended, then we still have at least a minimal, hypothetical sharing and communication insofar as our correct, experiential understanding of the work is shared with what the artist could have intended.This bears relevance for aesthetic education, assuming one of the purposes of aesthetic education is to teach children and other newcomers to art how to appreciate artworks.5 In teaching people how to appreciate artworks, I suggest we emphasize the shared, communicative aspects of the experience of artworks when they are understood more or less correctly. We should tell them that they should seek to communicate with the artist via the artwork, trying to understand the artwork correctly in the very experience of the... (shrink)

What influences people’s appreciation of works of art? In this paper, we provide a new cognitive approach to this big question, and the first empirical results in support of it. As a work of art typically does not activate intuitive cognition for functional artefacts, it is represented as an instance of non-verbal symbolic communication. By application of Sperber and Wilson’s Relevance Theory of communication, we hypothesize that understanding the artist’s intention plays a crucial role in intuitive art appreciation judgements. (...) About 60 works of fine art, representing a wide range of periods, genres and styles, were selected in the permanent exhibitions at Tate Britain in London, and rated by more than 500 visitors for goodness and understanding of the artist’s intention. Results suggest that works of art whose artist’s intention is easy to understand tend to be preferred over those with more obscure intentions, even when controlling for familiarity effects. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Art Subjects: Making Artists in the American UniversityTheodore GracykArt Subjects: Making Artists in the American University, by Howard Singerman. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1999, 296 pp., $19.95 paper.Howard Singerman's Art Subjects is a study of the training of visual artists in American universities from 1912 to the present. More precisely, the book is an account of how two philosophies ofeducation have competed to inform (...) that training. At the outset, Singerman announces that the book explores a long-standing "struggle between vision and language" (p. 10) that culminates with a decisive privileging of language. The book mimics its putative subject in at least one interesting way. As it was for art and the training of American artists in the twentieth century (at least on Singerman's account of them), so it is with the book. Each moves from a practice grounded in objective reality to a jargon-ridden discourse that limits entry to anyone outside of its acutely self-regarding disciplinary field. Although the book's acknowledgments segment thanks one individual for demanding thatSingerman "come to a real conclusion" for the book, readers should note Singerman's subsequent admission that it may not have one. At times it even appears that Singerman goes out of his way to avoid drawing one.Art Subjects appears to have started life as Singerman's doctoral dissertation, but it only occasionally displays the dull by-the-numbers writing of such documents. The book has a clear organization and its numerous quotations are carefully documented. The overall argument is framed, beginning and end, with Singerman's autobiography of his own time as a university art student. It provides him with his framing question: if he has a M.F.A. in sculpture but never learned to sculpt, what does his professional degree signify? The answer is that it indicates that his work is no longer facile. He has progressed from the realm of the artist whose work is professional, displaying facility, to the stage where he is professional. He has progressed to the point where being an artist is theartist's true subject: "Artists are the subject of graduate school; they are both who and what is taught" (p. 3). If this progression is best indicated by an artist's lack of facility in producing works of art, that is the price of professionalism. In the post-World War II university, art training is "founded on the primacy of theory over practice" (p. 181). Yet the result is professionalism without a clear profession other than as an employee of the post-World War II university: the M.F.A. prepares artists for the university discipline of art. Citing Foucault, Singerman seems satisfied that artists have taken command of a theoretical field. Disciplinary boundaries are created and policed by its rules of professional discourse. At the same time, Singerman declares his intention to "use the concept of the discipline as it constrains and structures discourses to keep from having to judge whether or not art is a profession" (p. 201). He likewise mentions [End Page 119] but does not take any stand on the "putative decline of recent art" (p. 210). This ongoing refusal to judge deprives the book of potentially interesting conclusions. It also calls into question Singerman's repeated references to the "self-criticality" of the discipline.Singerman's neutrality might berefreshing were it not for his use of Foucault to introduce the notion that each new "proposition" within the disciplinary discourse represents progress in a "theoretical field," moving "knowledge" forward. Talking about art (and not, to be sure, talking all that much about specific works of art) and talking about being an artist may or may not represent progress. For instance, Singerman's early chaptersmake the case that the triumph of artistic modernism must be understood as a repudiation of a "female" aesthetic and even of women as artists. Singerman returns to the topic ofwomen artists only once, to note Griselda Pollock's approval of the entry of feminism into the academic discipline of art. Thus Singerman is silent on the question of whether progress is made when the number of women is... (shrink)

This comment proposes that Bullot & Reber's (B&R's) emphasis on historical and intentional knowledge expands the range of emotions that can be properly viewed as aesthetic states. Many feelings, such as anger, contempt, shame, confusion, and pride, come about through complex aesthetic meanings, which integrate conceptual knowledge, beliefs about the work and the artist's intentions, and the perceiver's goals and values.

Arthur Danto’s recent book, Andy Warhol, leads the reader through the story of the iconic American’s artistic life highlighted by a philosophical commentary, a commentary that merges Danto’s aesthetic theory with the artist himself. Inspired by Warhol’s Brillo Box installation, art that in Danto’s eyes was indiscernible from the everyday boxes it represented, Danto developed a theory that is able to differentiate art from non-art by employing the body of conceptual art theory manifest in what he termed the ‘artworld’. The (...) strength of Danto’s theory is found in its ability to explain the art of the post-modern era. His body of work weaves philosophy, art history and art criticism together, merging his aesthetic philosophy with his extensive knowledge of the world of art. Danto’s essentialist theory of embodied meaning provides him with a critical tool that succeeds in explaining the currents of contemporary art, a task that many great thinkers of art history were unable to do. If Warhol inspired Danto to create a philosophy of art, it is appropriate that Danto write a tribute to Warhol that traces how Warhol brought philosophy into art. Danto’s account of ‘Warhol as philosopher’ positions him as a pivotal figure in the history of twentieth-century art, effecting a sea change in how art was made and viewed. Warhol achieved this by conceiving of works that embodied the answers to a series of philosophical puzzles surrounding the nature of art. Warhol, as Danto describes him, manifests himself in his art because he had transformed himself, in a way, into an icon of the times. This pragmatist notion that art should undermine the dichotomies that exist between art and life would, by some accounts, position Warhol to be the philosopher that Danto claims him to be, for he dissolved the philosophical questions posted by late modern aesthetic thinkers by creating art that imploded the accepted notions of art at the time. One of Danto’s greatest contributions to aesthetics is his theory’s ability to distinguish art from non-art, recognizing that it is the artist’s intention that levels the sublimity of art into the commonplace, thereby transfiguring the everyday. However, acknowledging this achievement, I argue that Warhol’s philosophical contribution actually manifests itself in a manner different from that proposed by Danto. Danto maintains that the internal drive of art leads to the unfolding of art theoretical concepts that ineluctably shift the terrain of world of art. I would agree with Danto that Warhol, almost as Hegel viewed Napoleon as Geist on a horse, pushed forward the boundaries of art through the actualization of art’s internal drive. But I would disagree that the conceptual nature of art is one that unfolds merely as a relation of concepts that artists trace through a connection to the meaning of history they forge using their unmediated grasp of style. Rather, I would argue that the artist’s style is not bound so narrowly to the meanings they express. Through their aesthetic articulations, artists initiate a process of social interaction. This process employs the philosophical logic which Danto attributes to Warhol indirectly, and through it, it is able to transfigure the vocabulary of art—the concepts of the artworld—by superseding the language of modernism. Warhol’s philosophical contribution is seen in his mastery of both the medium of art and the underlying logic of the medium’s expression and reception. (shrink)

Arthur C. Danto did not live to witness the proliferation of AI in artistic creation. However, his philosophy of art offers key ideas about art that can provide an interesting perspective on artwork generated by artificial intelligence (AI). In this article, I analyze how his ideas about contemporary art, intention, interpretation, and authorship could be applied to the ongoing debate about AI and artistic creation. At the same time, it is also interesting to consider whether the incorporation of AI (...) into artistic creation marks a new chapter in the narrative, which seems to have reached its end, or if it represents a significant rupture with past artistic traditions. (shrink)

This article examines the artistic potential of forms of image-making that involve registering the features of real objects using mind-independent processes. According to skeptics, these processes limit an agent’s intentional control over the features of the resultant “automatic images,” which in turn limits the artistic potential of the work, and the form as a whole. I argue that this is true only if intentional control is understood to mean that an agent produces the features of the work by their own (...) bodily movements alone. Not only is this an unrealistic standard to uphold, but I show that a definition of intentional control based on the skeptic’s position does not prohibit an agent from realizing the features of an image by means beyond their own actions. An agent can exercise intentional control over the features of an image if they successfully anticipate the effect that the remote consequences of their actions will have on these. This, I argue, entails that to exert intentional control over the features of an image is to exercise “creative agency,” which is a species of executive agency. Consequently, I defend the idea that the origin of automatic images in creative agency grounds their artistic significance. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Gender Ideology and the “Artistic” Fabrication of Human Sex: Nature as Norm or the Remaking of the Human?Michele M. SchumacherUntil quite recently,” the famous English novelist C. S. Lewis remarked in 1959, “it was taken for granted that the business of the artist was to delight and instruct his public”: that is to say, to address simultaneously their passions and their intellects. “There were, of course, different publics.... And (...) an artist might lead his public on to appreciate finer things than they had wanted at first; but he could do this only by being; from the first, if not merely entertaining, yet entertaining, and if not completely intelligible, yet very largely intelligible.” This constraint—let us call it intelligent (or purposeful) design, in keeping with a basic analogy that we will draw upon in these pages—had however been lost, Lewis observed. Hence, even “in the highest aesthetic circles one now hears nothing about the artist’s duty to us. It is all about our duty to him. He owes us nothing; we owe him ‘recognition,’ even though he has never paid the slightest attention to our tastes, interests, or habits.”1 In short, the artist of modernity need not pay the slightest attention to an intention, not even his own. Modern art need not be an expression of intelligence or [End Page 363] understanding; it is expression as such (tout court): personal and autonomous.2Lewis’s remarks do not point merely to the increasingly relativist tendencies of art in the Western world, to the lack of objective criteria or norms governing the artistic disciplines. They also point to the growing disregard among artists for the sociocultural expectations of their publicum. Mediating between the two is, without a doubt, the basis upon which both artistic and social norms were traditionally founded: nature, which served as a classic analogy for both art (understood in the broad sense, so as to include not only the fine arts, but also technology and practical sciences) and ethics in virtue of nature’s intrinsic inclination towards its defining end and perfection.With regard to the first of these analogies (that of art and nature), Mark Schiefsky explains that although art does bring about “results that nature itself cannot,” it does so in the classic understanding “by acting in a natural way—the way nature would act if it could generate the products of art.”3 As for the difference between the two, nature is moved to its specifying end by way of intrinsic inclinations that are implicit to it, whereas a work of art is moved to its end extrinsically, and thus with more or less violence.4 A sculptor, for example, who introduces a form into a piece of marble, does so by chiseling [End Page 364] and hammering away at the fine stone.5 “Art is,” Aristotle explains, “the principle and form of the thing that comes to be [let us say, a sculpture]; but it is located elsewhere [in, for example, the artist’s mind or in a sketch that he has made] than in that thing, whereas the movement of nature is located in the thing itself that comes to be [a tree, for example, or a baby], and is derived from another natural organism [a tree or human parents] which possessed the form in actuality.”6This classic distinction between art and nature parallels the distinction between art and ethics. Ethics “does not affect human action in the same way as do art and technique,” Servais Pinckaers explains. Unlike art and technique, which are concerned with “the external work produced by human action”—this painting or that machine, for example—ethics is concerned with an immanent principle, qualifying the actor as such: the stable dispositions (or habitus: virtues or vices) at the origin of “the active willing that is the principle source of the action.”7 This immanent principle at the source of ethical action is—to complete our analogy—creative in only a limited sense. The human person is indeed free to choose, but he or she is not free to decide “what is good or evil” as such, nor what is “good or bad for... (shrink)

The role of personal background knowledge—in particular knowledge about the context of production of an artwork—has been only marginally taken into account in cognitive approaches to art. Addressing this issue is crucial to enhancing these approaches’ explanatory power and framing their collaboration with the humanities (Bullot and Reber 2012). This paper sketches a model of the experience of artworks based on the mechanisms of intention attribution, and shows how this model makes it possible to address the issue of personal (...) background knowledge empirically. I claim that the role of intention attribution in art experience has been incorrectly accounted in the literature because of an overly narrow definition of “intention.” I suggest that the observer can recover not only the artist’s abstract projects, but any kind of mental states that have played a causal role during the production of the work. In addition, I suggest that this recovery occurs in large part unconsciously and/or implicitly. I provide support for these claims by distinguishing three families of psychological mechanisms of intention attribution that are activated by artworks: one involved in the cognition of artifacts, one devoted to communication, and one involved in action perception. (shrink)

Stephen Mumford argues that positive aesthetic value is a by-product of both sport and art, and that the principal aim of the artist and the player or athlete could not be to produce positive aesthetic value. Three features of Mumford’s by-product argument are considered. It is argued that problems arise as a result of failure to appreciate Best’s distinction between the evaluative and conceptual uses of ‘aesthetic’, the nature of the descriptions Mumford gives of the intention of the artist (...) in making art and the necessary implicit premises in the argument. There is, therefore, reason to think that Mumford has not established that sport and art are in the same position in the ways in which their aims relate to aesthetic values, nor that the by-product argument can form part of a counter to Best’s position. (shrink)

Imagine an artist creating new work, a painter applying paint to canvas with a brush, for example. Assuming she acts intentionally, is she responsible for the work she creates? Is she responsible, in particular, for whatever value her finished work has? In the first part of the paper, I formulate an argument for the claim she is not; I call this the Luck Argument. According to that argument, an important aspect of the work's value is due to luck, so not (...) something for which the artist is responsible. I then go on to challenge the Luck Argument. I suggest that intentional control is not the only type of control artists exercise over their bodily activity. There is another type, which I call receptive control. The concept of receptive control makes it possible to challenge a crucial premise in the Luck Argument. (shrink)

Résumé -/- Anna Caterina Dalmasso L’artiste et l’adversité. Hasard et création chez Merleau-Ponty -/- À plusieurs reprises, Merleau-Ponty tisse une correspondance entre art et histoire, entre pratique artistique et action politique : plus précisément il nous invite à former le concept d’histoire sur l’exemple de l’art. À première vue, un tel rapprochement pourrait paraître abstrait, sinon provocateur, l’art étant souvent conçu comme un domaine qui semble avoir peu à faire avec l’espace de l’action. Mais, nous pouvons aujourd’hui comprendre davantage l’intérêt (...) de l’intuition merleau-pontienne, nous, qui faisons l’expérience de la connexion étroite entre l’univers visuel et le milieu politique ou historique, comme des dimensions devenues désormais inséparables. Au fur et à mesure qu’une conception positiviste de l’histoire ou de la politique entendue comme progrès, ou du moins comme projet, échoue sous nos yeux interdits, la question de l’historicité se fait de plus en plus urgente : Merleau-Ponty nous invite à penser l’histoire comme le « lieu de nos interrogations et de nos étonnements », le lieu d’une réponse, voire d’une responsabilité que nos organismes technologiques exigent. C’est à partir de l’expérience de la création artistique et de son rapport constitutif au hasard qu’une pensée de l’historicité peut s’élaborer, là où l’esthétique merleau-pontienne rejoint le mystère d’un sens historique et esquisse implicitement une éthique de la contingence, en ce qu’elle nous appelle à un exercice de la liberté. -/- Abstract -/- Anna Caterina Dalmasso The Artist and the Adversity. Chance and Creation in Merleau-Ponty -/- Throughout his works, Merleau-Ponty has developed the analogy between art and history, between art practice and political action: more precisely he invites us to think about the concept of history on the example of art. At first sight, such an equivalence could seem abstract, if not provocative, insofar as art is still sometimes regarded as a field having little to share with action. But today, experiencing the close connection between the visual and the political environment, we can understand, perhaps better than his contemporaries, what is at stake in Merleau-Ponty’s insight for a new comprehension of history. Whereas a positivist conception of history and politics understood as progress or project seems to be failing before our astonished eyes, the question of historicity becomes more and more urgent: Merleau-Ponty prompts us to think of history as a mysterious junction between facticity and intention, as the beginning of our wonder, as the place of the responsibility that our technological organisms demand. The experience of creation is the figure through which Merleau-Ponty tries to conceive contingency, which is the kernel of the Geneva conference, later called The Man and the Adversity. So, drawing on Merleau-Ponty’s constant reference to the operation of artistic creation, especially on the reference to El Greco, I aim at examining how a new conception of history can spring by a comprehension of the experience of creation. I will argue that, from the analysis of the relationship between the artist and the sensible, between the artist and her body, Merleau-Ponty comes to outline what I would call an ethics of contingency, insofar as it calls us to the exercise of our freedom. (shrink)

Mind-wandering seems to be paradigmatically unintentional. However, experimental findings have yielded the paradoxical result that mind-wandering can also be intentional. In this paper, we first present the paradox of intentional mind-wandering and then explain intentional mind-wandering as the intentional omission to control one’s own thoughts. Finally, we present the surrealist method for artistic production to illustrate how intentional omission of control over thoughts can be deployed towards creative endeavors.

continent. 1.3 (2011): 208-212. … intervals of destructuring paradoxically carry the momentum for the ongoing process by which thought and perception are brought into relation toward transformative action. —Brian Massumi, Parables for the Virtual: Movement, Affect, Sensation 1 Facing a blank canvas or blank page is a moment of pure potential, one that can be enervating or paralyzing. It causes a pause, a hesitation, in anticipation of the moment of inception—even of one that never comes. The implication is that the (...) blank is yours in that moment, and it calls on you to act on it, to think into it, to create on it. Each blank canvas gives you time, of an undefined length, to transform that canvas’ inherent potential into a work. This two-dimensional plane of potential can be projected into a space, which the body can then occupy. When you “destructure” a space in the same way, prepare it to be a blank, much as you build a canvas, you allow your entire body to enter the space of potential, and you rest in anticipation of work, like the hand poised above the page. Artists have found that the deliberate creation of that space of potential through sealing the space and painting it white, thereby erasing details and distractions, can be such a transformative experience as to help define their whole practice. The cessation of distraction, the absence of indicator that a “blanked” workspace provides allows for a new presence of mind, it gives them the room, literally, to move into their work, and from there to move their work into the world. The workspace for the artist, the studio, is often perceived as a lab-like condensation of the gallery or museum, the traditional and idealized white cube. Similarly, with the blank page, a concrete relation between space and time comes forward as the intentional simplification of the architecture changes behavior and perception within the space. The work of “blanking” the studio space is a meditative reduction, an erasure, and in a way, an attempt at drawing away from the world beyond the studio - the sealed space is meant to recede from reality, to become abstracted by its willed lack of details and distractions. Within that space the time for a new beginning is made more present, more attainable, and the focus it fosters becomes another tool to aid creation. At the formative moment of his artistic practice, Tom Friedman used the blank of his studio, saturated in white, sealed off from the world, to fight velocity. He describes how he projected his vision of the end goal, the museum - a place he believes to be defined by slow contemplation - onto his own studio experience. He then sat and reflected on common objects, one by one, framed by the blank box he had created. The domestic objects he brought into the space to study foreshadow his mature works, where often the quotidian object has a single additional element – his intense labor. Friedman makes discrete objects through absurdly intense and focused labor, epitomized, perhaps by his 1,000 hours of Staring , made from 1992-97: Tom Friedman. 1000 Hours of Staring (1992-1997) His labor, to use his own words, is his way to “bring all of who you are to the experience.” Friedman shares his labor, allows the slow, deliberate pace of his work born in the studio to penetrate the museum. Nothing seems effortless, or a gesture, the labor is apparent, displayed, and tangible. He gives us the labor, the personal investment in the physical that saved art for him, that divorced the work from the language he cites as a factor of alienation. When we see his work we do not see words, we see acts, we see objects. He has forced the studio as workspace into the exhibition space, as he stuffs hundreds of more hours of labor into his shows with each new piece, filling the space with material and labor, material and labor – his involvement, his investment, is his gift to us as the viewers, as he introduces the laborious and contemplative pace he feels belongs to the museum. He saves us also from the alienation of language, which first drove him into the sealed studio and away from the discourse of his school. He presents us with his real, the object which stands in stark contrast to the white slate of the studio, the sealed white box he started from, where his individual, self-contained objects begin and end, completed through the intensity of isolation, first of the individual artist, and then of the material he chooses to slowly, slowly, slowly work: Tom Friedman. Untitled (1992) In his in-depth analysis of galleries as a blank white cube, Brian O’Doherty emphasizes the religious connotations implied in the strict laws of the exhibition space and the valuation, aesthetics and elements of control he feels it imposes upon the work. Like Friedman, he recognizes the power of the restricted space – indicating the “perceptual fields of force” – that act on any object introduced into it. Going beyond Friedman’s assessment of the space as highly utilitarian for focusing his perception, O’Doherty emphasizes the rejection of the physical body of the artist or observer, saying that the cube allows for only observation - eyes and mind. He later parallels the picture frame as a psychological container for the artist with the room as the same for the observer. In both cases, this is an emphasis on the alienating nature of the relationship – just as the artist is kept out of the frame by the picture, in the gallery the art forces the body of the spectator out, calling for a self-referential purity. Patrick Ireland. White Cube (1998) O’Doherty makes a point of saying that the installation shot of the gallery without figures is “one of the icons of our visual culture.” In recent years, however, installation shots have begun to include figures, in some cases they are essential to understanding the scale and even the nature of the work, specifically with work that captures the experience of the space and the way that it varies from a white cube. The work of Olafur Eliasson is a case in point, as the Danish artist uses elements of scientific and natural phenomena to alter perception within the controlled gallery environment, tweaking and redirecting O’Doherty’s “perceptual fields of force” to make points about the act of seeing, or seeing yourself seeing, to quote the artist. This indicates a shift in the role of the artwork, not to exclude the body and stand discretely and self-sufficiently, but to include it, to manipulate it and to make the observer aware of the nature of that manipulation and the work’s ability to manipulate. Olafur Eliasson. 360º room for all colours (2002) So though in O’Doherty’s analysis, the intense blankness of the gallery pushed the observer out in favor of the artwork’s isolation, artists can replicate this inhumane sterility in their own workspace to focus their work on the influence of the gallery right from inception. This can be interpreted as an almost opposite understanding of the purpose of sealing and whitewashing the workspace as stated by Friedman. He sought a refuge from the critical language of the art school, and a space that, like the museum, gave him a protracted sense of time, and, he felt, welcomed him in, “to bring all of who you are,” as opposed to O’Doherty’s feeling that the museum was asking you, at least in body, to leave, and allow the work to take on its own life. Friedman does not seem to imply the tension with the cube and critical stance that O’Doherty prioritizes. Where Friedman finds a refuge, O’Doherty defines an opponent. In a third position, Robert Irwin describes his sealed studio space as “the world.” Though he made the same effort as Friedman to seal out all influences and distractions, he implies that he is in dialogue with the world through his own concentration and perception. This is reminiscent of the nature of the monad, as interpreted by Deleuze, a unity that envelops a multiplicity, a sealed container that contains the universe. He went through the same ritual described by Friedman, sealing up the space, painting it white, and then forcing himself to remain inside, staring at his own work, training his concentration relentlessly. But he found that the room became the distraction: …he became aware that a thin crack along the wall a few yards away from the canvas likewise exerted its presence; that when he plastered that crack over and repainted the wall, the canvas itself presented an entirely new aspect.2 The context was in a relentless dialogue with the work, and trying to neutralize that dialogue, to mute the conversation between space and object, became part of his ritual as he “fixed” his space each day in the hope of total concentration on the work. Ultimately, Irwin shaped the trajectory of his art by relinquishing the studio, establishing a post-studio practice, where the work is conceived and created out in the world, in dialogue with the world and reflective of the conditions it finds surrounding it. The white cube failed to ever achieve neutrality, his heightened concentration prevented him from ever neutralizing the space, so, instead of continuing to try to maintain the charade of a perfect blank, he acknowledged the unstoppable voice of place and turned all his efforts onto the object and the world, as a constant dialogue. Some artists push their studio space far from purity, domesticating it like a lair or a living room, and others destroy it, fill it with chaos or detritus, blacken or clutter it so as never to be starting from a blank, and thereby try to avoid the anxiety of facing that void. Similarly artists may never prepare a white canvas, a clean page, a marble block, or other form that is intentionally lacking, in order to try to escape the dialogue with emptiness. But Irwin, like O’Doherty, found an opponent in the white cube, and he learned not to fight it, rather he ended the conflict by making it an ally, an interlocutor, a collaborator. We can vainly strive to start from nothing, to find the lull, the clearing, and to always consider what we do in balance with the empty set. Somehow that intangible cloud of hazy nothingness, that softness of a lapse continually offers a place to bounce off of, to react to, to wrestle with, to rest with, in tension, or a place to begin. Robert Irwin. Excursus: Homage to the Square3 (1998) NOTES 1 Massumi. Parables for the Virtual: Movement, Affect, Sensation. p271. 2 MOMA, NY. Eliasson, 360 ? Room for All Colours . Installation. 2002. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:A Fallacy in the Intentional FallacyJames DowneyAccording to a famous argument by W. K. Wimsatt and Monroe Beardsley, the intention of the author is neither available nor desirable as a standard by which to judge the success of a work of literary art. I wish to focus on the former allegation. The author's intention is not available as a standard by which to judge a work's success, (...) it is argued, because "If the poet succeeded in doing it [the intention], then the poem itself shows what he was trying to do. And if the poet did not succeed, then the poem is not adequate evidence, and the critic must go outside the poem."1The intent of this reasoning is not entirely clear. It is intended to pose a dilemma for intentionalism, but what is the dilemma supposed to be? What difficulty is there for intentionalism if the poem itself shows what the author's intention was? Perhaps it is supposed to follow that somehow intentionalism would be purposeless. Perhaps the point is Socratic: if the intention is successful, then the reader automatically knows it was intended, so that the intention cannot be sought. Or, perhaps it is the success which cannot be sought. The idea may be that one automatically knows the extent of success precisely to the extent that one recognizes the intention. Perhaps both points are intended.On the other side of the dilemma, suppose the intention is not successful and the critic "must go outside the poem." Is this supposed to imply that whatever meaning is thereby discovered will not be the poem's meaning? Or, is the idea that being forced to go outside the poem for evidence of its meaning violates some essential goal of intentionalism? [End Page 149]It is not my main concern, however, to question the implications of the argument's premises. I wish to challenge the basic premise, itself, that if an intention is successful then the work would show that it was the author's intention. I will assume that this means, at least, that the reader would understand a certain intention and know that it was the author's intention, and that the work would provide this knowledge.Sometimes an author deliberately composes without thematic intentions. I take my example from cinematic art because it is a particularly striking example, and the point clearly holds for other forms of art. Furthermore, the intentional fallacy is usually thought to apply to other forms of art in addition to literary art. So, let us consider the method which Salvador Dalí claims that he and Luis Buñuel used when creating Un Chien Andalou, to put together whatever images came to their mind without any particular intentions directing them. Indeed, Dalí claimed, if there was even a pause between the artists, a mere moment when it seemed as though some directed thought might be beginning to take hold of them, he and Buñuel immediately discarded that idea. They retained only those ideas which arose with no thematic intentions, or intentions as to larger meaning. (We may set aside the fact that there were still formal intentions, such as what images to present, in what order, etc.—although even this can be eliminated to some degree, as when an artist cuts up bits of sound tapes and splices them together willy-nilly, and so forth.) In such a work of art, it is not possible that any such intentions be shown, since there are none.But there is still a definite intention behind such art, namely, the intention to compose with no thematic intentions. This intention could be successfully shown to an audience through a work, certainly. However, Dalís often intend otherwise (so they say). They may intend not to reveal whether or not there are certain, or even any, thematic intentions (perhaps that is an intentional anti-religious theme in that scene in Un Chien Andalou, after all; we do not know.) Perhaps, even, Dalí does not want us to know whether he wants us not to know. An intention not to reveal might apply to the intention not to reveal. What a grand game... (shrink)

Dynamically transforming the elements of any performing artist’s craft, this practical guide is a must-have for musicians, dancers, and actors. The handbook shows how artistic performance is embodied in the unification of three critical elements—motion, emotion, and love—demonstrating how it offers experiences and opportunities distinct from the nonperforming arts. Step-by-step guidelines are provided for building intentional and inspirational practice time, thereby enhancing the relationships between the source, the performer, and the audience. Illustrating how intentional movement invokes emotions from both the (...) performer and the audience and how the concept of love gives a performance humanity and life, this eye-opening exploration creates pathways for achieving true artistry. (shrink)

Attempting art: an essay on intention-dependenceIt is a truism among philosophers that art is intention-dependent—that is to say, art-making is an activity that depends in some way on the maker's intentions. Not much thought has been given to just what this entails, however. For instance, most philosophers of art assume that intention-dependence entails concept-dependence—i.e. possessing a concept of art is necessary for art-making, so that what prospective artists must intend is to make art. And yet, a mounting (...) body of anthropological and art-historical evidence and philosophical argument suggests that not only is such a criterion unsatisfied by most of the art-historical canon, but it also rests on a false premise: concepts of 'art' are not shared between cultures, nor even in the same culture across time. My dissertation aims to rectify this error by first exploring what our commitment to art's intention-dependence actually entails, and then showing that, properly understood, intention-dependence sets a number of important constraints on theories of art with respect to explanatory desiderata such as the success- and failure-conditions of art-attempts, the cross-cultural identification of art, and the reference of 'art' and art-kind terms. I begin by situating art's intention-dependence in the philosophical literature on intentional action, arguing that, properly conceived, intention-dependence is a weak criterion which can be satisfied either directly or indirectly. It therefore does not necessarily entail concept-dependence. I then use this distinction to motivate a new treatment of the success- and failure-conditions for art-attempts, arguing that the extant model's emphasis on compliance with 'the manner intended' is far too restrictive to capture actual artistic practices. I go on to show that Ruth Millikan's model of linguistic conventions supplies an independently plausible explanation of art's concept-independent origins in terms of the development of a system of indirectly intention-dependent conventions called an 'artworld'. I argue that this account of artworld development supplies us with the tools we need to distinguish art-kinds from other artifactual kinds. Finally, I turn my attention to methodological issues, arguing that even though 'art' is a social kind with its roots in arbitrary and historically-contingent networks of conventions, the philosophy of art is not merely an exercise in bare conceptual analysis. In fact, there is now a great deal of evidence to show that the ways we think about 'art' are inconsistent, incomplete, imperialistic, and largely unprincipled. Yet I argue that this does not mean that the artworld data have no bearing on theories of art. Instead, I argue that our best reflective understanding of our artworld practices sets the constraints on the reference of 'art' and art-kind terms. I argue that we have no privileged epistemic access to the ontology of social kinds; our only privilege lies in our ability to determine the proper subject of our inquiries. (shrink)

The author discusses a puzzle about the place of intention in art, a puzzle first articulated by Richard Wollheim in his well‐known lecture ‘On Drawing an Object’. The puzzle arises if we try to hold jointly three commonly‐held claims, viz. Art is intentional; The artist, in making a work of art, needs to observe what he has done, in order to know what he has done; A necessary condition of intentional action is that when an agent acts intentionally then (...) he knows what he is doing without observation, or any need for it. Prima facie it would appear that we cannot hold all these claims together.The author spells out the problem, discusses Wollheim’s own solution to it and seeks to dispel the puzzle by closer attention to intention and action in relation to artistic production. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Journal of Aesthetic Education 38.1 (2004) 1-11 [Access article in PDF] The Artistic Failure of Crime and Punishment Crime and Punishment Hugh Mercer Curtler This essay begins by noting some fundamental differences between poets, in the broad sense of that term, and philosophers, or those who reflect discursively. It then moves to an examination of the epilogue to Crime and Punishment where Dostoevsky abandons poetry in order to (...) make a philosophical statement about human freedom. 1 Indeed, it can be said that much of Dostoevsky's mature writing was a battle between the man's urge to make pronouncements and the poet's need to control those urges. Fortunately, the poet nearly always won; at times he did not. This can be seen in the case of Crime and Punishment where Dostoevsky, the man, insisted on formulating an idea, specifically, the "idea of freedom." This statement marks the artistic failure of the novel, a concession on the part of the poet to the man. The tension in this novel, and indeed in many novels, is an important focalpoint in the teaching of great literature, because readers of fiction frequently forget that great novels are also great works of art. In this regard, despite the fact that he is an extremely careful reader of Dostoevsky's books, the psychologist/critic René Girard misses in his quest to find hidden messages — precisely what makes Dostoevsky a great artist who writes novels. 2 What this means to teachers of exceptional literature is that we must be attuned not only to what the author says, but also to the way in which he or she says it. In his writings about Dostoevsky, Girard is not terribly interested in what the poet has to say; he is interested in the way the man works out a particular psychological problem. Consequently, like many other critics, Girardglosses over the fundamental difference between the body of Crime and Punishment and its epilogue. Poetry and Philosophy Contrasted There is no truth in art, strictly speaking. If the term "true" has any application whatever to the world of art, it means "honest," or "true to life" [End Page 1] (which, as Kafka has shown, is not terribly important). Moreover, "true" may refer to the work's adherence to rules of craft, its internal harmony and coherence as a distinctive work of the human imagination. What one finds in poetry or linguistic art is a hodgepodge of images, thought fragments, figures, episodes, incidents, hints, and bits and pieces, and (if the poet is a good one) stunning insights. Poetry is, like all art, ineluctably ambiguous. It does not have a "message"; it has many messages. This is precisely why we need art and what makes art different from philosophy in its struggle to eliminate ambiguity. We will not find truth, in the form of knowledge or understanding, among the poet's wares, since knowledge, systematized and rendered coherent by means of the laws of thought, is the charge of the philosopher and his modern stepchildren.What this means is that those who approach novels intent upon finding a message run the risk of hammering poetry into a sheet by reducing it to philosophy. But novels, if they are any good, are not philosophical treatises, and this sort of reduction glosses over fundamental differences of scope and method.In an age that collapses distinctions lazily in order to reduce complex matters to simple terms, we must insist upon the fundamental differences between poets and philosophers. The domain of the philosopher is that of the concept or the principle, of ideas as objects of reflection. Philosophers deal in discursive thought as they seek logical coherence and conceptual clarity. The poet may employ ideas, but he uses them and embodies them imagistically: he does not try to develop them or verify them. 3 The philosopher's domain is unfriendly and unfamiliar to the poet. The law of contradiction reigns supreme there, and this law is anathema to the poet with his love of paradox.The poem presents images that must be apprehended in... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Journal of Aesthetic Education 38.1 (2004) 1-11 [Access article in PDF] The Artistic Failure of Crime and Punishment Crime and Punishment Hugh Mercer Curtler This essay begins by noting some fundamental differences between poets, in the broad sense of that term, and philosophers, or those who reflect discursively. It then moves to an examination of the epilogue to Crime and Punishment where Dostoevsky abandons poetry in order to (...) make a philosophical statement about human freedom. 1 Indeed, it can be said that much of Dostoevsky's mature writing was a battle between the man's urge to make pronouncements and the poet's need to control those urges. Fortunately, the poet nearly always won; at times he did not. This can be seen in the case of Crime and Punishment where Dostoevsky, the man, insisted on formulating an idea, specifically, the "idea of freedom." This statement marks the artistic failure of the novel, a concession on the part of the poet to the man. The tension in this novel, and indeed in many novels, is an important focalpoint in the teaching of great literature, because readers of fiction frequently forget that great novels are also great works of art. In this regard, despite the fact that he is an extremely careful reader of Dostoevsky's books, the psychologist/critic René Girard misses in his quest to find hidden messages — precisely what makes Dostoevsky a great artist who writes novels. 2 What this means to teachers of exceptional literature is that we must be attuned not only to what the author says, but also to the way in which he or she says it. In his writings about Dostoevsky, Girard is not terribly interested in what the poet has to say; he is interested in the way the man works out a particular psychological problem. Consequently, like many other critics, Girardglosses over the fundamental difference between the body of Crime and Punishment and its epilogue. Poetry and Philosophy Contrasted There is no truth in art, strictly speaking. If the term "true" has any application whatever to the world of art, it means "honest," or "true to life" [End Page 1] (which, as Kafka has shown, is not terribly important). Moreover, "true" may refer to the work's adherence to rules of craft, its internal harmony and coherence as a distinctive work of the human imagination. What one finds in poetry or linguistic art is a hodgepodge of images, thought fragments, figures, episodes, incidents, hints, and bits and pieces, and (if the poet is a good one) stunning insights. Poetry is, like all art, ineluctably ambiguous. It does not have a "message"; it has many messages. This is precisely why we need art and what makes art different from philosophy in its struggle to eliminate ambiguity. We will not find truth, in the form of knowledge or understanding, among the poet's wares, since knowledge, systematized and rendered coherent by means of the laws of thought, is the charge of the philosopher and his modern stepchildren.What this means is that those who approach novels intent upon finding a message run the risk of hammering poetry into a sheet by reducing it to philosophy. But novels, if they are any good, are not philosophical treatises, and this sort of reduction glosses over fundamental differences of scope and method.In an age that collapses distinctions lazily in order to reduce complex matters to simple terms, we must insist upon the fundamental differences between poets and philosophers. The domain of the philosopher is that of the concept or the principle, of ideas as objects of reflection. Philosophers deal in discursive thought as they seek logical coherence and conceptual clarity. The poet may employ ideas, but he uses them and embodies them imagistically: he does not try to develop them or verify them. 3 The philosopher's domain is unfriendly and unfamiliar to the poet. The law of contradiction reigns supreme there, and this law is anathema to the poet with his love of paradox.The poem presents images that must be apprehended in... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Journal of Aesthetic Education 38.1 (2004) 1-11 [Access article in PDF] The Artistic Failure of Crime and Punishment Crime and Punishment Hugh Mercer Curtler This essay begins by noting some fundamental differences between poets, in the broad sense of that term, and philosophers, or those who reflect discursively. It then moves to an examination of the epilogue to Crime and Punishment where Dostoevsky abandons poetry in order to (...) make a philosophical statement about human freedom. 1 Indeed, it can be said that much of Dostoevsky's mature writing was a battle between the man's urge to make pronouncements and the poet's need to control those urges. Fortunately, the poet nearly always won; at times he did not. This can be seen in the case of Crime and Punishment where Dostoevsky, the man, insisted on formulating an idea, specifically, the "idea of freedom." This statement marks the artistic failure of the novel, a concession on the part of the poet to the man. The tension in this novel, and indeed in many novels, is an important focalpoint in the teaching of great literature, because readers of fiction frequently forget that great novels are also great works of art. In this regard, despite the fact that he is an extremely careful reader of Dostoevsky's books, the psychologist/critic René Girard misses in his quest to find hidden messages — precisely what makes Dostoevsky a great artist who writes novels. 2 What this means to teachers of exceptional literature is that we must be attuned not only to what the author says, but also to the way in which he or she says it. In his writings about Dostoevsky, Girard is not terribly interested in what the poet has to say; he is interested in the way the man works out a particular psychological problem. Consequently, like many other critics, Girardglosses over the fundamental difference between the body of Crime and Punishment and its epilogue. Poetry and Philosophy Contrasted There is no truth in art, strictly speaking. If the term "true" has any application whatever to the world of art, it means "honest," or "true to life" [End Page 1] (which, as Kafka has shown, is not terribly important). Moreover, "true" may refer to the work's adherence to rules of craft, its internal harmony and coherence as a distinctive work of the human imagination. What one finds in poetry or linguistic art is a hodgepodge of images, thought fragments, figures, episodes, incidents, hints, and bits and pieces, and (if the poet is a good one) stunning insights. Poetry is, like all art, ineluctably ambiguous. It does not have a "message"; it has many messages. This is precisely why we need art and what makes art different from philosophy in its struggle to eliminate ambiguity. We will not find truth, in the form of knowledge or understanding, among the poet's wares, since knowledge, systematized and rendered coherent by means of the laws of thought, is the charge of the philosopher and his modern stepchildren.What this means is that those who approach novels intent upon finding a message run the risk of hammering poetry into a sheet by reducing it to philosophy. But novels, if they are any good, are not philosophical treatises, and this sort of reduction glosses over fundamental differences of scope and method.In an age that collapses distinctions lazily in order to reduce complex matters to simple terms, we must insist upon the fundamental differences between poets and philosophers. The domain of the philosopher is that of the concept or the principle, of ideas as objects of reflection. Philosophers deal in discursive thought as they seek logical coherence and conceptual clarity. The poet may employ ideas, but he uses them and embodies them imagistically: he does not try to develop them or verify them. 3 The philosopher's domain is unfriendly and unfamiliar to the poet. The law of contradiction reigns supreme there, and this law is anathema to the poet with his love of paradox.The poem presents images that must be apprehended in... (shrink)

The author discusses a puzzle about the place of intention in art, a puzzle first articulated by Richard Wollheim in his well‐known lecture ‘On Drawing an Object’. The puzzle arises if we try to hold jointly three commonly‐held claims, viz. (1) Art is intentional; (2) The artist, in making a work of art, needs to observe what he has done, in order to know what he has done; (3) A necessary condition of intentional action is that when an agent (...) acts intentionally then he knows what he is (intentionally) doing without observation, or any need for it. Prima facie it would appear that we cannot hold all these claims together.The author spells out the problem, discusses Wollheim’s own solution to it (which he rejects) and seeks to dispel the puzzle by closer attention to intention and action in relation to artistic production. (shrink)