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Let
Sleeping Definitions Lie
The surest way to tell the difference between art and illustration is
to employ what I call the Time Magazine Art Determination Test. Here's
how it works. If the editors of Time pay $35,000 for a picture to use
on their cover and they publish it regardless of what it looks like,
then the picture is art. If they pay $3,000 for the picture and reserve
the right to reject it in case it's a turkey, then it's illustration.
No matter how thin critics slice their definitions of art, subject any
picture to this test and you will find Of course, as an ordinary person trusting only your eyes, you might prefer illustration to fine art. If you're in the market for a picture, you might even be willing to put your money where your taste is. But you could be wrong. Fine art is often better than it looks, and if you have a problem with this, consult your local art critic. As a working artist, I can only explain things to you this way: The fine art dealer sells pictures for lots of money. Suppose he discovers that his big art star has done a Time cover for a lousy three thousand bucks. How does he justify asking fifty grand from the wife of some CEO for a similar painting? Now compare that with the predicament of the Time editor on a tight budget. What if, in a moment of candor, he should gush that the illustration he has just received is superior to last year's expensive fine art buy? How can he deny, as he must, the hapless illustrator who had to stay up all night to finish the job and is on the phone whining for an extra five hundred bucks? This comparison doesn't mean I want to make a special case for illustrators. Most illustration is mediocre to bad. But then so is almost everything else in the world, including fine art. What matters in a picture is not what you call it, nor, indeed, how it came to be. What really matters is how much authority it conveys. And in art authority is never conferred by definition. Supposedly a work of art has authority because it's an artifact of self-expression; an illustration doesn't because it's an artifact of commerce. But this supposition (never proven anyway) disappeared long ago beneath the vast Talmudic literature of modern art. Today it requires an infinite number of art critics dancing on the head of a pen just to explain the differences between kitsch (which isn't art) and camp (which is) - or to make matters plain, why the design for a Campbell's soup can label isn't in the Museum of Modern Art while an Andy Warhol silk-screen of one is. In the real world where money talks, market value is the Occam's razor of theory. Say the words "legal tender" and puff go the metaphysics. People get real. Without this clarification, it would take an Alphonse and Gaston routine to determine each picture's pedigree. Let me show you what I mean. Van Gogh's Sunflowers is a picture everyone agrees is art. Van Gogh says in a letter he painted it to brighten his room at Arles. In other words he expressed himself. That's good, that's art. But suppose he painted it as a commissioned cover for a seed catalog. That's bad, that's illustration. Of course, in this case Van Gogh gets paid for his efforts and that's good because Van Gogh is always short of francs. But as an illustration, the picture's value is unlikely ever to swell up like a South Sea Bubble. In the market, where things count, that's bad, a net loss for art. Now consider a different scenario. Suppose Van Gogh did the painting for a seed catalog and the client rejected it. That might sound bad but actually it's good because, untainted by commerce, the picture is art again. Of course, it's also bad, because Van Gogh only gets a kill fee. But Van Gogh is smart; he keeps his mouth shut about the seed catalog. He invents a story about painting the picture to brighten his room. His dealer puts the picture up for sale. That's good; nobody knows it was almost a seed catalog cover, it looks like art. But suppose the dealer can't sell it. That's bad and Van Gogh has to beg his brother for a bigger allowance. A century later Sunflowers sells for millions of bucks. That's good, because that's news and fame helps certify Sunflowers not just a work of art, but a symbol of Art Itself. It becomes a popular icon on museum posters, mugs, and tote bags. One last scenario: Let's say Van Gogh painted Sunflowers for himself, then gave it to his hero Gauguin to brighten his room. That's good for the same reason as before - self-expression is art. But suppose the picture, hanging on Gauguin's wall, attracts the attention of a local seed merchant. He offers Gauguin a few francs to use it on the cover of his new sunflower catalog, and Gauguin, short of cash and fed up with Van Gogh's craziness anyway, accepts. That's really bad, because now, for thirty pieces of silver, Gauguin has betrayed his friend's great work of art, turning it into a common illustration sent to millions of flower growers' homes. Now the painting will never make international news at auction; it will never adorn an overpriced tote bag. Instead it will linger on in cheap reproductions at postcard stalls along the Seine, an example of late nineteenth century ephemera. You can now see what a finely tuned mechanism the art business is. Monkey with any of the springs or wheels of production and you're likely to imperil markets. In the end, people with a stake in the business agree: it's best to let sleeping art definitions lie. That's why when I was asked to write about Rachel Bliss as an artist or an illustrator, I readily agreed, so here goes: When Rachel first showed me her work, her pictures had never been published, so they were art. But then she did some commissions for magazines and they became illustrations. Today her pictures are on exhibition in a gallery, so they are art once again. Tomorrow some art editor may call her to do a CD cover or a seed catalog...your turn Gaston. Of course, as a fan of Rachel's pictures, when I look at them I don't see either works of art or illustration. I see horses and antelopes and bison drawn on the walls of a damp cave. The authority her works convey is the record of a soul in transit through an absurd world. And that authority transcends all the labels an uncertain world may want to impose on them for the convenience of an art market that, reflecting reality, has become absurd itself. ___________________________________________________
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