“Critics spend their occupational hours scrubbing the polish off that which causes the spine to tingle, while spending their leisure time frantically polishing that which is already yellowed by too many applications of cheap wax.” - Michael (Crazy Mike) Scrivner
During a recent debate over a bit of poetry, a dear friend and professional poet made a statement about the difference between craft and art, which I will paraphrase here:
This is the kind of work I classify as folk-type, artless, sincere...of heart not art. It doesn’t have breathtaking imagery, metaphor that opens new doors of perception, language that sings in harmony...none of the elements that characterize original poetry, poetry of power. It’s like the difference between craft and art. I notice immediately if the craftsperson doesn’t have corners neat, seams straight, edges smooth, colors harmonious, etc. With art (regardless of genre) I react primarily to the emotional impact of the piece, and only secondarily to the craft elements. If the artist has sent me a powerful message, and I realize she/he has broken (or bent) the rules of craft, I am even more impressed with her/his artistry. I use the same criteria in looking at writing: if it informs me efficiently, it is evidence of good craft; if it moves me in a unique way, it is art.
My response to these opinions was as follows:
I find it a little elitist to place any sincere, creative effort in a class lower than art, or at least to insinuate that it has less overall value. Being a craftsman myself (in wood, words and other media), I have always been angered by those who criticize anyone’s effort at artistic expression, whether that expression be accomplished with a hammer, a brush, a pencil, a loom, or plant dye on rock faces. Perhaps the best spoof of critical hypocrisy can be found in the movie LA Story, when Steve Martin is describing the emotional impact of a large painting, pointing out all the artistic nuances the artist has incorporated. When the camera finally turns to the picture, it is essentially blank. That satirical skit depicts the way I think of art critics in general, no matter what genre they are criticizing. They become so enamored with their own scholarship and purported depth of knowledge, they cannot help but fill up page after page with interpretations based on their own opinions rather than any kind of prima-facie evidence or factual knowledge.
As for craft being a mode of informing the observer efficiently, and only art being able to move one in a unique way, I also disagree. In fact, it really depends upon the observer or user (Art is in the eye of the beholder). I have been moved in unique ways many times by observing the intricate perfection of the woodwork in a classical guitar, the curve of a piece of handmade furniture, or the perfectly efficient design of a tool, all of which would only be considered examples of fine craftsmanship. On the other hand, I would not hang the Mona Lisa in my house on a bet, nor would I pay more than flea-market prices for a Faberge Egg.
The critics’ answer to this, of course, is that I have not experienced enough, or studied enough, or taken enough art appreciation classes to understand and appreciate fine art. Pardon me, but that’s a load of horseshit. It is only those whose confidence in their own opinions is so weak, who must justify them with long lists of academic accomplishments and/or claimed expertise. To me, critics serve a purpose only if one learns their likes and dislikes and makes a value judgment based on comparing those likes and dislikes to their own. When it comes to being the standard-bearers of true artistic value, they are about as useless as male nipples.
Another question arises in the debate over what is and what is not art: is there art in nature? After all, we scientific types tend to think of nature and evolution as being a set of scientific happenstances; the result of fundamental laws and chance at work. In which case, Mother Nature would be seen as a craftsperson. On the other hand, some of the most beautiful painting, writing, sculpture, etc., comes from trying to faithfully copy or depict the beauty found in nature. And if there is no art in the original, there is little hope of art magically appearing in a copy. In that case, only a few of the abstractionists could be considered real artists.
So what is art and what is craft? Is there some magical artistic line a craftsperson may eventually cross, even though they have never attempted to do anything but perfect their craft? Or is that territory forbidden to those who refuse to study and learn the opinions of critics and the history of true art. Is there ‘accidental’ art? Can a craftsperson occasionally cross over that line without knowing it, simply by chance? Perhaps a backwoods mechanic with a third-grade education and a blowtorch could unknowingly create a piece of metal sculpture that would rival in its ability to move the soul the works of Michelangelo or Van Gogh or DaVinci. I guess that would depend on the soul, but would it ever be recognized as anything more than craftsmanship or ‘folk art?’ All the while ‘real’ artists are shooting paint-filled balloons with guns, swinging on ropes to spread random colors on huge canvases, or painting depictions of Campbell’s Soup cans.
