A Gentle Counterpoint Between the Books: “What Art Does. An Unfinished Theory”, and “Undressing the Arts” 

Part I of II

The famous musician Brian Eno (b. 1948), together with Bette Adriaanse (better known as Bette A.), a Dutch writer and visual artist (b. 1984), jointly published a book in 2005 titled What Art Does. An Unfinished Theory. In 2005, I published Undressing the Arts (Amazon).

Both authors suspect that art is an instinct because of its universality, since forms of art exist in every culture. For my part, I believe it is not an instinct, as I explain in my book Undressing the Arts: “The universality of some artistic practices does not imply that they are genetically programmed, since they may be by-products of other instincts we have. However universal music may be, there is no gene responsible for our making it. Neurologically, the skills needed for music are different from those required to draw, sculpt, act, or tell stories; and all these skills, which operate in different modules in the brain, belong to the realm of the arts. Therefore, there is not one adaptation, but a large set of adaptations responsible for our engaging in the activities that fall within this realm.”

Eno and A. also claim that we spend a great deal of time on activities that are not “useful” or “functional.” To this I reply that they are, although not in an obvious way. For example, in their origins, creating pictorial representations must have been highly valuable. Although the act of painting later became an apparently functionless undertaking, that was not the case in its beginnings; and there are very good reasons to believe this, even if it cannot be proven. Let us remember that “art for art’s sake” is a very recent phenomenon. In more peripheral cultures, art is not made for art’s sake, but people dance, sing, weave, and tell stories for very clear purposes, often to enhance important moments in social life such as birth, death, the transition to adulthood, or marriage. My theory, which can be read about in detail in Undressing the Arts, explains why we spend so many hours perfecting the activities we engage in. That is why we find experts and virtuosos in each of them, and why doing things increasingly better brings with it many evolutionary advantages.

The authors offer a gigantic list of products that can become artistic (in fact, the book is full of these extensive and amusing lists, which is one of its characteristics, along with a beautiful, youthful, and cheerful design). The list includes mirrors, skulls, anecdotes, macramé, frescoes, necklaces, magic tricks, vampires, corsets, patchwork quilts, and a hundred other things.

In my book, I show that any human activity can be transformed into an artistic one and that its products can become art (their lists confirm this). What turns something into art is our judgment: the judgment we make when we notice that certain behaviors and objects surpass the standards of normality. It is at that moment that we use the term “art.” That is why one drawing can be a work of art, while another can be a scribble and yet another merely informative. The same happens with any other form of expression: one person may sing a Christmas carol extraordinarily well and move us to tears, while another may make us cover our ears, run away, or die laughing.

On the other hand, they maintain that we spend a great deal of time on these activities because they help us relax, see the world in a better light, imagine new worlds, escape, endure, remember, evoke, recognize, forgive, change, and accept.

My response is that, although we engage in many activities to escape, imagine, remember, forgive, involve others, or share experiences, we do so using the tools in our brain’s toolkit, because the human brain recreates the world—and creates fictional worlds—as well in order to think, understand, have fun, or feel emotions and sensations. The brain is a simulation machine. All of this can be done through artistic resources or by other means: sex, rock and roll, alcohol, or videos. The activities we now call artistic, before they became so, were tools for recreating fictional worlds because doing so is very useful to us: it allows us to view the situation from a distance and rehearse what might happen without directly carrying it out or paying the price. The fact that they are artistic—or not—comes later.

Finally, the authors point out that through art we can come to experience fear, happiness, sadness, or desolation in fictional form, and then leave that place simply by closing the book or turning off the series; in other words, it costs us nothing because the recreations are safe. I do not know how safe they are. It is inevitable to remember what happened in Germany in 1774 following the publication of The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. This work not only turned the 24-year-old author into an international celebrity but also unleashed a tragedy in the real world: several young men were found dead by suicide with Goethe’s book in their pockets or open on their desks.

Art is simulation or simulacrum, they say; I say: we create simulations and, sometimes, they are so wonderful that we call them art; other times, they are simply simulations. Art is also found in objects that simulate nothing.

Eno and Adriaanse state that when you are looking at something, you are appreciating differences. I completely agree with them. Without appreciating differences, without establishing categories, and without feeling that one thing is better than the others, there would be no progress and actions and objects would not be perfected. For art to emerge, those differences need to be important.

In the book What Art Does, they use earrings as an example to make us reflect on this issue, because whenever you choose a pair of earrings, you mentally evaluate and compare many aspects. To illustrate this, I will mention some of the examples they give. You compare whether they are longer or shorter than average; whether they hang or not; whether they sway; whether they are symmetrical or asymmetrical; whether they have a figurative or geometric shape; whether they are shiny or matte; whether they are made of acrylic, plastic, or metal; whether they look ordinary or fine; whether they reveal the ear or cover it; whether they are angular or curved. You also evaluate whether they have a romantic association; whether they contain a symbolic element; whether they look comfortable, dangerous, or aggressive; whether they are delicate or robust; whether they convey a message; whether they belonged to your mother, your grandmother, or a queen from the past (or whether they are copies of the latter); whether they have emotional significance; whether they resemble a friend’s; whether they are inherited or purchased; whether they cost a lot or a little. You consider whether they can be worn while swimming or running; whether they are characteristic of a group or an ethnic group; whether they are for anyone or only for a certain age; whether they are youthful, stately, amusing, serious, or elegant; whether they absorb light or reflect it. You analyze whether they could be mistaken for food or something else (such as a sweet or candy); whether they look like glass or stone; whether they are made up of several elements or are a single piece; whether they have hidden elements or open and close. You wonder whether they are the kind of object that can spark a conversation with a stranger, whether they put you in danger, whether they are environmentally friendly or polluting, whether they will give you an allergy, or whether they are appropriate for a job interview. And so, we come up against infinitely many questions…