S. J. Hodge

There are innumerable introductions to art. There are bookcases full of them. This new one, Elements of Art: Ten Ways to Decode the Masterpieces by Susie Hodge, promised to be innovative in that it focuses on women artists, a bit of a challenge in art history. The ten elements Hodge collects for these studies are scale, colour, light, movement, medium, technique, content, location, time, and the artist. Then there are seven essentials in any artwork itself: colour, value, line, shape, form, texture and space. That pretty much covers it.

For whatever reason, Hodge does not want to make art appealing, it seems. She never says these elements will multiply your enjoyment of art by a factor of ten. That the insights you gain from knowing about these elements will change the way you look at the whole world. And she never pulls things together, like the use of this colour palette in combination with acrylic paints on wood on this kind of day makes for a total and unprecedented feeling of exaltation in the viewer. No, for her, it is all about deconstruction and endless research into every aspect of every piece. From reading this book, I would have say she is a reductionist, not an inspirer.

I got so annoyed by page 50, I wanted out. The book is so full of plodding, dull writing, platitudes and unhelpful direction I could not bear it. Plus, it wastes whole pages with full page reproductions of warhorse art that everyone already knows, like Van Gogh’s Starry Night, or Da Vinci’s Last Supper. The text is resplendent with name dropping. Lots of artists, some known and many unknown, with little or no indication as to why readers should look them up themselves – because there is nothing at all to say about them in the book. She will name a signature work and then not show it. This is not my idea of a book on art.

In a large dot on most right pages, she provides questions the novice should answer: “Who was or is the work of art made for? How does the content reflect this? What is the subject of the work? What do you think is the theme? How has the artist created impact? How does the style of creation affect the content? What is the artist trying to say? Does the content of this work change your mind in any way –if so, how? How would you describe this work of art to someone who has not seen it?” I found this so pedantic and patronizing, I shuddered at the thought I was only on page 41. What further treats awaited?

But a remarkable thing happened. Once readers get past about 60 pages, Hodge settles in to a four page spread on each artist she considers worthy, mostly women, and fairly consistent in points covered. She answers many of the hoary questions herself, demonstrating that mere mortals cannot possibly answer them on their own. The depth that art critics and historians go to is all but infinite, and the details of artists’ lives, historical context, geographical context, technology and fashion mean it takes a small army to provide an appreciation and even try to answer those questions. And that doesn’t even account for the disagreements among the experts. What chance does the novice reader have?

There’s sloppiness in it too. Apparently, the artist Caspar David Friedrich (1774-1840) made a splash at a Berlin exhibition in 1810. She says immediately following the show, two of his paintings were purchased by King Frederick Wilhelm I of Prussia (1688-1740), which was all the more remarkable because it was 70 years after he died!

As far as interpretation and meaning go, it is pointless to ask a novice to evaluate what went on in the artist’s head. Hodge herself ends up offering half a dozen interpretations of various aspects of various works, all conflicting, all total fiction, and all considered important. But Pablo Picasso comes to the rescue. For his gigantic painting Guernica, Picasso grew more than a little impatient with all the interpretations: “This bull is a bull, and this horse is a horse….If you give a meaning to certain things in my paintings it may be very true, but it is not my idea to give this meaning. What ideas and conclusions you have got, I have obtained too, but instinctively, unconsciously. I make the painting for the painting. I paint the objects for what they are.” Bless you, if only for that.

Along the way, Hodge usefully explains the levels of fresco and the stages of woodblock, along with kinds of paint and how they evolved and came into fashion. Her selection of artists through the ages is pleasantly different than most such books, simply because she seeks (and finds) women to demonstrate the styles with.

Bu then, she stays very shallow on the subject of rules. Painting was constrained by religion in Europe. Most subjects were impermissible, and the ways the rest were portrayed was bounded by rules. The canvas had to conform to various rules, dividing the image up into geometric components. Hodge doesn’t even go there, but she does spend some good time on ancient Egypt. The funerary images we are so used to seeing display a lot of rules. The figures in the painting did not conform to a scene; they reflected rank. So the main subject was taller and bigger than everyone else. His wife was smaller. Servants, children and pets were minuscule participants in his lifestory. The Egyptians thought mostly highly of the facial profile, so everyone is always facing left or right, even though their bodies might be facing out. Egyptian painting was cartoonish and flat. A realistic 3D painting would have freaked them out. It was all about the rules.

The closer readers get to the present, the less great the artists seem to be, which is all right, because Hodge never promised her examples to be best in class. Their purpose is to share lives and styles, and demonstrate some of the ten elements. There is a good, wide spread of them.

It is noticeable that a large percentage of the artists came from middle class or wealthy families. Most people think artists start poor and stay poor, and it is only after death that their work becomes valuable. Not so, it seems. Though a lot of even the wealthier ones went through hells of their own, thanks to vicious family, vicious government, and internal torments. How far would Yayoi Kusama have come if she hadn’t started hallucinating at an early age? What if Van Gogh never needed an asylum? What if Frida Kahlo had not been so physically damaged? It is their very torments that led to their great art.

Eventually, Elements of Art settles into a useful, if totally ordinary art appreciation book. But getting there was not really worth it.

David Wineberg… (altro)

Having been happily married to the Permanent Roommate (a university trained artist who has made her career in art) for 39 years, I have always been rather puzzled as to what she's talking about. In all fairness, I bet she's a bit lost when my buddies and I talk about fly fishing). I've absorbed quite a bit over the years, but this book really helped to bring things into perspective.
I honestly had no idea that art had different elements! At least not until I read this book. It was like someone pulling back the curtain on what my wife talks about. Now I know just enough to MAYBE chime in with an opinion or observation once in awhile. Kind of like George Costanza at an art gallery exhibition, haha.
This would be a great book for any youngster interested in the arts, or any other person who just wishes to appear a bit more knowledgeable. It's an easy to read, easy to understand, and easy to digest book.
I just wish I would have found it 40 years ago!… (altro)

I've not actually read this but I've flicked through it a few times. it purports to be a defence of modern art by showing how seemingly simple art pieces could not have been produced by a child but it utterly fails at this. every piece of art has a section answering the question "could a child have done this" and for like half she's like "yeah of course they could but it wouldn't be with the same intentions as the artist" which is hilarious to me in how unconvincing it is. for the other half its clearly technically sophisticated so it's a pointless question anyway. this doesn't mean I think the art is bad! just if you're writing a book with a very particular framing it's pretty embarrassing to fail to make a good argument on your terms. "any child could slash a knife across the canvas but they wouldn't do it for the same reasons as the artist" mentioning what the artist "aimed to explore" and saying what an artwork "conveys" based on nothing about the artwork itself... it's just a stupendous failure to understand why people feel alienated by this kind of art. I dunno. just needed to say something about it… (altro)