Traditional Art
Sculpture as an exponential branch of the traditional art was perhaps one of the most discussed topics during the cultural currents that swept over the world.
Impressive, revolutionary and elegant but also a spectacular way of freeing the beauty trapped in matter, the sculpture became during the last century a challenge of making the spectacular tangible.
The abstract has left its print over the sculpture world and so did the spectacular and weird. The hunger of creating art that does not imitate life or on the contrary that imitates it to perfection was certainly a challenge worthy of trying.
DEFINING SCULPTURE
Before the turn of the twentieth century, nearly all sculptures in the Western fine art
tradition were three‐dimensional representations of recognizable objects, most
often human figures. Most sculptures were freestanding objects, though bas‐relief
sculpture on buildings and altarpieces also constituted a notable form. Sculptures
were typically static objects made of durable materials such as stone, bronze, clay
and wood.
But over the past century, the range of sculptural materials, subject matters and
practices has exploded. Many sculptures, such as the abstract works of Barbara
Hepworth or Louise Nevelson, are not obviously representations of objects, even
imaginary ones. Kinetic sculptures, unlike their static predecessors, involve
movement and, sometimes, sound elements. Installation artworks frequently
involve an immersive environment that we explore by moving through it, rather
than an object that we view by circling it; and they may incorporate multimedia
elements such as film and video. Earthworks involve interventions, sometimes on a
very large scale, in exterior landscapes. Sculpture includes all of these developments,
since they are outgrowths of earlier sculptural traditions and practices. At the same
time, we should maintain the traditional divisions separating sculpture from
painting and architecture, and to distinguish sculpture from performance art, which
raises interesting but distinct issues. Sculptures must also be distinguished from
three‐dimensional non‐art objects, no small feat now that artists have begun to
incorporate a wide array of artifacts into their work. Sometimes a snow shovel is
just a snow shovel; other times it is Marcel Duchamp’s (1915) In Advance of the
Broken Arm.
A simple, neat definition of sculpture is thus precluded by the great diversity of
sculptural works and by the complex contours of the boundaries that distinguish
sculpture from other domains, which are the product more of historical traditions
and practices than of rational calculation. Moreover, there is no defining sculpture
without having already made some decisions about what to include, as indicated
above. And once those decisions have been made, much inquiry about sculpture
could proceed—and has proceeded—by looking at a variety of cases without trying
to unify them under a definition.
.An attempt at definition might, nonetheless, be helpful in allowing us to see where
philosophical inquiry is most needed. So let’s begin here: sculpture is the art form consisting of the articulation or presentation of objects geared centrally toward
appreciation in three spatial dimensions (and possibly the temporal dimension),
excluding substantially constructed buildings and works involving the living human
body.
In claiming that sculptures are “geared toward” rather than “intended for”
appreciation, the definition remains neutral about whether the artist’s intentions or
other factors, such as audience reception or artistic convention, determine the aims
or functions of an artwork. An account of what determines the artwork’s aims would
be needed to flesh out the definition.
The definition expressly includes sculptural works with a temporal component, such
as those with kinetic or time‐based media elements. It also nods to the fact that our
appreciation even of static sculpture is typically temporal in a special way, involving
our movement around or through the sculpture as we gain access to features that
are not available, even in principle, to a momentary glance. (See Martin 1981:
chapter 2.) It distinguishes sculpture from painting by invoking appreciation in
three spatial dimensions; while paintings are three‐dimensional objects, in standard
cases appreciation focuses on their (approximately) two‐dimensional surfaces. The
definition roughly separates sculpture from three‐dimensional arts such as
furniture and pottery by stipulating that sculpture is geared centrally toward
appreciation, as opposed to functions such as supporting the human body or
containing other materials. This division is somewhat porous, as it must be. It allows
that pottery and furniture geared centrally toward appreciation, rather than or in
addition to use, will count as sculpture. The definition roughly distinguishes
sculpture from architecture by ruling out substantially constructed buildings,
leaving open the possibility that some works of architecture that are not
substantially constructed buildings may occupy the boundary between the two
categories.
The
The distinctions between sculpture and other sorts of three‐dimensional artifact
might be firmed up by offering an account of the specific sort of appreciation that is
appropriate to sculpture. As discussed below, such accounts, which are often
especially concerned with the distinction between painting and sculpture, tend to
appeal to the role of touch and bodily or spatial awareness in the appreciation of
sculpture. In order to distinguish sculpture in the appropriate ways from furniture,
jewelry, couture and pottery, these accounts would need to be supplemented with
an understanding of the role of critical engagement in the appreciation of sculpture
as art: we appreciate sculptures not just by considering their effects on our physical
or spatial awareness, but also by considering them in light of specific artistic, art
theoretic and art historical traditions. To appreciate a sculpture as art, then, is to
engage with it critically in light of these traditions even while experiencing its bodily
or spatial effects.
A final note is that our definition leaves open the possibility that Duchamp’s In
Advance of the Broken Arm is not, in fact, a sculpture. If the work does not have appreciation in three dimensions among its central aims—if, instead, its central aim
is to prompt reflection on the boundaries of art, or to emphasize the artist’s
audacious gesture in presenting a purchase from the hardware store as an
artwork—then it may not be a sculpture despite involving a three‐dimensional
object.
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SCULPTURAL CONTENT
Much of the recent philosophical literature about sculpture concerns the nature of
sculptural representation. Intuitively, representation in the visual arts has
something to do with resemblance: a painting or sculpture looks like the object that
it represents.
Clearly, though, this notion must be qualified, for the differences
between an artwork and the object it represents may be, from some perspectives,
far more salient than the similarities. A sculpture may be cold, hard, monochrome
and static, while the person it portrays is warm, soft, multicolored and mobile.
Richard Wollheim (1968; 1987), speaking chiefly of painting, refers to this
phenomenon as twofoldness: we see both the artwork with its particular material
features, and the object represented by way of those features, which we understand
as having a distinct set of characteristics. In Wollheim’s terms, appreciation of an
artwork involves seeing‐in: we see the person in the painting, while recognizing that
many features of the painting are not to be attributed to the person.
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more....
sculptural representation. Intuitively, representation in the visual arts has
something to do with resemblance: a painting or sculpture looks like the object that
it represents.
Clearly, though, this notion must be qualified, for the differences
between an artwork and the object it represents may be, from some perspectives,
far more salient than the similarities. A sculpture may be cold, hard, monochrome
and static, while the person it portrays is warm, soft, multicolored and mobile.
Richard Wollheim (1968; 1987), speaking chiefly of painting, refers to this
phenomenon as twofoldness: we see both the artwork with its particular material
features, and the object represented by way of those features, which we understand
as having a distinct set of characteristics. In Wollheim’s terms, appreciation of an
artwork involves seeing‐in: we see the person in the painting, while recognizing that
many features of the painting are not to be attributed to the person.
..
more....
SCULPTURAL CONTENT
Robert Hopkins (2003) suggests that Wollheim’s view, in its broad outlines, is as
plausible for sculpture as for painting. But seeing‐in must function differently for
sculpture than for painting: in standard sculptural cases, it will not involve
ascertaining a three‐dimensional object based on marks on a two‐dimensional
surface. H
...
However, we should not conclude that the sculpture simply represents an
object that shares its three‐dimensional form (perhaps adjusted for scale). As
Hopkins (1994) notes, particular objects can be misrepresented in sculpture: a
sculpture may present a caricature of a person, or may present some of her features
erroneously, while still representing her. The sculptural form may be abstract
enough that its material features don’t resemble those of its subject to the exclusion
of every other person. Moreover, it may possess stylistic elements (such as a rough
surface) that we clearly are not meant to attribute to the person.
plausible for sculpture as for painting. But seeing‐in must function differently for
sculpture than for painting: in standard sculptural cases, it will not involve
ascertaining a three‐dimensional object based on marks on a two‐dimensional
surface. H
...
However, we should not conclude that the sculpture simply represents an
object that shares its three‐dimensional form (perhaps adjusted for scale). As
Hopkins (1994) notes, particular objects can be misrepresented in sculpture: a
sculpture may present a caricature of a person, or may present some of her features
erroneously, while still representing her. The sculptural form may be abstract
enough that its material features don’t resemble those of its subject to the exclusion
of every other person. Moreover, it may possess stylistic elements (such as a rough
surface) that we clearly are not meant to attribute to the person.
SCULPTURAL CONTENT
There may, then, be significant discrepancies between the form of the sculpture and the form of the
subject it represents. Hopkins (1994) argues that the sculpture ultimately
represents the subject that it is taken to represent within an appropriate
appreciative experience, where this will be determined not just by isomorphism of
shape, but also by other factors such as the manner of presentation of the sculpture
(including the work’s title), and the viewer’s knowledge of conventions of
representing the subject (e.g., the knowledge that GeorgeW. Bush is frequently
caricatured as having very large ears). Our perceptual and cognitive processes in
responding to the sculpture, then, lead to the sculpture’s being phenomenally
experienced as resembling a particular subject. This phenomenal experience of
resemblance determines what the sculpture represents
Some writers have made claims about the content of sculpture more generally.
Several (e.g., Herder 2002/1778; Martin 1981; Read 1956;Rogers 1984) have
remarked on the special suitability of sculpture to depict human bodies. Martin
(1981: 123) claims, moreover, that whatever particular sculptures may represent,
“sculpture has a distinctive underlying, all‐pervasive subject matter—the
importance of being aware of our unity with things….” As these claims are related to
matters of sculptural aesthetics and appreciation, they will be taken up in the
following section.
An aspect of sculptural content that has been neglected, but is central to the
appreciation of much modern and contemporary sculpture, pertains to the
generation of meaning not just through resemblance‐based representation but
through incorporation or inclusion. Marcel Duchamp’s (1913) Bicycle Wheel is a
sculptural assemblage involving a bicycle wheel and fork mounted upside down on
a wooden stool. Appreciation of the resulting object depends in part on the
recognition of what may be called its inclusion‐content: the fact that it incorporates
a bicycle wheel and a stool, and that it positions them so as to render both of the
incorporated objects inert relative to their usual functions
The fact that the objects are actually a bicycle wheel and a stool, not merely objects constructed to resemble
them, contributes to the impact of the work. Representation may be one aspect of
inclusion‐content: perhaps the bicycle wheel contributes content to the work partly
by representing (or, in Nelson Goodman’s [1976] terms, exemplifying) certain
properties of bicycle wheels more generally. But this does not seem to exhaust the
inclusion‐content that a ready‐made object can bring to a sculptural work.
Tracey Emin’s (1998) My Bed is a presentation of Emin’s bed and associated objects,
including soiled sheets, rumpled pantyhose, used condoms and cigarette butts.
While the meaning of the work may depend in part on these objects’ representing or
symbolizing other things, it also seems to depend on very particular aspects of how
these objects are arranged and how they are proposed as relating to each other in
the context of Emin’s life. There is thus no reason to assume that inclusion‐content
can be reduced to representational content more generally.
Some works have both standard representational content and inclusion‐content. In
Zhan Wang’s Urban Landscapes of the 2000s, stainless steel kitchen implements are
assembled so as to represent cityscapes. These works have both representational
content (the cityscape) and inclusion‐content (pots, pans, spoons, etc.). Appreciating
the work involves recognizing both forms of content and grasping their interplay:
for instance, the cleverness of representing traffic by using forks and spoons whose
handles suggest a trail of motion in the vehicles’ wake.
An artwork may also have inclusion‐content by nature of the substances it includes,
even when these are not ready‐made objects. Janine Antoni’s (1992) Gnaw consists
in part of a 600‐pound cube of chocolate and a 600‐pound cube of lard that the artist
shaped by carving them with her mouth. These materials seem to signify in a way
that, say, the stone of a traditional sculpture does not. Though it certainly matters
aesthetically that Michelangelo’s Pietà is made of marble, this choice of material does not seem to feed into our understanding of the subject matter: Mary and Jesus
are not presented as hard or stony, as the magnificent drapery clearly attests. But
with Antoni’s work, the very nature of the materials contributes to our grasp of the
work’s themes of desire, excess and female body image. A work with a similar
appearance but made of different materials would not express the same meanings in
the same way.
Because modern and contemporary sculptures often have inclusion‐content that
significantly affects their meanings, a philosophical account of inclusion‐content is
needed to bring the literature on sculptural content up to date.
..
subject it represents. Hopkins (1994) argues that the sculpture ultimately
represents the subject that it is taken to represent within an appropriate
appreciative experience, where this will be determined not just by isomorphism of
shape, but also by other factors such as the manner of presentation of the sculpture
(including the work’s title), and the viewer’s knowledge of conventions of
representing the subject (e.g., the knowledge that GeorgeW. Bush is frequently
caricatured as having very large ears). Our perceptual and cognitive processes in
responding to the sculpture, then, lead to the sculpture’s being phenomenally
experienced as resembling a particular subject. This phenomenal experience of
resemblance determines what the sculpture represents
Some writers have made claims about the content of sculpture more generally.
Several (e.g., Herder 2002/1778; Martin 1981; Read 1956;Rogers 1984) have
remarked on the special suitability of sculpture to depict human bodies. Martin
(1981: 123) claims, moreover, that whatever particular sculptures may represent,
“sculpture has a distinctive underlying, all‐pervasive subject matter—the
importance of being aware of our unity with things….” As these claims are related to
matters of sculptural aesthetics and appreciation, they will be taken up in the
following section.
An aspect of sculptural content that has been neglected, but is central to the
appreciation of much modern and contemporary sculpture, pertains to the
generation of meaning not just through resemblance‐based representation but
through incorporation or inclusion. Marcel Duchamp’s (1913) Bicycle Wheel is a
sculptural assemblage involving a bicycle wheel and fork mounted upside down on
a wooden stool. Appreciation of the resulting object depends in part on the
recognition of what may be called its inclusion‐content: the fact that it incorporates
a bicycle wheel and a stool, and that it positions them so as to render both of the
incorporated objects inert relative to their usual functions
The fact that the objects are actually a bicycle wheel and a stool, not merely objects constructed to resemble
them, contributes to the impact of the work. Representation may be one aspect of
inclusion‐content: perhaps the bicycle wheel contributes content to the work partly
by representing (or, in Nelson Goodman’s [1976] terms, exemplifying) certain
properties of bicycle wheels more generally. But this does not seem to exhaust the
inclusion‐content that a ready‐made object can bring to a sculptural work.
Tracey Emin’s (1998) My Bed is a presentation of Emin’s bed and associated objects,
including soiled sheets, rumpled pantyhose, used condoms and cigarette butts.
While the meaning of the work may depend in part on these objects’ representing or
symbolizing other things, it also seems to depend on very particular aspects of how
these objects are arranged and how they are proposed as relating to each other in
the context of Emin’s life. There is thus no reason to assume that inclusion‐content
can be reduced to representational content more generally.
Some works have both standard representational content and inclusion‐content. In
Zhan Wang’s Urban Landscapes of the 2000s, stainless steel kitchen implements are
assembled so as to represent cityscapes. These works have both representational
content (the cityscape) and inclusion‐content (pots, pans, spoons, etc.). Appreciating
the work involves recognizing both forms of content and grasping their interplay:
for instance, the cleverness of representing traffic by using forks and spoons whose
handles suggest a trail of motion in the vehicles’ wake.
An artwork may also have inclusion‐content by nature of the substances it includes,
even when these are not ready‐made objects. Janine Antoni’s (1992) Gnaw consists
in part of a 600‐pound cube of chocolate and a 600‐pound cube of lard that the artist
shaped by carving them with her mouth. These materials seem to signify in a way
that, say, the stone of a traditional sculpture does not. Though it certainly matters
aesthetically that Michelangelo’s Pietà is made of marble, this choice of material does not seem to feed into our understanding of the subject matter: Mary and Jesus
are not presented as hard or stony, as the magnificent drapery clearly attests. But
with Antoni’s work, the very nature of the materials contributes to our grasp of the
work’s themes of desire, excess and female body image. A work with a similar
appearance but made of different materials would not express the same meanings in
the same way.
Because modern and contemporary sculptures often have inclusion‐content that
significantly affects their meanings, a philosophical account of inclusion‐content is
needed to bring the literature on sculptural content up to date.
..
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