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.
..