To many people his service alone is deemed sufficient to call him a hero. I disagree.

I like him enlisted in the military at a time the United States was at war. I volunteered for the Marines in 1968 and served four years of honorable service. I do not believe that in any way qualified me as a hero. I did my duty and assumed the associated risks.

Today most folks have resolved to treat our serving military with more respect than was accorded those who served during Vietnam, and this is good. Unfortunately, it has become common and politically correct to call everyone serving in uniform a hero. This is not good.

I submit that calling someone a hero simply for serving is absurd. It removes the meaning from the word. The dictionary definition of heroism is “an act of great bravery.” It used to be that heroism required an extraordinary and selfless act of courage usually to help or save someone else.

If a person is a hero merely for donning a uniform then the mail carrier who brings your mail is a hero. After all he or she must brave dangerous neighborhoods, dodge traffic, evade threatening dogs and contend with severe weather. And if just putting your life at risk in the service of others makes you a hero then every teacher who ventures into the classroom is a hero. Many teachers go unarmed into some of the toughest places in the inner city. Likewise, the farmer who is injured or killed while working to bring crops to market for you must be considered a hero.

So I ask, just how cheap are we going to make heroism? Are we going to reach the point where everyone in uniform is automatically awarded the Silver Star or the Medal of Honor for completing boot camp? Or will we reserve the title of hero for those individuals who truly do something at extraordinary risk to themselves in selfless service to others?

© 2010 Michael Maurer Smith

Berger, for his purposes, proffers a modern and Eurocentric view of primitive art and writes from a Marxist perspective. He locates the definitions, explanations and analysis of art primarily in the contexts of class, culture and economics. His emphasis is upon art as something that may be possessed, valued and exchanged. He says little about the subjective nature and satisfactions of the art making process. It’s as if the quality called art only inheres in the object.

Reading this essay got me thinking about my own practice of Art. I hold both a Masters and Bachelors degree in Studio Art from Michigan State University. I am a painter, photographer and communications designer. So I work in the realms of fine art and applied—the sacred and profane.

It also happens that I grew up underprivileged. My great-grandmother raised me and until I was old enough to work, we had only her Social Security check and a welfare allotment with which to meet our needs. Her formal education ended at the ninth grade level. So I did not grow up in a home that exposed me to high Art. Nonetheless, I went on to obtain a university education by means of the G.I. Bill, a benefit of my service as a Marine during the Vietnam War.

As a boy I liked to draw and was good at it. I liked looking at pictures. I loved the varieties of color and texture and the joy I found in pleasing shapes and arrangements. I checked out art books from the local and school libraries and took art classes in junior high and high school. I gained a reputation as being artistic. Becoming an artist seemed natural and right for me.

So when I arrived at the university I too was presented with the model Berger describes—the modern and Eurocentric model of art—the Capitalistic and consumerist model. I then began to understand art in the context of culture and class—as a signifier of status. Likewise I became aware of the artist’ status within our contemporary class structure.

Like most artists, I was and am an observer. I prefer the periphery from which I can analyze, assess, compare and contrast what I see, hear and feel. I knowingly keep a distance to preserve my options. A Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory I once took revealed me as an Intuitive, Thinking, Judging type and I agree. Being an artist demands being an outsider—a step out of sync. It demands the freedom to ask what if? Why not? Says who? It demands the courage and willingness to defy that which is commonly accepted, known and “understood.”

I concur with Berger’s analysis as far as it goes. However, I believe it is limited to understanding Art as an object within the purview of economics and politics.

In this essay, Berger does not address the artist’ subjective experience of art making. He does not examine the reason(s) the individual artist may have for making art. Nor does he consider the artist’ own definition(s) of art.

It is the confused and collapsed definition of Art that is problematic. Art in common parlance is variously used to mean: an object, a quality, an action or a practice. It is like the word love, which in one context may describe the mechanics of the sex act (they made love) and in another, the Greek concept of agape—selfless love.

The ascription of Art, as a quality, to anything is always a political and cultural decision.

Can something made intentionally for purposes of trade and commerce ever be real Art? Can real Art be made by the naïve and untutored person? Can it be made by accident? Can a computer produce it? Or must real Art evidence the freedom of the artist’ hand and mind and the caprice of momentary inspiration?

What makes art Art? And who says? The answer locates the politics. Is it Art only if the artist says it is? Or is it Art only if culturally accepted institutions, like galleries, museums and universities judge it so? Is it enough to be Art because it is skillfully and beautifully made? Or must the work show evidence of deep thought, meaning and imagination by its maker? Must a work of art be unique? Or can it be one of many machine produced and identical multiples? Why or why not?

Berger correctly posits economics and politics as the arbiters of what is culturally and socially accepted as Art—at least in modern Western society. However, the need for artistic expression—the need to make marks and objects, whether utilitarian, symbolic or purely decorative, is innately human and preexists any political ideology or economic system. In fact it is a defining feature of humans that they can make symbolic marks—marks that stand for shared meanings and concepts. This is the basis for written language and thus for the codification and sharing of mathematics, science, history and religion.

To bring this discussion into focus I want to discuss my brother Tim. Tim is five years younger than me. We have the same mother but different fathers. We did not grow up together. Early in his life Tim began having trouble with the law. This led to his incarceration in prison for several years. During that time he began to draw. His drawings betrayed a lack of formal instruction. Size relationships owed more to emotional meanings than observed differences—like those of children’s drawing. Objects were drawn as outlines and filled with color. There was little understanding of renaissance perspective and chiascuro. These were the drawings of a naïve artist. Yet they were expressive works that made manifest his feelings and did so in ways that were visually compelling and provocative. They were art as act, and art as process. They were art as personal expression. But they were not high Art—not the kind of art a museum would seek to acquire. Tim remains undiscovered.

After his release from prison Tim stopped drawing and began making carvings and constructions out of wood and scrap. He fashions detailed sailing ships, stagecoaches and windmills using humble tools. He does this without regard for efficiency or profit. He places no value on his work hour. He has no business plan or portfolio and his continuing personal and emotional problems make a professional approach to his art making and craft practically impossible. Yet he continues to make his art, probably because it is the one meaningful thing in his life. It affirms his being and gives him a sense of purpose and accomplishment—something that is uniquely his.

Tim and his art © Michael Maurer Smith 2009

Tim’s artistic expression is genuine. At the same time it is derivative. He tries to copy things he’s seen but his mental demons, lack of formal training and proper tools conspire to deny him the skill and discipline necessary to make convincing replicas at a marketable and profitable rate. Instead his pieces are improvisations, born without the pretense of theory and historical justification. They are akin to a journal compulsively kept, markers of a passage. But are they Art? I think they are. He doesn’t.

© Michael Maurer Smith 2009

His editorial centered upon the recent massacre on Fort Hood Army Base. The perpetrator, Major Nidal Malik Hasan was Muslim. As he shot and killed 13 people and wounded 29 others he is alleged to have yelled Allahu Akbar—Allah is Great. It is also reported he often dressed in Muslim clothing and recently sought advice from a radical Muslim cleric.

Whether or not Major Hasan was merely deranged or was a true terrorist remains to be decided. What is clear is that what he did could happen again and probably will. It has happened often throughout the United States.

We, in the United States are quite vulnerable to the attacks of mad or radically motivated gunmen. This has been proven time and time again and mostly in our high schools and institutions of higher education. One need only recall the shootings at Virginia Tech where on 16 August 2007 Seung-Hui Cho, a student, killed 32 people and wounded several more. Then there was the rampage at Columbine High School, in Littleton Colorado, where on 20 April 1999, students Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold killed 12 people and wounded 23 before taking their own lives. There was the massacre on the Red Lake Indian Reservation in Minnesota where on 21 March 2005 a student killed 9 students and then himself. And there were the killings of 5 Amish schoolgirls, in a Lancaster County, Pennsylvania school, on 2 October 2006. The gunman then killed himself.

The incidents just cited are a partial listing. Such tragedies occur almost yearly and have been happening as far back as 1 August 1966 when Charles Whitman, a student, shot and killed 14 people and wounded another 32 on the University of Texas campus at Austin.

Perhaps we Americans—we as humans—need to fear our children—ourselves—as much as radical Islamists. Perhaps we need to discover and tame the rage inside all of us. Could it be we have overwhelmed ourselves with our own intelligence and cleverness? We who have made atomic weapons and nerve gas and mowed down millions of our fellow beings in service of politics, ideology and greed, have yet to understand our emotions. No other animal kills for the word, idea or money. Just us.

We are children playing with fire—as we continue to seek more powerful lighters and strike more matches. We turn to whatever preacher, professor, guru, scripture, cult or diversion that promises us relief from having to think for ourselves and take responsibility for our actions.

So yes Mr. Thomas, we do need to wage war on radical Islamists, but not with bullets and missiles. You can kill a man or a billion men but not an idea. Only a better idea can kill a bad one. Compassion and love are the only hope. If in the end they fail, humans deserve extinction.

© Michael M. Smith 2009

“Prosperity derives from exploitation.” William Wordsworth

 “Habit rules the unreflecting herd.”  William Wordsworth

It was lunchtime at the Supreme Bean and Carmina had arrived early. From a table near the front window she watched the promenade of office workers on the other side of the glass. Tagged like dogs, their laminated photo ID’s dangling from their belts and necks, they all seemed so purposeful as if they were going somewhere important, even if it was only back to their cubes.

The spectacle amused and saddened her. She wondered how many dreams they had forgotten, misplaced or denied? What gave their live’s meaning? She couldn’t understand why so many people willingly endured 9 to 5 employment in exchange for a hollow promise of job security? There was no such thing as job security—she knew that from her own experiences as a process server, freight handler for FedEx and the18 months she had spent with Merry Maid home cleaning services. Work should mean something—be an expression of who and what you really are, she thought.

Carmina was an artist. Art was her calling and something she accepted with grace and gratitude. Each morning she arose excited by what she might discover in her work that day—eager to create. Of course, she had bad days. From time-to-time she had to teach workshops or take on commissions to get by. But in the main painting was her love and it provided a living. It was her gift to the world.

“How’s my favorite painter today? Tony asked.

“Fine,” Carmina replied, still gazing out the window.

Tony didn’t think so. “Carmina, something is bothering you. What is it?” he asked.

 “You know me Tony. I try not to judge people. But some days I wonder. I mean you and me, we’re artists, we make things. We believe in self-expression and creativity. We believe in being who and what we really are. But out there I see so many folks choosing, or forced, to be a thing, an identity—something other people will recognize and approve. At work they wear their ID tags, suits and ‘office casual’ and during off hours they wear their lifestyle—some pastiche of symbols and dress intended to say ‘this is really me,’” she said.

Bare Pixie © Michael Maurer Smith 2008

“That seems a depressing, even a condescending view,” said Tony. “However, your mention of tattoos brings up something I’ve observed. It seems like everyone these days either has or is getting a tattoo—you got grandmas with little pixies on their shoulders, young women with flowery designs strategically positioned above their derrieres, and athletes festooned with so many markings they look more like parolees than pros. Of course some of them are both. And now that Michael Jackson has died I suppose millions of people will be getting Thriller tats. I’m amazed that so many people are willing to pay to be the canvas for someone else’s art!”

Tony noticed that Curran Rule had arrived and was heading to the table. “Well, well, look who’s here! I’ll bet you’ll have something to add to our little discussion,” Tony said.

“I hope life’s being good to y’all. So what’s the topic d’jour? Curran asked.

“Branding,” said Tony. “Carmina and I have been speculating about the tagged nine-to-fivers parading around out there and the popularity of tattoos—we’ve been talking about how people identify themselves.”

“Ah,” said Curran. “Branding—the cornerstone of American life—the old image and identity thing—my bread and butter.”

“You know, we designers make a distinction between image and the identity. Identity is all that stuff you can control, like colors, composition, typography and logos—like tattoos, jewelry and clothes. But image, well that’s everything the company or person does. It’s behavior. Brand is the whole package. It’s the identity and the image together. The fact is, today, everyone is a brand. I don’t know if that’s good or bad but it’s true. We’re all brands now—or a mix of brands and we all sorta fake it to make it. Am I not right?”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Carmina. “But I wish you weren’t. I suppose we have little choice. I suppose we must play many of the roles that are expected of us and we must identify ourselves as members of the right herds if we want to be recognized, loved and validated or even left alone.”

 “Sad but true. And I think that’s why most people get tattoos, so they can be identifed with specific herds—so they can always have with them a marker of their own existence—a reminder of who and what they imagine themselves to be, or want to be and who and what they want other people to think they are—their personal brand. And sometimes its an epitaph they wear while still living, a commemoration of who or what they once were,” said Tony.

 “What’s truly sad,” said Carmina, “is that most of this branding isn’t the artistic creation of the person wearing it. It’s someone else’s interpretation and expression, an embodiment of someone else’s values and thought.

For the next few minutes no one said anything. Curran, Carmina and Tony sat watching as more office workers walked by. Finally Tony spoke, “see you two next week?” Carmina and Curran nodded in the affirmative.

© Michael Maurer Smith 2009

A second story wall in Florence (Oltrarno), Italy

Carmina and Tony Discuss Captions

To caption, or not to caption: that is the question:

Whether ’tis nobler to suffer the outrageous comments of ignorant viewers,
Or to arm them against a sea of error and prejudice,

And by gently explaining lead them to greater knowledge and joy?

“Oh what to do—what to do?” Tony exclaimed.

“For starters stick with photography,” Carmina replied.

“Seriously Carmina, it’s a real problem. You know my work. It looks straightforward—like what it is. But there’s always more going on in those pictures—symbolism, cultural references and irony—stuff like that. So I think maybe I should provide folks with cues—clues, some kind of caption or label, something to explain my intentions in making the picture. But then I think, no, it’s visual art, it shouldn’t need words,” said Tony.

He continued, “Say I do a photo of a guy standing alone under a street light at a bus stop; what is this photo really about? Is it an existential statement? Maybe. Is it a commentary on this particular man? Perhaps. Is it just a study of light and shadow? It could be any or all of these things, none or more. So what am I obligated to make known about the photograph? Whatever I write in a caption or label will influence how the viewer interprets the picture. Yet if I say too little, or nothing, the viewer may be grossly mislead. So where’s the balance? What ought I tell? What must I tell?”  

“Yeah Tony, it’s a conundrum and one I wrestle with too. I need to name my paintings to make them final—give them an individual identity. Naming them actually helps me understand what they mean, might mean or could. Yet I know once I name a painting it opens up certain ways of thinking about it and closes others. Even harder than names, is the whole ‘artist’s statement’ thing. That’s really fraught with issues,” Carmina replied.

“I hear you Carmina. But with photographs the problem is verisimilitude. Photographs always look real. They are the record of something that existed, even if it was no more than a momentary shadow. However, a painting is the result of countless decisions and physical movements made by the artist in response to his or her inner experience. It is a cumulative thing built minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour and sometimes with interruptions of days, weeks or even years, but photos are made instantly and they appear like flattened slices of reality. So the photographer often must supply facts not readily apparent in the image. For example, a picture might appear to show a police officer’s hand about to slap a protestor’s face when he is really sweeping away a wasp.”

“So you are saying that photographs are more dependent upon words than are paintings. Am I right?” asked Carmina.

“Yes. And I am also saying that the viewer often needs more information than shows in the photograph in order to understand and appreciate it. Photographs depend upon shared concepts and cultural references. If the viewer doesn’t know what they are looking at they won’t see it—they will only see shapes and forms but they won’t know if those shapes are the Eiffel tower or a beehive. And photographs cannot show thought—only the results of thought. So if it is essential to know what the photographer or subject was thinking, a label, caption or even an entire book may be necessary,” Tony replied.

“Well next week I want to talk about writing an artist’ statement. I’ll bet you have lots of thoughts about that. So then, same time here at the Bean next week?” Carmina asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Tony.