El arte como significado / Art as meaning

Let's move on to consider the question in the field of art criticism, and in its field of knowledge: contemporary art. How can we limit that "us"? Where do we draw the lines that configure our community of inquiry? Or, how should criticism consider a subject that calls him or herself an artist or critic? Or, more precisely, should the persons that want to be part of our community of inquiry compulsorily use a specific common language and abide by a minimum amount of rules (like, for example, to not resort continuously to the precepts of pre-determined theories)? When considering this issue, referred to our domain, it does not seem that different at first glance.

In order to expound on this issue adequately, we must return to that relativism I referred to at the beginning of the article stating that "anything can be a work of art." This consideration is a conclusion that emerges from a fact, pointed out by Arthur C. Danto, that considers that "we cannot define works of art in terms of certain particular visual properties we expect them to have. There is no a priori criterion as to what that art must look like, but that it can look like anything" ( After the End of Art. Contemporary Art and the Pale of History , [Spanish Ed.] Paidós, 1999). Thus presented, the issue seems like a problem, in the sense that it seems like we cannot limit our discipline's main object of study. Yet the problem disappears, it dissolves like a lump of sugar in a cup of coffee, at the exact moment in which we agree on the fact that the visual aspect of the work of art is only one of its dimensions, and that, quite often, said dimension is not even the most important one -as occurs with Duchamp's ready-mades , for example. That is, the work of art goes further than its visual dimension; it goes beyond the physical plane. Consequently, when critics confront a particular object, they must consider that aspect that is beyond. Said aspect that goes beyond is the work's raison d'être , its meaning. Yet that something is not determined; it is not, as Danto put it, "embodied in the work." It is something that we give it -with our narratives. Furthermore, it is never closed, never definitive; it is constantly developing. That "development of meaning" commences the very second the artist decides the work is completed, since at that moment the work no longer belongs only to the artist (Umberto Eco's "open work"). Thus, instead of tracking the meaning, criticism is more a case of, individually and initially, constructing it, proposing it, in order to, secondly, -in a group task, performed by the community of inquiry- reach consensus about it .

A valid example that we can use to understand that development of the meaning of works of art and the agreed construction of the same appears in how we humans have coexisted with the vestiges of previous civilisations, with our past. Any culture that has encountered archaeological remains from a previous society in its habitat has attempted to re(re)interpret said remains based on their contemporary vision of the world. This interpretation has not always led to a pleasant coexistence with the past. For example, the Christians of the Middle Ages loathed the ancient Roman ruins, given that in their community texts they pinpointed the Roman Empire as the reincarnation of evil on the earth. For centuries, this led to a pronounced apathy on behalf of the authorities in charge of the emblematic buildings in the city, or even to direct attacks on the same, or in the worst case scenario, to demolition. Historically, the generalised attitude has been to include the works in the new vision of the world, using them for new rituals (for example, pagan temples now used as churches). Society has also contributed significantly to develop the meaning of these archaeological vestiges, by creating all types of legends, stories and tales on the ruins that were wanting an explanation. Tracking down these tales, the successive readings via which humanity has interpreted itself, is a fascinating exercise that leads us, inevitably, to ponder on the place human beings occupy in their own history, on the place we each occupy in that concept we call "humanity." Although I am drawn to do so, I will not push the examples. I merely want to point out that we cannot consider our interpretation of our past as the correct one (the one that corresponds to the fact); we cannot even consider it "the best of all possible options."

Neither do we have reasons to believe that the vision we project regarding our present, in contemporary art, is the correct one or the best one. Over the years we will unquestionably acquire a historical perspective that will modify our vision of the contemporary artistic moment. Yet, what is this concept we call "historical perspective"? In my opinion, it is merely the filter time imposes on different interpretations of a specific historical moment, tending to group in one single, coherent tale, all those that coincide in their essential aspects, leading to the gradual disappearance of those that differ from the same. These different interpretations entail different constructions of meaning for works of art which, in many cases, have little or nothing to do with the artist's primary intention or with criticism's immediate interpretation. Some will gain importance, via consensus, and will gradually compose a base of meaning for the work, which subsequent interpretations will not be able to omit -since the work will no longer be separable from that base. Therefore, at a specific moment, the indiscriminate number of meanings will come to an end, validating the sentence "not everything can be said of anything." In this sense, and considering the analysis we performed previously based on Rorty's ideas, the difference between art criticism and art history lies basically in the fact that the latter achieves a greater level of consensus.