More on Art: Evocation, part 2
2. Evocation.
The phenomena that are the focus of this essay are emotional. An especially harrowing performance of Lear, or first entering the Sistine Chapel for the first time can arouse strong emotions in the audience. In the first case, there may be pity, sorrow, even grief. In the second, awe and elevation. The audience cannot only appreciate the qualities of the work, but can be brought to an emotional fever pitch by them. Not all emotional responses to works are so strong. One might feel mild sadness upon listening to a bluesman's bittersweet tales. However strong the emotion aroused by the artwork, it is real emotion and not mere understanding that a work has an emotional property in it.
I wish to call the event of such emotional responses evocation. A work evokes—that is brings out, causes—the emotion in the audience. Something about the encounter with the artwork arouses a feeling in the audience-member. I trust that this is not unfamiliar, but if one is skeptical let us bear with this line of thought in order to get on. What is evoked may be in response to particular aspects of a work, as with anger at the figure of Iago, or to no discernable features of it. Even the most abstract work of patterns of patches color, having nothing in it that we can take to be a symbol of a worldly object, may still make us happy to look at it. Such a work we could describe as exuberant, perhaps, though we might not be able to say just why. Likewise we might report that we feel enjoyment in looking at it, though no particular reason for this consistent reaction is identifiable to us.
Some works may fail to evoke emotion. Very abstract works are more likely to do so, as there is less in them to identify as something to which we may have a reaction (the example of the previous paragraph, if one accepts it, seems more an exception for these sorts of works). Some of the soundscapes of Philip Glass are certainly difficult to describe as bringing about strong emotions though they may generate a great deal of recognition, thought, or communication in a more detached way. Someone might fail to be moved by a Pollock painting even while finding it highly interesting as a demonstration of color balances, motion captured in hardened lines of paint, and so forth.
That a work contains an emotion does not mean that that property is what does the evocation, either. We may not be moved a hair by a novel in which great tribulations are overcome by the protagonist. Such works may be called cold, but are just as likely to be seen as ineffective, or as detached. Though it is correct to say that some work has the quality of satisfaction one may feel none, or any other emotion, due to the work itself. The artist might even be aiming at having the audience examine an emotion from a detached standpoint. And poor execution may arouse contempt or confusion or dislike in the audience, but this is not properly a property of the work qua artwork. The object of the emotion in this case is the artist, not her product, nor any aesthetic properties of the work.
Evocation is not the exclusive province of artworks, or even of artifacts, or even again of human society. That is not to say that the uninhabited places of the world have evoked emotions flying about willy-nilly, but that for one encountering an object or situation the evocation is interior to that experience. The particulars of that which is evoked depend on both the features of what is encountered and of the person experiencing it. It will be difficult to be saddened by the vitality of a healthy oak-tree. The tree may be experienced aesthetically, in the sense that its balance, form, and so forth may seem to hold significance even though it has not had symbols built into it. Thus the person saddened because she was intending to build where the oak is standing and will have difficulty removing it need not have the emotion evoked in her, except in the quotidian way that all emotions can be said to be “evoked” by something or other.
No special significance needs to be placed on the distinction between evocation of emotions by things' aesthetic properties and evocation by other properties. It was made merely to point out that an artwork qua art could bring out emotional reactions. Talk of mountains having aesthetic properties is talk we could analogize to talk of painted mountains having them, so that we could say, in a sense, that the real mountains are taken to be artworks; but this is not getting us further on with the present project.
The central point here is that it is a common phenomenon that one encounters a work of art and is not only able to recognize its properties but also to be moved by them. I take it that this is an important aspect of art, in respect of the significance we put on works that are not merely technically brilliant or subtle or complex or innovative or in general finely crafted (as these are labels applied literally instead of metaphorically) but are what is sometimes called powerful, moving, or even "evocative." Emotional reactions are not part and parcel of the interpretation of a work, yet neither are they wholly separate. Something about what properties a work has—and not just its history—creates in us a feeling response. The question now raised is, how does this occur?
[Update. See the rest at parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 & 7.]
The phenomena that are the focus of this essay are emotional. An especially harrowing performance of Lear, or first entering the Sistine Chapel for the first time can arouse strong emotions in the audience. In the first case, there may be pity, sorrow, even grief. In the second, awe and elevation. The audience cannot only appreciate the qualities of the work, but can be brought to an emotional fever pitch by them. Not all emotional responses to works are so strong. One might feel mild sadness upon listening to a bluesman's bittersweet tales. However strong the emotion aroused by the artwork, it is real emotion and not mere understanding that a work has an emotional property in it.
I wish to call the event of such emotional responses evocation. A work evokes—that is brings out, causes—the emotion in the audience. Something about the encounter with the artwork arouses a feeling in the audience-member. I trust that this is not unfamiliar, but if one is skeptical let us bear with this line of thought in order to get on. What is evoked may be in response to particular aspects of a work, as with anger at the figure of Iago, or to no discernable features of it. Even the most abstract work of patterns of patches color, having nothing in it that we can take to be a symbol of a worldly object, may still make us happy to look at it. Such a work we could describe as exuberant, perhaps, though we might not be able to say just why. Likewise we might report that we feel enjoyment in looking at it, though no particular reason for this consistent reaction is identifiable to us.
Some works may fail to evoke emotion. Very abstract works are more likely to do so, as there is less in them to identify as something to which we may have a reaction (the example of the previous paragraph, if one accepts it, seems more an exception for these sorts of works). Some of the soundscapes of Philip Glass are certainly difficult to describe as bringing about strong emotions though they may generate a great deal of recognition, thought, or communication in a more detached way. Someone might fail to be moved by a Pollock painting even while finding it highly interesting as a demonstration of color balances, motion captured in hardened lines of paint, and so forth.
That a work contains an emotion does not mean that that property is what does the evocation, either. We may not be moved a hair by a novel in which great tribulations are overcome by the protagonist. Such works may be called cold, but are just as likely to be seen as ineffective, or as detached. Though it is correct to say that some work has the quality of satisfaction one may feel none, or any other emotion, due to the work itself. The artist might even be aiming at having the audience examine an emotion from a detached standpoint. And poor execution may arouse contempt or confusion or dislike in the audience, but this is not properly a property of the work qua artwork. The object of the emotion in this case is the artist, not her product, nor any aesthetic properties of the work.
Evocation is not the exclusive province of artworks, or even of artifacts, or even again of human society. That is not to say that the uninhabited places of the world have evoked emotions flying about willy-nilly, but that for one encountering an object or situation the evocation is interior to that experience. The particulars of that which is evoked depend on both the features of what is encountered and of the person experiencing it. It will be difficult to be saddened by the vitality of a healthy oak-tree. The tree may be experienced aesthetically, in the sense that its balance, form, and so forth may seem to hold significance even though it has not had symbols built into it. Thus the person saddened because she was intending to build where the oak is standing and will have difficulty removing it need not have the emotion evoked in her, except in the quotidian way that all emotions can be said to be “evoked” by something or other.
No special significance needs to be placed on the distinction between evocation of emotions by things' aesthetic properties and evocation by other properties. It was made merely to point out that an artwork qua art could bring out emotional reactions. Talk of mountains having aesthetic properties is talk we could analogize to talk of painted mountains having them, so that we could say, in a sense, that the real mountains are taken to be artworks; but this is not getting us further on with the present project.
The central point here is that it is a common phenomenon that one encounters a work of art and is not only able to recognize its properties but also to be moved by them. I take it that this is an important aspect of art, in respect of the significance we put on works that are not merely technically brilliant or subtle or complex or innovative or in general finely crafted (as these are labels applied literally instead of metaphorically) but are what is sometimes called powerful, moving, or even "evocative." Emotional reactions are not part and parcel of the interpretation of a work, yet neither are they wholly separate. Something about what properties a work has—and not just its history—creates in us a feeling response. The question now raised is, how does this occur?
[Update. See the rest at parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 & 7.]
[10:33 post: fizhburn]
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