If a visitor doesn't "get" the concept, is a work of conceptual art successful as a work of art?

This question opens a proverbial Pandora's box in terms of art historical theory. Throughout the history of art, the question of whether a work of art is successful or not (and how one would measure success in the first place) has been pondered by artists, audiences, and critics alike. Does it remain the sole right of a work's creator to determine its success as measured against the intentions he had for the work? Is a work deemed to be successful if a viewer likes it or "gets it", or is it alternatively seen as a failure if someone either dislikes or doesn't grasp it? Or is it ultimately up to the critic, the writer who is familiar with the artist's approach and intention to write a favorable review if a particular piece fits in to or expands upon an artist's oeuvre? There are so many questions regarding how to measure an art work's success that a particular field of philosophy called reception theory has developed over the years to debate this very subject.

My goal for this exhibition was to provide insight into some of the intentions with which particular artists were approaching their art, thus supplying a little background information that might, just might, shed light on why a non-objective work looks the way it does. It goes without saying that one particular art work will never appeal to all that view it, since everyone comes to view art with a subjective background, education, and feelings that will shape his or her reaction to a piece. Even with all the didactic information accompanying each work in this exhibition, a viewer may very well still not connect to the work, or "get" the concepts behind it. In my personal opinion, this does not mean the work of art has failed, or that this exhibition has not done its job. Rather, I think this reveals one of the reasons why art is so interesting to so many people and has fueled fires of debate throughout the centuries. I feel that art will forever remain a subjective enterprise, both for the artist that creates it and the viewer that visits museums and galleries to look at it. And this is why it is so important on a cultural, societal level. It allows each and every one of us to bring our own ideas, feelings, and ultimately interpretation to paintings, sculptures, prints, and more. The fact that I Don't Get It, its gallery message board and this blog have opened a dynamic dialogue about the field of non-objective works and the various opinions of all who view it reveals the power of art to effect its audience.

Mondrian and Calder

We recently received this multi-faceted question from Liz on the blog:

"I loved the piece by Andrew Calder. Can you tell me more about it? I forget the title. How did the Museum acquire it? What's the connection to Piet Mondrian? Did Calder know him? Did they build off of each other? Or was Calder simply influenced by Mondrian?"

Calder's Red G from 1963 is truly one of the highlights of HMoA's permanent collection. Purchased in 1965 with funds provided by the Annette HarveyBequest, the 1964 Huntington Galleries Ball, an anonymous donor, and Huntington Galleries Board Members, it has hung prominently in the Museum's front entry hall for many years now before its inclusion in this exhibition. The piece is a beautifully typical example of Calder's kinetic mobiles, wire and steel sculptures of organic shapes that engage the elements of time and motion. Each of the steel forms, usually modeleled after shapes such as the sphere or the traingle, which the artist felt furthered the suggestion of motion, moves independently with any air current that is created around it, usually caused by the movement of visitors as they explore and walk beneath the piece. As each element moves, the arrangement of the composition as a whole changes, and it casts ever-changing shadows around the gallery space, thus engaging and transforming the work's environment. The bright red hue of the sculpture is extremely striking to our visitors, but ironically color was a secondary concern for Calder who prefered to work primarily in black and white.

Calder did indeed know fellow artist Piet Mondrian (Dutch, 1872-1944). After studying at the Art Students League in New York, Calder moved to Paris for seven years where he befriended such famous artistic figures as Marchel Duchamp, Jean Arp, and Mondrian. Their relationship may have been slightly symbiotic, but it appears that Mondrian was much more of an influence on Calder than the other way around. After a visit to Mondrian's studio in 1930, Calder wrote, "This one visit gave me a shock that started things. Though I had often heard the word 'modern' before, I did not consciously know or feel the term 'abstract.' So now at thirty-two, I wanted to paint and work in the abstract." Shortly thereafter, Calder was invited to join the international Abstraction-Creation group that ibncluded Mondrian, Theo van Doesburg, Robert and Sonia Delaunay, Jean Arp, and many other artists working with geometric forms, which would become the focus of his own work.