Art can raise our spirits, stimulate our intelligence and increase our knowledge; it is therefore disappointing that much of our arts writing is so impenetrable. Academics seem to address their peers and forget us; it is like eavesdropping on a private conversation carried on in a foreign language. Despite this, business is booming. In 1910 the RZpertoire de l’art et d’archZologie had a combined subject and author index of 4,000 entries; there are now about 30,000 entries each year, written by about 22,500 art historians and critics.
Professor James Elkins provides these figures. He does so to illustrate that one of the problems with art writing is that there is too much of it, which is ironic coming from a man who publishes two books a year. But one can tell from his titles that he wants to be read outside as well as inside the academic loop: What Painting Is, Why Art Cannot be Taught, How to Use Your Eyes, Pictures and Tears. He is planning a commentary on 53 mystical images from the 18th century; hard to sell, one might think, until one hears his title, What Heaven Looks Like. Elkins is readable and he feels like one of us, an enthusiast who wants to know more.
I make films about the visual arts and generally I prefer to speak to artists rather than scholars. Reading Elkins is like talking to a painter. He was an art student and he produced ‘big and horrifically failed paintings’ (failure is the subject of another forthcoming book). He speaks of painting as a priest speaks of God, with love and wonder, but his is not a blind faith; he needs to understand all of painting’s mysterious ways, but remains unconvinced that he will ever succeed:
We are satisfied to tell each other that pictures can be adequately explained by narrative … But our intricate and voluminous writing says otherwise.
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