WORDS OF BEAUTY
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Tänapäeval heas kunstiseltskonnas ilust ei räägita. Samal ajal, kui on rehabiliteeritud sõnad „sitt“ ja „nikk“, on “ilu” muutunud kõlblusevastaseks.
Ometi olen veendunud, et ilu pole pelgalt maitseaine, suhkruglasuur, mida riputatakse pildile, et see toit paremini sisse läheks. Pigem siiski on see fundamentaalne nähtus, mis tekib kunstis paratamatult, kui see on kunst.
Kunst on olnud pidev sõda iluga. Ajalugu on täis kangelaslikke ponnistusi vabaneda läilaks muutunud ilust. Alati on aga kätte võidetud nullilu asemel sündinud midagi, mis mõne aja möödudes on inetu pardipojana suled selga kasvatanud ja mida on hakatud pidama uueks ilustandardiks – et seda siis varsti jälle lammutama hakata. Kui Edouard Manet esitas Pariisi 1865. aasta Salongis oma „Olympia“, põhjustas see “koledana” skandaali ja šoki ning korraldajad olid sunnitud pildi ümber tõstma kõrgele ukse kohale – raevunud publiku käeulatusest eemale. Manet ei vaevunud kohendama oma modelli vastavaks tookord kehtivatele normidele. Tavalise, olmetasandil olendi eksponeerimine mõjus toonasele publikule näkku visatud solgina. Kuid aeg möödus, kaklused on kakeldud ja kõik need vaenutsevad ilud ripuvad kõrvuti muuseumis, mahtudes meie silmis kenasti ühe nimetaja alla – nii et me ei mõista, milles oli toona probleem.
Klassikaline näide on Picasso, kes oma „Avignoni naistes“ mõtles vaid lammutustööle, kuid lõi möödaminnes kogemata ka uue ilustandardi (ja sellega lahutamatult seotud eetiliste väärtuste pingerea), mis muutus peagi totaalseks. Läbi aegade on taolised protsessid toimunud sellise kangekaelsusega, et paratamatult sunnivad otsima mingit fundamentaalset mõtet. Marko Mäetamme ja Kaido Ole tööd on ilusad, ei pääse nad sellest üle ega ümber.
Vaimsus on alati ilus. On kummaline, aga esteetilise elamuse järgi on võmalik detekteerida vaimsuse olemasolu.
Vist on nii, et ilu kunstis pole pelgalt reklaamlisand, see seotud elujõu vahendamisega. Elujõu broadcasting’us aga kipun nägema kunsti peamist missiooni (jälle üks kunst olemasolumõte!). Elujõud on alati ilus. Ka see, mida nimetatakse puhtaks esteetiliseks naudinguks, kipub tihti olema destilleeritud elujõud. Antiiksed proportsioonistandardid sisaldasid tegelikult elujõu matemaatilist analüüsi. Monet’ „tibi” kandis endas aga elujõu uut kontseptsiooni, mille esialgne tähendus seisnes sotsiaalselt jõuetuks muutunud ilustandardile (ju siis ka elamisviisile) vastandumises, kuid mille ilutähendust õpiti mõistma alles hiljem.
Mingil hetkel ajaloos ilmub välja inimrühm, kes peab senist elujõu käsitlust hoopistükkis nõrkuseks ning sellel rajanevat ilukujutelma naeruväärseks. Tihti öeldakse siis, et ilu kui selline on naeruväärne. Kui veab, muutub see mässukunst mõne aja pärast klassikaks ja siis avastavad kõik, et see on ilus. Kõik on mõistetud suubuma ühte ja samasse katlasse, ja katla serval istub sama kurat, sorkides oma hargiga leemes hulpijaid.
Aga kunst, mis näitab koledusi? Koleduste näitamine-vaatamine nõuab jõudu, see pole nõrkade tegevus. Francis Baconi peletised ongi vaadatud jõujuurikast vanamehe silmadega, värdjalikkuse näitamine toimub elujõu positsioonilt. Kunstnik kaardistab inimesse peidetud defekte ja väärarenguid, kuid ei tee seda õuduste kollektsioneerijana, pigem diagnoosi paneva arstina. Üle tema peletiste õla piilub tõeline elujõud, seega ilu. Pole midagi parata, tema pildid on ilusad. Ilu kunstis ei tähenda vaid “ilusate“ asjade kujutamist. Aga kas ei tähenda inetus kunstis tihti igatsust ilu järele? Ilu järele, mis on inimeste ihust ja mõistusest julmalt noaga välja lõigatud. Või seda, et ilu on alandatud müüdavaks õuduseks.
„Jälkuse“ pildid üritavad tihti kasutada „jälke“ värve, räpakat teostust, närustatud lõuendit. Kuid pärast esimest šokki me näeme, et nad oma formaalstruktuurilt ketravad ikka ja taas oma ilulõnga. See oleks nagu proovikivi – kas on kunst või ei ole. Ilu on tugevate tegevus. Päästmatult inetu on nõrkuse kunst. Hädaldav, virisev kunst. Kui nõrguke püüab toota ilu, on tulemuseks seep, seega midagi kohutavat. Juhtub, et kunstiteos kuulutab tühipaljalt, et „ah, küll ma olen ilus!“ Pole midagi inetumat kui lame ilu.
Nähtavasti on küll võimalik kunst, mis nii tugevasti püüab vältida ilu, et tal see ka koguni õnnestub – ja et ta ka kunagi ilusaks ei saa. Eks ka sellel on oma koht päikese all – millel kõigel kuradil pole seal oma kohta! Las ta siis olla!
Kunsti üks suuremaid müsteeriume ongi see, et jälkus ja koledus võib osutuda seal iluks. Tegelikult panid selle paika juba muistsed kreeklased, mõeldes välja katarsise mõiste. Puhastumine läbi vapustuse. See, mis kutsub esile vapustuse, pole tavaliselt ilus (kuigi võib olla). Kuid puhastumine on alati ilus. Pelk ilu on lame, pelk jälkus on lame. Mingil hetkel saavutavad nad ühinedes teravuse. Nad ripuvad teineteise kaenlas, suutmata vabaneda. See on sündmusteskeem, mille järgi tiksub kogu meid ümbritsev elu. See ongi katarsis. Kui kunst tahab seostuda eluga, pole temalgi teist teed.
Vapustamisega on lugu lihtne, sellega saame hakkama. Õilistumisega on asi raskem. Konks on selles, et kunst tuulutab läbi ja hoiab avatuna mingid erilisi kanaleid meis endis – seda korstnapühkija tööd ei suuda teha ükski teine meedia, ei kõik need teadused ja ebateadused. See ongi „elada aitamine“. Nii vaadatuna võib teinekord tunduda koguni ükskõik, millega neid just harjatakse – kas sotsiaalse vastutustunde, maise või jumaliku armastuse, looduse ilu või abstraktse värvirõõmuga. Nuudi või präänikuga. Peaasi, et tahm lendaks!
Jumal on teinud ülimalt targasti, ühendades selle protsessi mõnutundega. Nagu ta on seda teinud ka soo jätkamise puhul ühtede teiste truupide harjamisel. Võrdlus on mõtlemapanev! Naudingul näib maailma asjades üldse olevat sügav tähendus. Ei ole siis ka kunstiga kaasnev silmarõõm lihtsalt mingi suhkruvõõp, mis kibeda pilli magusaks teeb, vaid midagi olemuslikku.
Ilu, see on sümbol.
Kuid see jutt ilust läheb läilaks. Ärgem lihtsalt unustagem, et ka roosidele tuleb kallata sitta.
Raamatust “Mees narrimütsiga”
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Beauty is not talked about in the contemporary good art society. While the words “shit” and “fuck” have been rehabilitated, “beauty” has become immoral. However, I am convinced that beauty is not just a spice, a sugar glaze that is hung on the picture to make the food more delicious. Rather, it is a fundamental phenomenon that inevitably arises in art that it is art.
Art has been a constant war with beauty. History is full of heroic efforts to get rid of the beauty that has become shiny. However, instead of reaching the zero-beauty, something has always born, which, as an ugly duckling, has grown its feathers after a while and to become a new standard of beauty – only to be demolished again soon. In, 1865, when Edouard Manet presented his “Olympia” the Salon in Paris, it was “scary” enough to caus a scandal and shock, and the organizers were forced to remove the picture to high above the door – out of reach of the enraged audience. Manet did not bother to adapt his model to the standards of the time. The display of an ordinary, everyday creature had the impact of a bucket of garbage thrown at the face of the audience of that time. But time has passed, fights have been fought, and all these hostile beauties hang side by side in the museum, fitting nicely under one denominator in our eyes – so that we don’t understand what was the problem.
A classic example is Picasso, who in his “Women of Avignon” only thought of demolition, but who then accidentally also created a new standard of beauty (and the ranking of ethical values inherent to it), which soon became overwhelming. Throughout the ages, such processes have taken place with such stubbornness that they inevitably force one to look for some fundamental meaning. The works of Marko Mäetamm and Kaido Ole are beautiful, there’s no way of getting around that for them.
Spirituality is always beautiful. It is strange, but from an aesthetic experience it is possible to detect the existence of spirituality.
Perhaps the beauty in art is not just an advertisement, it is about mediating vitality. In broadcasting vitality, however, I tend to see the core mission of art (again, one of the reasons of existence of art!). Vitality is always beautiful. Also, what is called a pure aesthetic pleasure often tends to be a distilled vitality. The ancient standards of proportion actually contained a mathematical analysis of vitality. Monet’s “chick”, however, carried a new concept of vitality, the original meaning of which was to oppose to the socially weakened standard of beauty (and then a way of life), but which’s meaning of beauty was only later understood.
At some point in history, a group of people emerges who consider the current understanding of vitality to be a weakness and the the image of beauty based on it ridiculous. It is often said then that beauty as such is ridiculous. In luck, such rebellion art will become a classic after a while and everyone will discover that it is beautiful. Everything is destined to end up in the same kettle, and the same devil sits on the edge of the kettle, stirring the floaters with his fork.
What about the art that shows horrors? Showing and watching horrors requires strength, it is not for the weak. Francis Bacon’s monsters are viewed with the eyes of a sturdy old man, the freakness is shown from the position of vitality. The artist maps the defects and malformations hidden in a person, but he does not do it as a collector of horrors, but rather as a doctor making a diagnosis. Above the shoulder of her monsters lurks a real vitality, hence the beauty. There is nothing we can do about it, his pictures are beautiful. Beauty in art does not mean just depicting “beautiful” things. But doesn’t the ugliness in art often mean a longing for the beauty? For the beauty that is brutally cut out from the human body and mind with a knife. Or that beauty has been reduced to a horror for sale.
Images of “abomination” often try to use “abominant” colors, sloppy workmanship, ragged canvas. But after the first shock, we see that they from their formal structure they are still spinning their beauty thread again and again. It would be like a test – whether it is art or not. Beauty is an activity for the strong. The art of weakness is inexorably ugly. Moaning, whining art. When a weak person tries to produce beauty, the result is a soap, so something terrible. It happens that a work of art proclaims bluntly that “ah, I’m beautiful!” There is nothing uglier than flat beauty.
Apparently, there can be art that tries to avoid beauty so hard that it even succeeds – and it never becomes beautiful. It also has its place under the sun – hell, whatever has its place under it! Then let it be!
One of the greatest mysteries of art is that abomination and ugliness can become beautiful. In fact, it was already set by the ancient Greeks, who invented the concept of catharsis. Purge through shock. What causes a shock is usually not beautiful (though it may be). But the cleansing is always beautiful. Sheer beauty is dull, sheer ugliness is dull. At some point, they join and gain sharpness. They hang on to each other’s arms, unable to free themselves. It is a scheme of events according to which the whole life around us ticks. This is catharsis. If art wants to connect with life, it has no other way.
It is easy to shock, we can handle it. It is more difficult with glorification. The catch is that art ventilates and keeps open some special channels in us – this chimney sweep’s work cannot be done by any other medium, not all these sciences and nonsciences. This is “helping to live”. Viewed in this way, it can sometimes seem like it doesn’t matter what are they brushed with – whether with social responsibility, earthly or divine love, the beauty of nature or with abstract joy of color. With a noodle or cookie. Most importantly, let the soot fly!
God has done very wisely, combining this process with pleasure. As he has done with reproduction of species by brushing some other culverts. The comparison is thought-provoking! Pleasure seems to have a profound meaning in world affairs. The sight for sore eyes that accompanies art is not just a sugar glaze that makes a bitter pill sweet, but it is something essential.
Beauty, it’s a symbol.
But this story of beauty is becoming mawkish. Let us not just forget that shit must be poured on the roses as well.
From the book “A Man with a Fool’s Hat”