Mitchell's argument in the two chapters we read reinforces the other readings and discussion we've been learning in class, that iconophobia still admits power in the image. Those who do not like icons are not denouncing them because they think icons are foolish or void of power, but rather because they think they have great power and are afraid of that invested power. Because of this fear, people have vandalized and offended images and icons throughout history as a way of erasing power. Mitchell points out on page 127 that there are "two beliefs that are in place when people offend images," that the image "is transparently and immediately linked to what it represents." The other belief is that "the image possesses a kind of vital, living character that makes it capable of feeling what is done to it." The image "is not merely a transparent medium for communicating a message but something like an animated, living thing, an object with feelings, intentions, desires, and agency." Therefore, whatever is done to the image is also done to what the image stands for, like sympathetic magic and types of attacks that Freedberg mentioned in his articles.
These beliefs of those carrying out iconoclasm give the image even more power by acting out against them. The gods seem to be in control through the image since people are moved so greatly by them, they would risk vandalizing artwork in museums and institutions. In his list of art works considered controversial, I found it interesting that the Damien Hirst piece "This Little Piggy Went to Market" did not stir as much attention as other works in the exhibit. I think that is a telling example of the political and cultural context that surrounds iconoclasm. One may never know how people may react to images, or how the images will cause people to react.
One interesting point that Mitchell discussed in Offending Images is the actual message of the second commandment which he interprets as forbidding the creation of any image of anything. The impossibility of adhering to such a commandment is clearly responsible for the diversity of its interpretations and executions. Perhaps the commandment then is not meant as an actual law to be followed, since images are inevitably created through the process of life and death, but is a warning or an acknowledgment of the power of images. On page 140 Mitchell writes, “A picture is less like a statement or speech act, then, than like a speaker capable of an infinite number of utterances.” The agency of an image lies in its ability to reflect and project the words of its makers, observers, and destroyers, who potentially speak in conflicting voices. Images are not only conceived of as dangerous because they challenge a particular god, belief, regime, or person but because they are fickle. Mitchell describes the image as a ventriloquists dummy but I would elaborate on the metaphor saying that it is like a dummy being controlled by multiple, often incompatible ventriloquists.
Also, did people see Gobekli Tepe on the cover of Archaeology... http://www.archaeology.org/0811/abstracts/turkey.html
The way Mitchell describes the ways in which objects are offensive seem to me to be very based in social standards. In the very beginning of chapter six he writes, "excrement, garbage, genitals, corpses, monsters and the like are often regarded as intrinsically disgusting or objectionable." I would argue that their disgusting nature is not necessarily "intrinsic." I think this is especially apparent in terms of genitals. There is a social pressure to cover genitals and to treat them as something "disgusting" or "bad," but this does not mean that they were always treated this way or even that they are treated that way in all societies today. The same is true when Mitchell speaks abut the Madonna painted with elephant dung. He does not explicitly acknowledge that it was because of the social norm that people were offended by the painting. The only reason that people would ever be offended by an image would be because they were conditioned by their families, friends or society to feel that way.
I was a little bit confused as to what the purpose of the totemism/fetishism/idolatry chart in Mitchell's article was. I wasn't sure if he was saying that a "picture" was a combination of all three of these concepts, or that it could be any one of the three, or that it was something else altogether. He mentions that the chart is an aid party to thinking about the historical relations between these concepts, and I wonder if that implies then that a "picture" is some modern outgrowth of the three concepts combined in different ways. This might wander into the dangerous territory again of talking about whether or not idolatry is "primitive" but that is not quite what I am getting at -- rather, I wonder if we do need to consider a "picture" now as something modern and separate from whatever a "picture" or "idol" or "fetish" was in the past, in light of all of the ways that images work into our lives through the media or advertisements or art exhibits in a manner that they could not have in the past or in a different type of culture.
However it may be dressed up, an image is frozen in time, which is why we as archaeologists are so enamored by them. The fishmen at Lepinski Vir are a graphic representation of the phenomenon of frozen images. As so many people pointed out, they seem trapped in a moment of transition, suspended in a limbo between the realms of human and nonhuman from which they cannot escape. Although it is depicted quite explicitly in the Lepinski Vir figures, ALL images are, in a way, suspended in limbo between the prototype in the artist’s mind and the viewer’s interpretation of the image. Whatever the image may ‘want’ it cannot escape. In this sense, images are captives.
On page 140 Mitchell states that images “are always saying (or showing) something more than any verbal message can capture… a picture is less like a statement or a speech act, then, than like a speaker capable of an infinite number of utterances.” It seems that the reason images are capable of saying so much could be, perhaps, because of their LACK of agency, due to their state of captivity, rather than whatever agency they possess. Similar to Mitchell’s argument that the desire of an image is rendered through what it lacks, an image’s many voices are rendered through its inability to speak. We are prepared to hear images speak as they interact with us, but, as they stare silently out at us from their state of limbo, we are forced to bridge our own cognitive gap between what we hear and what we expect to hear by attributing voices to them. Although it is true that these voices are not “just arbitrary,” since the image does not exist in a vacuum, the fact that the images are not actually saying anything allows us to hear such a wide range of voices coming from them.
Really not sure what I think of this interpretation, actually, but I want to throw it out there anyway.
Mitchell's discussion of totemism, fetishism, and idolatry and his attempts to distinguish them were interesting to me because I've been thinking about the degree to which they should be separated; mostly I've lumped them together in my thought as different kinds of animated images, but based on the same principles. Except I hadn't actually thought about totemism much; Mitchell says that it is the most symbolic of the forms (p192), which distinguishes it from the more literal animism we've been accepting for the others. Is it, perhaps, just a different degree of animation? It seems like only the idol revolves around an actual equation, a “primary identification” with the the god. And Mitchell offers fetishism as the index, in contrast to these—something between a the totem as reference and the idol as identification. Also, I suppose an object could fill the role of more than one of these labels at once, or over time.
Well, as far as Mitchell's discussion of iconoclasm, I found that in several ways it affirmed messages we've gotten about image making from other sources (including his earlier chapters). I thought the parallels between divine and human forms of creation were made especially clear here as he discussed images as people (p 132: “Images are not just 'like' persons; the relation is much stronger than that.”) as well as people as images (created by gods, often from particular materials like dirt or clay, or in “the image of God”). And this suggests the warning for creators of images that such behavior is the providence of gods, rendering the act dangerously powerful—powerful as an affirmation of the creator's power, and also subsequently, of the power of what that creator can produce (as when a god's creations rebel). And the discussion of Ofili's Madonna as, to some people, an act of iconoclasm (violence to the image of the Virgin Mary) is a reminder that destruction of images can itself become manifest as an image.
Finally, Mitchell's elaboration of the saying that “a picture is worth a thousand words” made that saying a lot more interesting to me, as he identified the image as a speaker rather than a statement, and for that reason capable of the production of these “words” or perhaps the provocation of thoughts turned into words by the viewer. This highlighted the ambiguity of pictures as well as the animation we perceive in them.
In these two chapters of Mitchell’s book, I found his discussion of the Sensation exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum, and Chris Ofili’s The Holy Virgin Mary in particular, to be extremely intriguing, especially when thinking about it in the context of our class. Mitchell writes, “The offensiveness of Chris Ofili’s Madonna seems, to begin with, to have almost nothing to do with idolatry as an adulterous ‘god-substitute’ but everything to do with its use of materials, the notorious elephant dung” (135). With this example, we can see also that the image is not always what causes conflicts or discomfort, but rather the materials in which they are made. Here, the elephant dung overshadowed the image of the virgin, which is a traditional image of idolatry, and the association of the dung with the image that upset viewers. I thought it was also interesting that the artist claimed that the dung is an important cultural symbol to him, which explains his use of it in the work. I thought the connection between value and cultural significance was interesting here, as well as the power of images or materials, to be offensive to some people and valuable to others. Today, with the proliferation of images and globalization making access to them so available, I wonder if it impossible to create an image that can be universal or without interpretation to some as being offensive.
If we consider Mitchell’s example of Ofili’s Madonna and his discussion of the idol/fetish/totem, he prompts us to look at this image not only as an idol, which images of the Madonna may often be, but also as a fetish because, as he points out, it is not the idea of the image that offends but the material (dung) with which it is made. Further, Mitchell looks at the idea of the image of the Madonna as separate and distinct from the materiality of the dung image, thus making this picture not only “a matter of being offended by an image…[but] an act of iconoclasm, or violence to an image” (136) – in other words, the concept of the image of the Madonna has taken on a life of its own so that it is capable of being offended by the materials of this picture. What Mitchell does not indicate, however, is if this is a special case or if all images are capable of being separated from their materials such that the idea of the image can interact with its materials. Further, Mitchell explains that the painting over of the dung Madonna was “not so much an act of vandalism as a defense of the sacred image of the Madonna against its sacrilegious defacement by this painting” (136). Does he mean to say that the image thus remains but no longer appears as dung or that the idea of the image is protected? Additionally, could this idea apply to the painting over of any image or is this a special situation?
I can’t seem to intellectually depart from Ellen’s notion of the “duality of power”—that constant struggle between idol and its surrounding idolaters to manipulate and wield one another. While reading both Mitchell’s and Freedberg’s pieces, I couldn’t help but recall this phenomenon and filter, mostly Mitchell’s words, through the idea of such an animate and frustrating conflict. Two key statements, as well as analogies, personally stood out for me as I was going through Mitchell’s “Offending Images” chapter. First, when he claims that “the intractability of offensive images stems from their tendency to take up residence on the frontlines of social and political conflicts” (Mitchell 128), and continues to list a plentiful sample of examples of such a socio-politically charged relationship between image and socio-political movement, I couldn’t help but read into this relationship as more support for Ellen’s dual struggle.
The fact that images “make their appearance in these conflicts not only as causes and provocations but as combatants, victims, and provocateurs” (Mitchell 128) says a lot. Michelangelo’s David is more than just a statue with a penis. Once the power of that naked statue goes beyond—denies—our social control of the world, usually manifested within the material—for example, Christian social mores demonizing visible genitalia in whatever social context—the duality of power has shifted more towards the image and its rejection of society; until someone comes along, covers up David’s member, and shifts the balance once more to the image-observers. Not only is David a victim of the iconoclastic move to deny him uncensored display of his message (his naked body), but he provokes this move from the outset by the blatant exhibition of a part of the body traditionally shunned from public view by many societies.
The second statement that immediately struck me was his analogy of “an image as text” compared to a ventriloquist’s dummy. Through the movements of the ventriloquist’s hand and the misdirection of his voice the dummy is able to speak. The same is true for a picture speaking “an infinite number of utterances.” (Mitchell 140) Why are those utterances infinite? Because of the infinite number of potential observers, looking at and reacting to the image. We may think the image is, in a sense, talking to us, but the meat of the conversation, how an individual individually reacts to the image, comes from the observer first. Of course, this interpretation is too simple for one side. Not only does the ventriloquist manipulate the dummy, but the dummy takes on a life of its own and reciprocally manipulates the ventriloquist (sort of reminds me of a recently produced horror move where the ghost of a brutally murdered ventriloquist inhabits all of her dummies and wrecks havoc on the world by killing off naughty teenagers doing naughty things near her haunted house). So, referring back to our babbling image, not only does our presence invoke a “conversation,” but the image itself can take on an uncanny life of its own, provoking conversation. My ultimate question is, when a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it make a sound? Or, to fit this query more to the topic at hand, if an image is an idol (an animate object with the same, if not more divine, abilities as a living human to manipulate the physical world around it), and no one is around, can and does it make a sound?
Finally, I know this isn’t a part of our blog discussion for this week, but I just wanted to state that I absolutely loved Dario Gamboni’s notion of iconoclasm, within his chapter on “Preservation and Destruction, Oblivion and Memory,” as an act of either reanimating the image or protecting it from the oblivion of stagnancy. An innovative concept I think should be explored within archaeological contexts with seemingly iconoclastic evidence.
Mitchell asks us to reconsider exactly who is offended in image-making. In the case if Ofili's Madonna, Mitchell offers, "it is not the image that offends us in this work of art. On the contrary, it is the image (of the Madonna) that is being offended by it." (135) This becomes more clear in Mitchell's consideration of language and images. Words signify more directly than images- the image is subject to the voice that we, the spectators, project on it. An image can more readily abduct from multiple sources and index so much more than language ever could. To Gell, this is the key. An object's capacity for indexicality determines its status as art- as idol. We are even ready to grant the idol subjectivity. This is both fascinating and scary for us to think about. I liked Mitchell's very simplistic explanation of idols, fetishes, and totems as being 'special things.' In this way, the word special lends itself very nicely to the inherent contextual nature of idols, fetishes, and totems. An object is only special to a very specific context- to a culture or subculture of peoples. To others, it is ordinary. Perhaps this is what the idol craves when it is faced with violence... some sort of permanent identity? The idol is tossed back in forth in hearts and minds as legitimate or illegitimate- genuine or false, spectacular or ordinary. And this results in violence. Perhaps the idol might be ready to ask for a sort of solid definition? Or maybe it is a deviant little nuisance who giggles as we reinforce its power by smashing it?
Mitchell illustrates a few examples of offensive images in Chapter 6. I’d like to especially mention about the images of two men: ‘Man in Polyester Suit’ and ‘David’ (p129). Even though they are both found offensive because of their display of the penis, the latter does not seem to be seen as offensive as the former. ‘Man in Polyester suit’ is regarded as obscene and pornographic and even an offensive reinforcement of a racist stereotype about black men, whereas ‘David’ has been ‘sometimes’ covered with a leaf without being denounced for reinforcing a stereotype. Is it primarily because of the racial difference between those two images? In my thought, their offensiveness is not the same because they are in different category: one in fetish and the other in idol. Mitchell cites that fetishism is linked with the Real and idolatry suggests an identification with imagery and the Imaginary (p192). ‘Man in Polyester suit’ is the Real man whom we can easily find in our everyday life, however, ‘David’ is not. The former wants the viewers to be obsessed with itself for realistic scene, but the latter wants them to worship itself for its imaginary beauty. Therefore, I think that ‘Man in Polyester suit’ is regarded as more obscene whereas ‘David’ is not, but I have to think about this issue for more.
The conclusion drawn by both Mitchell and Freedberg that iconoclasm points to the power of images just as much as worshipping them does (and, so, is in itself a form of idolatry) is very much at odds with social conceptions of how people are 'supposed' to behave towards images in our society. Freedberg offers a number of intriguing instances in which people are acted upon by images in ways that leads society to consider them mentally unstable: "in so many ... cases ... he [the iconoclast] is institutionalized shortly thereafter" (Freedberg 408). Why is it socially acceptable to talk about one's computer as a living being, but not to destroy the image of the Virgin in Michelangelo's Pieta (Freedberg 420), when a computer is clearly inanimate and not to be treated as a sentient being, but the Virgin is being portrayed in a manner too vulgar for someone so respected? In this case, as with Mary Richardson's slashing Velaquez's Rokeby Venus (Freedberg 409) the destruction of the image is the fight to maintain our double consciousness of the image as an image and not be overly influenced by it. Mary Richardson said that she "didn't like the way men visitors gaped at it all day long" (Freedberg 410); why is it normal to gape at the painting, but not to destroy it so that people won't gape at it? Iconoclasm does give a certain power to the images, but it also seeks to return us to the knowledge that the image is only an image.
I believe a common theme of the two Mitchell essays is that idols, images, totems, fetishes, and iconoclasm are socially driven. In terms of iconoclasm, we develop a rationale that is socially construed (or in Foucault terms, driven by power relations, where we may feel threatened by the image), and we make the individual decision to iconoclash. This rationale and socially construed thoughts drive what the image means to us. In terms of the Madonna, to some, the use of dung goes against their way of thinking and the image is revolting. To others, dung provides a beautiful, symbolically crafted medium, but perhaps, on the other hand, the Madonna's head was too large. The image has different meaning for all, echoing Csickszenmihalyi's "Meaning of Things" where we all have multiple perspectives. More recent work has been done by Preucel.
I find it ironic that "offending images" actually creates an idol in itself. In fact, it gives the object more power, creating more press and fame in the process. It's almost a morbid fascination that humans have (slowing traffic to observe an accident). Museums and exhibits create this very aura, such as Holocaust Museums, the display of hanged individuals at the New York Historical Society, Duchamps and the Dada movement, and of course, the Sensation exhibit. The offensive is attractive: on one side of the coin, there are those who find it offensive and wish to cover it up (creating a hidden image that has power itself, not unlike Egyptian worship), and then there are those who stare due to repressed social situations. We thus give objects their power through repression and society; and in turn, the object acts on us in accordance with the agency we give it.
I thought it was interesting that Mitchell, for all his objectivity in writing about iconoclasm, was operating on the same level as Guiliani in being offended by the lynching photos being displayed. It seems like a function of more accurate ways to record and document the objects and images that shocked the past, it becomes more and more difficult to become shocked by the image (or perhaps just the description of an image relayed by others).
I thought one of the most interesting aspects of Mitchell's article was note 22, where he mentioned that Maimonides interprets figurative language as also prescribed by the injunction of images. It reminded me of Lewis-Williams idea of creating a collective repertoire of shamanistic images through language and verbal culture (although I suspect Maimonides might have been speaking of writing).
In Freedberg, I loved the comparison of the photos of damaged artwork to the propagandistic display of a corpse. Is it not a demonstration of an idols status as a living thing that damage to it causes a similar sympathetic response?
I was most intrigued by Mitchell's discussion of words versus images as exemplified through Ofili's Madonna. I must admit that when I first heard about the portrait I imagined feces grasped in a hand and smeared across the canvas. A similarly image surfaced when I read the title "Piss Christ". However, the images didn't strike me as offensive; I didn't feel, as he states, insulted because something I loved was insulted. Still, these violent images of creation came to my mind as easily as it would have to those who were actually offended. This begs the question of if the word "offensive" should be used. Though one may not feel indignation over Ofili's piece, it is still almost natural to visualize it's creation as some sort of attack against the piece itself. There seems to be a word cue ("dung" or "piss" in this case) that seems to cause a similar mental image. This seems to point to some social consideration of what is offensive: people in the U.S. are conditioned to look at excrement in only a negative connotation. So while you may not care what how the Virgin is depicted, hearing the medium used evokes connections to certain aspects that are overwhelmingly negative.
The lack of concern over the entire image of the Virgin was also a point of interest. The image of the Virgin was surrounded by photos of pornography and female genitalia, a sexualization that could easily be an offense to the sacredness of the Virgin, yet is not even considered. Mitchell himself says that both genitals and excrement are easily seen as objectable in their own right. Does this speak to an order in which we react to an image? Both Mitchell and Freedburg discuss the power of an image arising from the fact that it is more than mere symbolism or representation. Is an attack on the Virgin's sacredness (by being rendered using dung) more important than an attack (with the use of pornographic images)on that idea (her purity through virginity) which makes her sacred? The focus of the outrage indicates some sort of ranking of either offensive or what is being offended.
I really like Mitchell’s statement that totemism, fetishism, and idolatry are “different relations to things, three forms of ‘object relations,’ if you will, that we can form with an infinite variety of concrete entities (including words and concepts) in our experience.” I think this idea of the terms people use to describe important objects within their culture are almost entirely describing our relationship to the item rather than some innate nature of the object. This is especially pertinent for objects of the so called religious sphere where power is given to objects. This power is a product of our relationship to the object and that power in turn affects our relationship to the object. As these termed objects are products of our relationship with the object they evolve with our relationship to the object. Furthermore, this class in itself is a “sounding out” of idols and such similar objects as a whole as we constantly ask, like Mitchell, what the object/image says or does. Yet we go further looking at where it came from, where it is going, where does the object’s meaning come from and more. Looking at all these different objects that pertain to our inquiry we see so many relevant factors that speak to the “multistability” or complexity of these objects that can only come from their origin in relations rather than innate nature. I also think his use of Bacon’s different types of idols is really interesting and important. It is important to remember all the different types of idols or idol-like objects because they clarify the relationality of these images by revealing more occurrences that point to that relationality. I also really like Mitchell’s concept of idols of the mind and I think that that idea is similar to what I have personally arrived at reading such authors as Lewis Williams and Gell. Mitchell’s statements reacting to Bacon’s argument using science to basically kill idols are very important and I would like to go further to say that understanding the relationality and origins of idols does not render them lifeless. Those relations and origins we discover as playing a major role in our understanding of an idol are actually what gives the idol power and keeps it lifeless, even if it loses its cult magical agency.
The way that John of Damascus defends the religious use of images runs parallel to Sev’s discussion of our view of the world (and subsequently ourselves) as dead-matter. John of D. sees images strictly as signifiers of the divine that are necessary to faith, and denies their value beyond the symbolic. While he does not leave room for the fusion of signifier and signified (which Freedberg sees as vital to the efficacy of idols through history, 402) he sees spirituality as impossible without the inclusion of such materiality, using Christ’s coming as “fleshy” man as the ultimate proof of such a claim.
This defense of Byzantine iconography is vital to the discussions of iconography we see from Gell and Mitchell. Moments, as Freedberg describes it, “when cherishing turns to fear” (427) where emotions run high and people decide idols must be destroyed, exist from antiquity to the modern day. The iconoclast move to separate boy and soul might be seen as an attempt to make the world “conquerable”. Freedberg makes the point that even when we do this, we are still faced with that which is beyond materiality and forced to reconstitute it in material forms, which only leads to new forms of idolatry.
To extend this idea to Sev’s discussion of dead-matter: It seems we are unable to confront the fact that we are not corpses and that our materiality is irreversibly entangled with something supernatural. This is the ultimate validation of idols and iconography. Instead we respond with a hostility and fear of the image. The fear of the idol is the fear of an extension of us, and the anger stems from our inability to reconcile the coexistence of body and soul.
I found Mitchell’s discussion of iconophobia helpful. I certainly understand how iconoclasm only has meaning because of the meaning imbued in the icon originally. Though this is a hard concept to explain. I much prefer Mitchell’s phrase that a destroyed or offended icon "is transparently and immediately linked to what it represents”. The action of iconoclasm creates a link. Through destruction or repulsion, agents create something more. Iconophobia and Iconoclasm add significantly more strength to the image and the represented god/spirit/etc. They make the idol legitimate, as outsiders who fear or hate what is represented also view the idol with heightened meaning. The image of a link between these helps explain them in an easier, concrete way.
I agree with Jeff in that an image's capability to "utter" so many different words or ideas lies in its lack of agency. Archaeology is as difficult as it is for that reason. We all interpret an image differently. There is no definite interpretation of art or image that is tangible or that remains in the image itself. Anything definite remains with the artist, the creator of an image; and as archaeologists, we cannot speak to the creators of the objects we examine.
Freedberg references early Christian, Hebrew and Biblical texts and how they support or deny the use of images in the church. From here, he discusses the use of images as way to enthrall the illiterate and bring them to/ keep them in the church. He also points out the importance of images to the illiterate in various points in history, positing the comparison of an image to the unlettered with a book to the learned. With all of these comparisons between texts and images, it makes me wonder whether text and writing can act as an image like paintings or icons do. (maybe it is due to the fact that words are arbitrary signifiers whereas images can more directly index an object...) If so, what would be an act of iconoclasm towards a text? and how would it differ from that of an image?
I also liked Freedberg's discussion of different intentions behind iconoclasm. In particular, I find his mention of violence towards abstract art (p 418)interesting because it seems to reference the desire to destroy something beyond the art or image itself, such as the hyper-commercialization of art. Abstracted and aniconic images are unique because they offer multiple interpretations- what is being destroyed exactly when iconoclasm is turned towards abstract art?
Offensive images are only offending to certain people in certain cultures. The definition of offending is entirely determined by who encounters the image. Mitchell frames offending images within our culture, through his own interpretation. I wonder if that is the best or only way of interpreting them?
I was especially struck by Freedberg's observation that "The lover's of art are the destroyers of art" (388). This sentence is at the beginning of a paragraph about the way the Nazis treated art, and it made me remember the personal history of Hitler: before his rise to power as the leader of Nazi Germany, he was a failed artist. He had ambitions to go to art school, but was rejected from the Vienna Academy of Arts twice while struggling to work as a painter in Vienna. Later the Nazis organized a show of "degenerate art" which basically derided most forms of modern art, especially the German Expressionists. The Nazis were proponents of the idea that, "that which cannot engender the perfect being is corrupt" (Freedberg 388) and censored many forms of art and music. I find Hitler's early interest in art and his later censoring of innovative new art forms as "degenerate" interesting in light of Freedberg's earlier quote: "The lovers of art are the destroyers of art." Hitler must have loved art in order to spend so much time and energy pursuing a career in it, however he must also have learned to fear and hate the power of art. This paradox seems to apply in many situations, but especially in the case of Hitler and the Nazis. They do not ban art all together, because they see the power that lies in visual representation to control and disseminate information quickly to large amounts of people, however they also felt threatened by this power. They needed to censor art in order to horde the power of images for themselves. Freedberg hits upon this contradictory relationship to art later when he says, "we see some of the deep paradoxes of iconoclasm. We love art and hate it; we cherish it and are afraid; we know of its powers." The way art is loved and hated at the same time is seen today in art museums, and Mitchell's chapter, "Offending Images," brought up the issues of the display of art and public reaction to it. While museums are meant to preserve art and spread a love of art among the public, sometimes they do just the opposite. Being on display is actually a very dangerous position for a work of art, as not only is it vulnerable to physical attack, but also verbal hatred. In art museums too the love-hate relationship is strong. The art is ostensibly put on display to be revered and preserved forever, but in many cases this is not true at all. Museum curators go through lots of trouble to figure out how best to display their collections to the public, and they are fully aware of the ramifications of the power of visual images to create public reactions for better or for worse. The way the power of images threatens is seen even in the Bible, in God's law: "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image…" God's commandment to the Jews not to make images, and his subsequent punishment of the people for creating images in the form of the Golden Calf is similar to modern copy write law: since God created everything in the first place, he didn't want man copying his works because then man would be able to abduct power from the new, man-made images, thus threatening God's power over men. Today people copy write their images in order to maintain control over their original creations and the power wrapped up in these images. The way people are so obsessed over the control of images proves that they, at the very least subconsciously, realize the power of images and fear the ways this power can manifest itself in the world.
23 comments:
This from Fran:
Mitchell's argument in the two chapters we read reinforces the other readings and discussion we've been learning in class, that iconophobia still admits power in the image. Those who do not like icons are not denouncing them because they think icons are foolish or void of power, but rather because they think they have great power and are afraid of that invested power. Because of this fear, people have vandalized and offended images and icons throughout history as a way of erasing power. Mitchell points out on page 127 that there are "two beliefs that are in place when people offend images," that the image "is transparently and immediately linked to what it represents." The other belief is that "the image possesses a kind of vital, living character that makes it capable of feeling what is done to it." The image "is not merely a transparent medium for communicating a message but something like an animated, living thing, an object with feelings, intentions, desires, and agency." Therefore, whatever is done to the image is also done to what the image stands for, like sympathetic magic and types of attacks that Freedberg mentioned in his articles.
These beliefs of those carrying out iconoclasm give the image even more power by acting out against them. The gods seem to be in control through the image since people are moved so greatly by them, they would risk vandalizing artwork in museums and institutions. In his list of art works considered controversial, I found it interesting that the Damien Hirst piece "This Little Piggy Went to Market" did not stir as much attention as other works in the exhibit. I think that is a telling example of the political and cultural context that surrounds iconoclasm. One may never know how people may react to images, or how the images will cause people to react.
One interesting point that Mitchell discussed in Offending Images is the actual message of the second commandment which he interprets as forbidding the creation of any image of anything. The impossibility of adhering to such a commandment is clearly responsible for the diversity of its interpretations and executions. Perhaps the commandment then is not meant as an actual law to be followed, since images are inevitably created through the process of life and death, but is a warning or an acknowledgment of the power of images. On page 140 Mitchell writes, “A picture is less like a statement or speech act, then, than like a speaker capable of an infinite number of utterances.” The agency of an image lies in its ability to reflect and project the words of its makers, observers, and destroyers, who potentially speak in conflicting voices. Images are not only conceived of as dangerous because they challenge a particular god, belief, regime, or person but because they are fickle. Mitchell describes the image as a ventriloquists dummy but I would elaborate on the metaphor saying that it is like a dummy being controlled by multiple, often incompatible ventriloquists.
Also, did people see Gobekli Tepe on the cover of Archaeology... http://www.archaeology.org/0811/abstracts/turkey.html
The way Mitchell describes the ways in which objects are offensive seem to me to be very based in social standards. In the very beginning of chapter six he writes, "excrement, garbage, genitals, corpses, monsters and the like are often regarded as intrinsically disgusting or objectionable." I would argue that their disgusting nature is not necessarily "intrinsic." I think this is especially apparent in terms of genitals. There is a social pressure to cover genitals and to treat them as something "disgusting" or "bad," but this does not mean that they were always treated this way or even that they are treated that way in all societies today. The same is true when Mitchell speaks abut the Madonna painted with elephant dung. He does not explicitly acknowledge that it was because of the social norm that people were offended by the painting. The only reason that people would ever be offended by an image would be because they were conditioned by their families, friends or society to feel that way.
I was a little bit confused as to what the purpose of the totemism/fetishism/idolatry chart in Mitchell's article was. I wasn't sure if he was saying that a "picture" was a combination of all three of these concepts, or that it could be any one of the three, or that it was something else altogether. He mentions that the chart is an aid party to thinking about the historical relations between these concepts, and I wonder if that implies then that a "picture" is some modern outgrowth of the three concepts combined in different ways. This might wander into the dangerous territory again of talking about whether or not idolatry is "primitive" but that is not quite what I am getting at -- rather, I wonder if we do need to consider a "picture" now as something modern and separate from whatever a "picture" or "idol" or "fetish" was in the past, in light of all of the ways that images work into our lives through the media or advertisements or art exhibits in a manner that they could not have in the past or in a different type of culture.
However it may be dressed up, an image is frozen in time, which is why we as archaeologists are so enamored by them. The fishmen at Lepinski Vir are a graphic representation of the phenomenon of frozen images. As so many people pointed out, they seem trapped in a moment of transition, suspended in a limbo between the realms of human and nonhuman from which they cannot escape. Although it is depicted quite explicitly in the Lepinski Vir figures, ALL images are, in a way, suspended in limbo between the prototype in the artist’s mind and the viewer’s interpretation of the image. Whatever the image may ‘want’ it cannot escape. In this sense, images are captives.
On page 140 Mitchell states that images “are always saying (or showing) something more than any verbal message can capture… a picture is less like a statement or a speech act, then, than like a speaker capable of an infinite number of utterances.” It seems that the reason images are capable of saying so much could be, perhaps, because of their LACK of agency, due to their state of captivity, rather than whatever agency they possess. Similar to Mitchell’s argument that the desire of an image is rendered through what it lacks, an image’s many voices are rendered through its inability to speak. We are prepared to hear images speak as they interact with us, but, as they stare silently out at us from their state of limbo, we are forced to bridge our own cognitive gap between what we hear and what we expect to hear by attributing voices to them. Although it is true that these voices are not “just arbitrary,” since the image does not exist in a vacuum, the fact that the images are not actually saying anything allows us to hear such a wide range of voices coming from them.
Really not sure what I think of this interpretation, actually, but I want to throw it out there anyway.
Mitchell's discussion of totemism, fetishism, and idolatry and his attempts to distinguish them were interesting to me because I've been thinking about the degree to which they should be separated; mostly I've lumped them together in my thought as different kinds of animated images, but based on the same principles. Except I hadn't actually thought about totemism much; Mitchell says that it is the most symbolic of the forms (p192), which distinguishes it from the more literal animism we've been accepting for the others. Is it, perhaps, just a different degree of animation? It seems like only the idol revolves around an actual equation, a “primary identification” with the the god. And Mitchell offers fetishism as the index, in contrast to these—something between a the totem as reference and the idol as identification. Also, I suppose an object could fill the role of more than one of these labels at once, or over time.
Well, as far as Mitchell's discussion of iconoclasm, I found that in several ways it affirmed messages we've gotten about image making from other sources (including his earlier chapters). I thought the parallels between divine and human forms of creation were made especially clear here as he discussed images as people (p 132: “Images are not just 'like' persons; the relation is much stronger than that.”) as well as people as images (created by gods, often from particular materials like dirt or clay, or in “the image of God”). And this suggests the warning for creators of images that such behavior is the providence of gods, rendering the act dangerously powerful—powerful as an affirmation of the creator's power, and also subsequently, of the power of what that creator can produce (as when a god's creations rebel). And the discussion of Ofili's Madonna as, to some people, an act of iconoclasm (violence to the image of the Virgin Mary) is a reminder that destruction of images can itself become manifest as an image.
Finally, Mitchell's elaboration of the saying that “a picture is worth a thousand words” made that saying a lot more interesting to me, as he identified the image as a speaker rather than a statement, and for that reason capable of the production of these “words” or perhaps the provocation of thoughts turned into words by the viewer. This highlighted the ambiguity of pictures as well as the animation we perceive in them.
Sarah E
In these two chapters of Mitchell’s book, I found his discussion of the Sensation exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum, and Chris Ofili’s The Holy Virgin Mary in particular, to be extremely intriguing, especially when thinking about it in the context of our class. Mitchell writes, “The offensiveness of Chris Ofili’s Madonna seems, to begin with, to have almost nothing to do with idolatry as an adulterous ‘god-substitute’ but everything to do with its use of materials, the notorious elephant dung” (135). With this example, we can see also that the image is not always what causes conflicts or discomfort, but rather the materials in which they are made. Here, the elephant dung overshadowed the image of the virgin, which is a traditional image of idolatry, and the association of the dung with the image that upset viewers. I thought it was also interesting that the artist claimed that the dung is an important cultural symbol to him, which explains his use of it in the work. I thought the connection between value and cultural significance was interesting here, as well as the power of images or materials, to be offensive to some people and valuable to others. Today, with the proliferation of images and globalization making access to them so available, I wonder if it impossible to create an image that can be universal or without interpretation to some as being offensive.
If we consider Mitchell’s example of Ofili’s Madonna and his discussion of the idol/fetish/totem, he prompts us to look at this image not only as an idol, which images of the Madonna may often be, but also as a fetish because, as he points out, it is not the idea of the image that offends but the material (dung) with which it is made. Further, Mitchell looks at the idea of the image of the Madonna as separate and distinct from the materiality of the dung image, thus making this picture not only “a matter of being offended by an image…[but] an act of iconoclasm, or violence to an image” (136) – in other words, the concept of the image of the Madonna has taken on a life of its own so that it is capable of being offended by the materials of this picture. What Mitchell does not indicate, however, is if this is a special case or if all images are capable of being separated from their materials such that the idea of the image can interact with its materials. Further, Mitchell explains that the painting over of the dung Madonna was “not so much an act of vandalism as a defense of the sacred image of the Madonna against its sacrilegious defacement by this painting” (136). Does he mean to say that the image thus remains but no longer appears as dung or that the idea of the image is protected? Additionally, could this idea apply to the painting over of any image or is this a special situation?
I can’t seem to intellectually depart from Ellen’s notion of the “duality of power”—that constant struggle between idol and its surrounding idolaters to manipulate and wield one another. While reading both Mitchell’s and Freedberg’s pieces, I couldn’t help but recall this phenomenon and filter, mostly Mitchell’s words, through the idea of such an animate and frustrating conflict. Two key statements, as well as analogies, personally stood out for me as I was going through Mitchell’s “Offending Images” chapter. First, when he claims that “the intractability of offensive images stems from their tendency to take up residence on the frontlines of social and political conflicts” (Mitchell 128), and continues to list a plentiful sample of examples of such a socio-politically charged relationship between image and socio-political movement, I couldn’t help but read into this relationship as more support for Ellen’s dual struggle.
The fact that images “make their appearance in these conflicts not only as causes and provocations but as combatants, victims, and provocateurs” (Mitchell 128) says a lot. Michelangelo’s David is more than just a statue with a penis. Once the power of that naked statue goes beyond—denies—our social control of the world, usually manifested within the material—for example, Christian social mores demonizing visible genitalia in whatever social context—the duality of power has shifted more towards the image and its rejection of society; until someone comes along, covers up David’s member, and shifts the balance once more to the image-observers. Not only is David a victim of the iconoclastic move to deny him uncensored display of his message (his naked body), but he provokes this move from the outset by the blatant exhibition of a part of the body traditionally shunned from public view by many societies.
The second statement that immediately struck me was his analogy of “an image as text” compared to a ventriloquist’s dummy. Through the movements of the ventriloquist’s hand and the misdirection of his voice the dummy is able to speak. The same is true for a picture speaking “an infinite number of utterances.” (Mitchell 140) Why are those utterances infinite? Because of the infinite number of potential observers, looking at and reacting to the image. We may think the image is, in a sense, talking to us, but the meat of the conversation, how an individual individually reacts to the image, comes from the observer first. Of course, this interpretation is too simple for one side. Not only does the ventriloquist manipulate the dummy, but the dummy takes on a life of its own and reciprocally manipulates the ventriloquist (sort of reminds me of a recently produced horror move where the ghost of a brutally murdered ventriloquist inhabits all of her dummies and wrecks havoc on the world by killing off naughty teenagers doing naughty things near her haunted house). So, referring back to our babbling image, not only does our presence invoke a “conversation,” but the image itself can take on an uncanny life of its own, provoking conversation. My ultimate question is, when a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it make a sound? Or, to fit this query more to the topic at hand, if an image is an idol (an animate object with the same, if not more divine, abilities as a living human to manipulate the physical world around it), and no one is around, can and does it make a sound?
Finally, I know this isn’t a part of our blog discussion for this week, but I just wanted to state that I absolutely loved Dario Gamboni’s notion of iconoclasm, within his chapter on “Preservation and Destruction, Oblivion and Memory,” as an act of either reanimating the image or protecting it from the oblivion of stagnancy. An innovative concept I think should be explored within archaeological contexts with seemingly iconoclastic evidence.
Mitchell asks us to reconsider exactly who is offended in image-making. In the case if Ofili's Madonna, Mitchell offers, "it is not the image that offends us in this work of art. On the contrary, it is the image (of the Madonna) that is being offended by it." (135) This becomes more clear in Mitchell's consideration of language and images. Words signify more directly than images- the image is subject to the voice that we, the spectators, project on it. An image can more readily abduct from multiple sources and index so much more than language ever could. To Gell, this is the key. An object's capacity for indexicality determines its status as art- as idol. We are even ready to grant the idol subjectivity. This is both fascinating and scary for us to think about.
I liked Mitchell's very simplistic explanation of idols, fetishes, and totems as being 'special things.' In this way, the word special lends itself very nicely to the inherent contextual nature of idols, fetishes, and totems. An object is only special to a very specific context- to a culture or subculture of peoples. To others, it is ordinary.
Perhaps this is what the idol craves when it is faced with violence... some sort of permanent identity? The idol is tossed back in forth in hearts and minds as legitimate or illegitimate- genuine or false, spectacular or ordinary. And this results in violence. Perhaps the idol might be ready to ask for a sort of solid definition? Or maybe it is a deviant little nuisance who giggles as we reinforce its power by smashing it?
Mitchell illustrates a few examples of offensive images in Chapter 6. I’d like to especially mention about the images of two men: ‘Man in Polyester Suit’ and ‘David’ (p129). Even though they are both found offensive because of their display of the penis, the latter does not seem to be seen as offensive as the former. ‘Man in Polyester suit’ is regarded as obscene and pornographic and even an offensive reinforcement of a racist stereotype about black men, whereas ‘David’ has been ‘sometimes’ covered with a leaf without being denounced for reinforcing a stereotype. Is it primarily because of the racial difference between those two images? In my thought, their offensiveness is not the same because they are in different category: one in fetish and the other in idol. Mitchell cites that fetishism is linked with the Real and idolatry suggests an identification with imagery and the Imaginary (p192). ‘Man in Polyester suit’ is the Real man whom we can easily find in our everyday life, however, ‘David’ is not. The former wants the viewers to be obsessed with itself for realistic scene, but the latter wants them to worship itself for its imaginary beauty. Therefore, I think that ‘Man in Polyester suit’ is regarded as more obscene whereas ‘David’ is not, but I have to think about this issue for more.
and I agree with Leigh- I loved Gamboni's chapter on oblivion and memory. I can't wait to get to it
The conclusion drawn by both Mitchell and Freedberg that iconoclasm points to the power of images just as much as worshipping them does (and, so, is in itself a form of idolatry) is very much at odds with social conceptions of how people are 'supposed' to behave towards images in our society. Freedberg offers a number of intriguing instances in which people are acted upon by images in ways that leads society to consider them mentally unstable: "in so many ... cases ... he [the iconoclast] is institutionalized shortly thereafter" (Freedberg 408). Why is it socially acceptable to talk about one's computer as a living being, but not to destroy the image of the Virgin in Michelangelo's Pieta (Freedberg 420), when a computer is clearly inanimate and not to be treated as a sentient being, but the Virgin is being portrayed in a manner too vulgar for someone so respected? In this case, as with Mary Richardson's slashing Velaquez's Rokeby Venus (Freedberg 409) the destruction of the image is the fight to maintain our double consciousness of the image as an image and not be overly influenced by it. Mary Richardson said that she "didn't like the way men visitors gaped at it all day long" (Freedberg 410); why is it normal to gape at the painting, but not to destroy it so that people won't gape at it? Iconoclasm does give a certain power to the images, but it also seeks to return us to the knowledge that the image is only an image.
I believe a common theme of the two Mitchell essays is that idols, images, totems, fetishes, and iconoclasm are socially driven. In terms of iconoclasm, we develop a rationale that is socially construed (or in Foucault terms, driven by power relations, where we may feel threatened by the image), and we make the individual decision to iconoclash. This rationale and socially construed thoughts drive what the image means to us. In terms of the Madonna, to some, the use of dung goes against their way of thinking and the image is revolting. To others, dung provides a beautiful, symbolically crafted medium, but perhaps, on the other hand, the Madonna's head was too large. The image has different meaning for all, echoing Csickszenmihalyi's "Meaning of Things" where we all have multiple perspectives. More recent work has been done by Preucel.
I find it ironic that "offending images" actually creates an idol in itself. In fact, it gives the object more power, creating more press and fame in the process. It's almost a morbid fascination that humans have (slowing traffic to observe an accident). Museums and exhibits create this very aura, such as Holocaust Museums, the display of hanged individuals at the New York Historical Society, Duchamps and the Dada movement, and of course, the Sensation exhibit. The offensive is attractive: on one side of the coin, there are those who find it offensive and wish to cover it up (creating a hidden image that has power itself, not unlike Egyptian worship), and then there are those who stare due to repressed social situations. We thus give objects their power through repression and society; and in turn, the object acts on us in accordance with the agency we give it.
I thought it was interesting that Mitchell, for all his objectivity in writing about iconoclasm, was operating on the same level as Guiliani in being offended by the lynching photos being displayed. It seems like a function of more accurate ways to record and document the objects and images that shocked the past, it becomes more and more difficult to become shocked by the image (or perhaps just the description of an image relayed by others).
I thought one of the most interesting aspects of Mitchell's article was note 22, where he mentioned that Maimonides interprets figurative language as also prescribed by the injunction of images. It reminded me of Lewis-Williams idea of creating a collective repertoire of shamanistic images through language and verbal culture (although I suspect Maimonides might have been speaking of writing).
In Freedberg, I loved the comparison of the photos of damaged artwork to the propagandistic display of a corpse. Is it not a demonstration of an idols status as a living thing that damage to it causes a similar sympathetic response?
I was most intrigued by Mitchell's discussion of words versus images as exemplified through Ofili's Madonna. I must admit that when I first heard about the portrait I imagined feces grasped in a hand and smeared across the canvas. A similarly image surfaced when I read the title "Piss Christ". However, the images didn't strike me as offensive; I didn't feel, as he states, insulted because something I loved was insulted. Still, these violent images of creation came to my mind as easily as it would have to those who were actually offended. This begs the question of if the word "offensive" should be used. Though one may not feel indignation over Ofili's piece, it is still almost natural to visualize it's creation as some sort of attack against the piece itself. There seems to be a word cue ("dung" or "piss" in this case) that seems to cause a similar mental image. This seems to point to some social consideration of what is offensive: people in the U.S. are conditioned to look at excrement in only a negative connotation. So while you may not care what how the Virgin is depicted, hearing the medium used evokes connections to certain aspects that are overwhelmingly negative.
The lack of concern over the entire image of the Virgin was also a point of interest. The image of the Virgin was surrounded by photos of pornography and female genitalia, a sexualization that could easily be an offense to the sacredness of the Virgin, yet is not even considered. Mitchell himself says that both genitals and excrement are easily seen as objectable in their own right. Does this speak to an order in which we react to an image? Both Mitchell and Freedburg discuss the power of an image arising from the fact that it is more than mere symbolism or representation. Is an attack on the Virgin's sacredness (by being rendered using dung) more important than an attack (with the use of pornographic images)on that idea (her purity through virginity) which makes her sacred? The focus of the outrage indicates some sort of ranking of either offensive or what is being offended.
I really like Mitchell’s statement that totemism, fetishism, and idolatry are “different relations to things, three forms of ‘object relations,’ if you will, that we can form with an infinite variety of concrete entities (including words and concepts) in our experience.” I think this idea of the terms people use to describe important objects within their culture are almost entirely describing our relationship to the item rather than some innate nature of the object. This is especially pertinent for objects of the so called religious sphere where power is given to objects. This power is a product of our relationship to the object and that power in turn affects our relationship to the object. As these termed objects are products of our relationship with the object they evolve with our relationship to the object. Furthermore, this class in itself is a “sounding out” of idols and such similar objects as a whole as we constantly ask, like Mitchell, what the object/image says or does. Yet we go further looking at where it came from, where it is going, where does the object’s meaning come from and more. Looking at all these different objects that pertain to our inquiry we see so many relevant factors that speak to the “multistability” or complexity of these objects that can only come from their origin in relations rather than innate nature. I also think his use of Bacon’s different types of idols is really interesting and important. It is important to remember all the different types of idols or idol-like objects because they clarify the relationality of these images by revealing more occurrences that point to that relationality. I also really like Mitchell’s concept of idols of the mind and I think that that idea is similar to what I have personally arrived at reading such authors as Lewis Williams and Gell. Mitchell’s statements reacting to Bacon’s argument using science to basically kill idols are very important and I would like to go further to say that understanding the relationality and origins of idols does not render them lifeless. Those relations and origins we discover as playing a major role in our understanding of an idol are actually what gives the idol power and keeps it lifeless, even if it loses its cult magical agency.
The way that John of Damascus defends the religious use of images runs parallel to Sev’s discussion of our view of the world (and subsequently ourselves) as dead-matter. John of D. sees images strictly as signifiers of the divine that are necessary to faith, and denies their value beyond the symbolic. While he does not leave room for the fusion of signifier and signified (which Freedberg sees as vital to the efficacy of idols through history, 402) he sees spirituality as impossible without the inclusion of such materiality, using Christ’s coming as “fleshy” man as the ultimate proof of such a claim.
This defense of Byzantine iconography is vital to the discussions of iconography we see from Gell and Mitchell. Moments, as Freedberg describes it, “when cherishing turns to fear” (427) where emotions run high and people decide idols must be destroyed, exist from antiquity to the modern day. The iconoclast move to separate boy and soul might be seen as an attempt to make the world “conquerable”. Freedberg makes the point that even when we do this, we are still faced with that which is beyond materiality and forced to reconstitute it in material forms, which only leads to new forms of idolatry.
To extend this idea to Sev’s discussion of dead-matter:
It seems we are unable to confront the fact that we are not corpses and that our materiality is irreversibly entangled with something supernatural. This is the ultimate validation of idols and iconography. Instead we respond with a hostility and fear of the image. The fear of the idol is the fear of an extension of us, and the anger stems from our inability to reconcile the coexistence of body and soul.
I found Mitchell’s discussion of iconophobia helpful. I certainly understand how iconoclasm only has meaning because of the meaning imbued in the icon originally. Though this is a hard concept to explain. I much prefer Mitchell’s phrase that a destroyed or offended icon "is transparently and immediately linked to what it represents”. The action of iconoclasm creates a link. Through destruction or repulsion, agents create something more. Iconophobia and Iconoclasm add significantly more strength to the image and the represented god/spirit/etc. They make the idol legitimate, as outsiders who fear or hate what is represented also view the idol with heightened meaning. The image of a link between these helps explain them in an easier, concrete way.
I agree with Jeff in that an image's capability to "utter" so many different words or ideas lies in its lack of agency. Archaeology is as difficult as it is for that reason. We all interpret an image differently. There is no definite interpretation of art or image that is tangible or that remains in the image itself. Anything definite remains with the artist, the creator of an image; and as archaeologists, we cannot speak to the creators of the objects we examine.
Freedberg references early Christian, Hebrew and Biblical texts and how they support or deny the use of images in the church. From here, he discusses the use of images as way to enthrall the illiterate and bring them to/ keep them in the church. He also points out the importance of images to the illiterate in various points in history, positing the comparison of an image to the unlettered with a book to the learned. With all of these comparisons between texts and images, it makes me wonder whether text and writing can act as an image like paintings or icons do. (maybe it is due to the fact that words are arbitrary signifiers whereas images can more directly index an object...) If so, what would be an act of iconoclasm towards a text? and how would it differ from that of an image?
I also liked Freedberg's discussion of different intentions behind iconoclasm. In particular, I find his mention of violence towards abstract art (p 418)interesting because it seems to reference the desire to destroy something beyond the art or image itself, such as the hyper-commercialization of art. Abstracted and aniconic images are unique because they offer multiple interpretations- what is being destroyed exactly when iconoclasm is turned towards abstract art?
Offensive images are only offending to certain people in certain cultures. The definition of offending is entirely determined by who encounters the image. Mitchell frames offending images within our culture, through his own interpretation. I wonder if that is the best or only way of interpreting them?
This from Hannah:
I was especially struck by Freedberg's observation that "The lover's of art are the destroyers of art" (388). This sentence is at the beginning of a paragraph about the way the Nazis treated art, and it made me remember the personal history of Hitler: before his rise to power as the leader of Nazi Germany, he was a failed artist. He had ambitions to go to art school, but was rejected from the Vienna Academy of Arts twice while struggling to work as a painter in Vienna. Later the Nazis organized a show of "degenerate art" which basically derided most forms of modern art, especially the German Expressionists. The Nazis were proponents of the idea that, "that which cannot engender the perfect being is corrupt" (Freedberg 388) and censored many forms of art and music. I find Hitler's early interest in art and his later censoring of innovative new art forms as "degenerate" interesting in light of Freedberg's earlier quote: "The lovers of art are the destroyers of art." Hitler must have loved art in order to spend so much time and energy pursuing a career in it, however he must also have learned to fear and hate the power of art. This paradox seems to apply in many situations, but especially in the case of Hitler and the Nazis. They do not ban art all together, because they see the power that lies in visual representation to control and disseminate information quickly to large amounts of people, however they also felt threatened by this power. They needed to censor art in order to horde the power of images for themselves. Freedberg hits upon this contradictory relationship to art later when he says, "we see some of the deep paradoxes of iconoclasm. We love art and hate it; we cherish it and are afraid; we know of its powers." The way art is loved and hated at the same time is seen today in art museums, and Mitchell's chapter, "Offending Images," brought up the issues of the display of art and public reaction to it. While museums are meant to preserve art and spread a love of art among the public, sometimes they do just the opposite. Being on display is actually a very dangerous position for a work of art, as not only is it vulnerable to physical attack, but also verbal hatred. In art museums too the love-hate relationship is strong. The art is ostensibly put on display to be revered and preserved forever, but in many cases this is not true at all. Museum curators go through lots of trouble to figure out how best to display their collections to the public, and they are fully aware of the ramifications of the power of visual images to create public reactions for better or for worse. The way the power of images threatens is seen even in the Bible, in God's law: "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image…" God's commandment to the Jews not to make images, and his subsequent punishment of the people for creating images in the form of the Golden Calf is similar to modern copy write law: since God created everything in the first place, he didn't want man copying his works because then man would be able to abduct power from the new, man-made images, thus threatening God's power over men. Today people copy write their images in order to maintain control over their original creations and the power wrapped up in these images. The way people are so obsessed over the control of images proves that they, at the very least subconsciously, realize the power of images and fear the ways this power can manifest itself in the world.
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