December 2009
Since the artwork escaped from the protective embrace of religion, it has automatically become a question mark for the common man. This question mark, from the end of the 19th century to today, is often accompanied by anger whenever this common man fails to understand the artist and his work.
Thus, an inappropriate and misleading term prevailed, the so-called "interpretation" of the artwork. This word indirectly defines the artwork as a coded message, as an entity that at first glance seems disguised, which is not immediately perceived and accepted because the appropriate interpretive code is unknown. Therefore, translating the elements of the artwork into the language and concepts of the common vocabulary would make its content immediately and easily understandable.
This logic automatically turned most elements of an artwork into simplistic symbols, all intended to refer to something else existing and familiar through a code known to experts and connoisseurs, but equally easy for the common man to understand, provided someone shows him the key to decryption.
With this method, the "translators" of the works, namely teachers, art critics, curators, and others, managed to become the necessary intermediaries and to reassure the public by assuring them that a simple "interpretation" is enough for the work to become their own.
The next step was predictable, when "interpretation" began to precede creation, when the underlying "meaning," the concept, began to be a prerequisite for the work. The mediators, as well as the bored and spoiled public, demanded to know the translation in advance to accept and perceive the work.
This approach has two opposite consequences, both absolutely negative. On one hand, it contributes to making something that simply exists through its natural presence appear extremely complex, thus achieving the audience's admiration beforehand, and on the other hand, it negates the much more complex (and interesting) intricacy of a work's simple presence, removing from the public the opportunity for contemplation and gradual enjoyment.
In the artwork, everything is visible and, at the same time, mysterious. And so it should remain. The artwork does not wait to be "understood," because it simply hides nothing. Nor does it desire its demystification, because mystery is its primary ingredient.
Every interpretation, even if we accept its usefulness and accuracy, is firstly unlikely to be authentic and unique, and secondly, it is impossible to encompass the entire work, let alone its core. The result will be, as almost always happens, the recipient of the work limiting their interest to the "translated" element and losing the ability to be led to the substantial (and always abstract) content of the entire work.
Perhaps the term that should replace "interpretation" is "approach." And the word "understanding" could be replaced by "emotion" or "intensity." Nevertheless, the word "language," as a peculiar code, could continue to have a place in communication with art, not in its semiotic and symbolic dimension, but in that which we use for the significant and abstract expressions of our life. Like the language of love, friendship, faith, and all the emotions that require long practice in knowledge, sensitivity, and communication. Our emotion and admiration increase when its object knows how to preserve a part of its value and benefits from the passage of time to transform the quality of communication. That is why all great works have the power to maintain their mystery. We owe them this respect.
Plato Rivellis