Good
news for wealthy, but overstressed, professionals with “Jobs to go to, bills to
pay [and] homes to manage.” Inner peace is within reach. Easily, so. No
religion to study or yoga mats to lug around like a Sherpa. According to Alain
de Botton in his article, “Art For Life’s Sake” (WSJ 11/2-3/13) the path
to serenity leads not to the mountain top, but through a museum.
Mr.
de Botton begins with several assumptions: that people need help with “some of
the troubles of inner life,” that visual art is “uniquely well-suited” to the
task and that he has anything of value to say on the subject. The
first assumption is validated by the existence of the self-help industry. The
second is obvious to anyone who can find a museum with a map.The
third merits examination, but only because the author is wallowing in cultural
approbation. In addition to writing for The Wall Street Journal, Alain de
Botton has written four bestsellers, co-founded a demi-philosophical dodge
called “The School of Life” in London and, most impressively, salon moi, is a member of two Royal Societies. Assuming, of
course, that they aren’t The Royal Mountebank Society and The Royal Institute
of Charlatans.
The first painting that Mr. De Botton addresses is The
Linen Closet by
the 17th century Dutch painter, Pieter de Hooch. It shows two
servants stocking
the eponymous cupboard. “But this picture moves us because the truth
of its message is so radiant. If only we, like de Hooch, knew how to recognize
the value of ordinary routine, many of our burdens would be lifted.” If only
he, like de Hooch, knew that this depiction of ordinary routine was preceded by
centuries of exclusively religious art, the value of observing domestic chores
would be self-evident. The only lifting of burdens, by the way, is being done
by the servants in the painting.
Ironically,
it’s their daily routine.
The next work of art is the black-and-white
photograph, North Atlantic Ocean, Cliffs of Moher by Hiroshi Sugimoto.
Mr. De Botton calls it “abstract” and then proceeds to talk about it in terms
of sea, sky and horizon. See here, Alain, it’s either abstract or figurative,
recognizable or not. Throwing around terms like that undercuts your authority
and undermines your “radiant message.” In this case, a Desiderata-like disquisition about going placidly amid the haste.
Finally, we
have Claude Monet’s Impressionist masterpiece, Bridge Over a Pond of Water
Lillies. De Botton defends its popularity against charges of vulgar
“prettiness.” The precious aesthetes who supposedly make these charges deem it
to be an unworthy distraction from “war, disease, political
error, immorality.” Our guru, on
the other hand, writes, “It is this kind
of despondency that art is well-suited to correct and that explains the well-founded
enthusiasm for prettiness.” All this talk about prettiness obscures the fact
that when this work was painted, it was considered so radical and disturbing
that it wasn’t worthy of being displayed with respectable art. Yet, today,
Monet is considered so mainstream that Alain De
Botton feels compelled to defend him. We could use a different Horatio,
however, at this particular bridge. Instead of praising society for finally
embracing Impressionism, de Botton’s “radiant message” is “Flowers in spring,
blue skies, children running on the beach . . . these are the visual symbols of
hope. Cheerfulness is an achievement and hope is something to
celebrate.” Writing like that is the hallmark of nothing except greeting cards.
As H.L. Mencken wrote about Pres. Warren G. Harding’s command of the English
language, “It drags itself out of a dark abysm of pish and crawls insanely up
to the topmost pinnacle of posh.”
I
seem to be alone, though, in not regarding Alain de Botton as a “renaissance
man” of our time – unless you mean Machiavelli or a Borgia pope. To me, he’s
more Rev. Ike than Sister Wendy and aspires to be Dr. Phil. Yet, his elevation
continues at the bottom of the page where his WSJ article
appears. The biographical note states not only that “Art As Therapy,” a
book-length version of the above insights (co-authored with John Armstrong) has
been published, but “From March to August 2014, Messrs. de Botton and Armstrong will
rehang and recaption the works in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam according to the
approach outlined in the book.” I’m trying to picture that, but all I see is a
museum lobby with three different admission desks: one says, “Feeling Lonely,”
another says, “Feeling Religious” and
the third says, “Feeling Cheap.” The curatorial discussions, though,
could be fascinating: “Where should we hang Rembrandt’s The Night Watch?
In the Jewelry Collection or the Trouble Sleeping Gallery?”
Far be it from me to insist that there is only one
path to enlighten-ment. Buddhism
counts eight of them. As for different types of therapy, I agree with the
American newspaper columnist and author of Fables In Slang, George Ade,
who wrote, “A good jolly is worth whatever you pay for it.” Yet,
humbugs abound. So, for the last word on Alain de Botton, I defer to Ade’s
contemporary, L. Frank Baum, who, in The Wizard of Oz, wrote, “Pay no
attention to the man behind the curtain.
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