When did judges become the ultimate arbiters of art?
Hardly a month goes by without a court being asked to settle a dispute over the nature of artistic meaning, expression or authenticity. These are the big-think questions that confound philosophers, art critics and artists themselves. But judges are regularly obliged to take on these questions—and their answers have huge consequences for what can and cannot be attempted by artists.
Among the most recent legal tussles is a claim for damages involving one of Sol LeWitt's Wall Drawings. The conceptual artist made more than a thousand of them before his death in 2007. Which isn't to say he drew or painted all of them. The genius of Mr. LeWitt's Wall Drawings was that they were generally executed by others. He drew up the plan or strategy for each work, with directions—written out on certificates signed by the artist—that were as specific in intent as they were abstract in result.
But the question then arises, what is the work of art? Is it the instructions written out on the signed certificate, or the image rendered according to the instructions? The owner of one LeWitt Wall Drawing is suing a gallery that lost the drawing's certificate. If it comes to determining damages, a judge may have to decide whether the certificate was itself the artwork.
And then there is the continuing litigation over whether Richard Prince's "appropriation" artworks have original meaning or are just copyright-infringing copies of other artists' works.
Or take the litigation over Cady Noland's 1990 work "Cowboys Milking." In February, art dealer Marc Jancou sued Sotheby's and Ms. Noland for $26 million (later adding $20 million more to the claim for damages). The auction house had agreed to sell "Cowboys Milking" for Mr. Jancou, but according to the dealer's court filing, Sotheby's pulled it from the auction at the last moment, at the artist's request. According to the art-industry newsletter Baer Faxt, Ms. Noland had "disavowed" the work.
Can an artist disown a piece long ago sold? And, if so, does the artist have to give a reason? Would it be reason enough if a work were slightly damaged, or if an artist simply no longer liked the work of her salad days? And what then? Does a work cease to be art if the artist renounces it?
This last question, in particular, is the sort of ontological question philosophers make a specialty of noodling. But increasingly these tricky theoreticals about the nature of art are being answered, not by the heirs of Aristotle but by the judiciary. We are in the age of courthouse aesthetics.
by Eric Felten, WSJ | Read more:
Illustration: Alex Nabaum
Hardly a month goes by without a court being asked to settle a dispute over the nature of artistic meaning, expression or authenticity. These are the big-think questions that confound philosophers, art critics and artists themselves. But judges are regularly obliged to take on these questions—and their answers have huge consequences for what can and cannot be attempted by artists.
Among the most recent legal tussles is a claim for damages involving one of Sol LeWitt's Wall Drawings. The conceptual artist made more than a thousand of them before his death in 2007. Which isn't to say he drew or painted all of them. The genius of Mr. LeWitt's Wall Drawings was that they were generally executed by others. He drew up the plan or strategy for each work, with directions—written out on certificates signed by the artist—that were as specific in intent as they were abstract in result. But the question then arises, what is the work of art? Is it the instructions written out on the signed certificate, or the image rendered according to the instructions? The owner of one LeWitt Wall Drawing is suing a gallery that lost the drawing's certificate. If it comes to determining damages, a judge may have to decide whether the certificate was itself the artwork.
And then there is the continuing litigation over whether Richard Prince's "appropriation" artworks have original meaning or are just copyright-infringing copies of other artists' works.
Or take the litigation over Cady Noland's 1990 work "Cowboys Milking." In February, art dealer Marc Jancou sued Sotheby's and Ms. Noland for $26 million (later adding $20 million more to the claim for damages). The auction house had agreed to sell "Cowboys Milking" for Mr. Jancou, but according to the dealer's court filing, Sotheby's pulled it from the auction at the last moment, at the artist's request. According to the art-industry newsletter Baer Faxt, Ms. Noland had "disavowed" the work.
Can an artist disown a piece long ago sold? And, if so, does the artist have to give a reason? Would it be reason enough if a work were slightly damaged, or if an artist simply no longer liked the work of her salad days? And what then? Does a work cease to be art if the artist renounces it?
This last question, in particular, is the sort of ontological question philosophers make a specialty of noodling. But increasingly these tricky theoreticals about the nature of art are being answered, not by the heirs of Aristotle but by the judiciary. We are in the age of courthouse aesthetics.
by Eric Felten, WSJ | Read more:
Illustration: Alex Nabaum
