Making the Upper Case for Flying Ms in Art

I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING AGAINST REALISM in art. Who doesn’t appreciate the marvelous detail in a Michelangelo or a Leonardo?

We can even go back to Egypt during the time of the Roman Empire and look at mummy portraits painted on caskets—those are pretty darn lifelike!

Recently a dear friend, a very talented artist, told me a story about an art professor who said using a capital letter “M” in art to indicate a flying bird was a “good start.”

Meaning, a baby step on the road to becoming a good artist. Flying Ms are only for beginners!

That got me wondering—is this true?

What would Bob Ross say?

He taught painting on television on PBS from 1983–94 and he certainly could paint a realistic-looking bird!

But he also checked in often with his TV audience at home: Are you having fun?

Ross firmly believed that art should be joyful—for both the artist and for those who look at the art.

So, what is good art?

Do you look at a painting and say: Wow, that almost looks like a photograph!

High praise indeed.

In fact, long after the invention of the camera, there emerged a group of artists in the 1970s who—rather than hang up their paint brushes and pick up a Nikon—worked even harder to make their paintings look photo-realistic.

Oddly enough, some of these artists veered into super-realism or hyper-realism, where the art begins to look “too” realistic. In other words, unnatural.

If you look at a photo-realistic painting you can’t help but be astounded by the skills exhibited by the artist.

It’s almost a scientific approach to art. The problem is: Science isn’t sexy.

Well—some would beg to differ, I’m sure. You sapiosexuals out there!

But photo-realistic art does seem to be somewhat cool. Neutral. Impersonal.

Where’s the joy? Where’s the passion?

Let’s take a step away from photo-realism and look at art by, say—Rembrandt. His art has passion in spades. Bold strokes, vivid color, lots of texture, dramatic lights and shadows.

His art is more visceral than intellectual—it stirs emotions deep within us.

Rembrandt’s portraits, in particular, are so intimate we feel as if we know the subject of each painting.

But we also feel as if we know the artist.

That’s what happens when you see the artist’s brush strokes. You know how the artist made the painting (by hand with brushes) and you know exactly what the artist is trying to show you because it’s so realistic.

Which is fine, I’m not against that! However, what about art that is less realistic? Does it have any value?

Let’s go back farther in time to the prehistoric era and consider those cave paintings everyone knows about.

Can you picture the horses painted on the walls and ceilings of the Lascaux caves in France?

Compare them to the horses painted around 1900 by Frederick Remington, who loved painting action scenes from the American Old West.

Remington’s horses are muscular and powerful and realistic-looking, while the horses in the cave paintings look rudimentary.

But did you ever hear anyone complain? No, because it’s understood that the cave paintings work on a different level: They are more symbolic.

It doesn’t really matter if they are magical or spiritual symbols, or if they are just documenting everyday life back then.

The thing is—they represent the essence of a horse.

Even a silhouette or outline of a horse does the trick.

Our life experience and knowledge about horses leads us to conclude: That represents a horse.

Psychologists have a fancy term for it—the Gestalt theory of perception. When I see a partial or incomplete image of a horse my mind fills in the blanks and goes to the simplest explanation: I see a horse.

No details are necessary.

Logos rely on this all the time. Think of the Ford Mustang logo, the Jaguar logo, the World Wildlife Federation panda logo.

Graphic designers, who make logos, work fast. Their job is to communicate a theme, central idea or concept quickly in a very efficient way.

In the late 1970s Milton Glaser designed the “I (heart) NY” logo. Who among us doesn’t know the heart symbol stands for love?

Fine artists don’t have the same constraints as graphic artists. In fine art, symbols can be more complex or realistic-looking.

Back in the late 1880s symbolist painters—who even had a manifesto, written by Jean Moréas—decided human emotions and moods should be the primary subject of art.

Their paintings looked realistic but the problem was the symbolist painters often used private symbols known only to themselves so the interpretation of their paintings would be up for grabs. But maybe they liked it that way.

Later, in the 1920s, surrealist painters ventured beyond human emotions and moods into the realm of dreams and the unconscious mind, which they said should be the primary subject of art.

Surrealists—who had their own manifesto, written by André Breton—often painted in a realistic manner. But in attempting to portray dreams or the unconscious mind their work came off as irrational, strange and disturbing. Although some might say, visionary.

The surrealist painters were reacting, in part, to artists such as Gustave Courbet who, around the same time, said paintings should only show real and existing things.

Painters who participated in Courbet’s realist movement tended to use their art to make subtle social and political commentaries.

Much more strident were the adherents of socialist realism in the 1930s who insisted the only acceptable art is art that promotes the political ideology of socialism.

The more realistic, the better, so ordinary people can understand it.

Anyway, it turns out there are many different kinds of realism in art. Various styles, schools and movements.

Which brings us back to the question—what is good art?

For some, it’s an easy choice: Figurative art (realistic) is good, abstract art (just shapes, forms color and texture) is bad. Or vice versa?

As with realism, there are many different kinds of abstract art.

You’ve got your really abstract art—sometimes known as pure abstractionism—such as the colored rectangles painted by Piet Mondrian in the early 1900s.

During the same time a group of artists known as constructivists used a huge variety of shapes in their paintings, not just rectangles.

If we go back to the mid-1800s, there emerged a group of abstract artists known as impressionists.

Some art critics at the time, fans of Renaissance art, panned the impressionist paintings because the paintings looked unfinished—approaching realism but not quite there.

Other art critics said that is exactly what made the paintings so great.

The goal, according to the impressionist painter Claude Monet, was to create a quickly rendered painting that appeared to be spontaneous.

Impressionists wanted their art to capture a fleeting moment in time—say, the time it takes for the sun to set.

The artist stops painting once the sun has set, so the painting looks “unfinished” to some art critics. But they’re missing the point.

Likewise, some adult artists make their art look childlike on purpose.

They do this in order to portray innocence and naiveté; a time before the mind becomes too cluttered and biased; a time when perception is more pure and simple.

Two influential—and flamboyant—poets, Charles Baudelaire and Arthur Rimbaud, in the 1800s, proclaimed an artist is a genius if the artist can “recover childhood” at will.

Also, there’s something to be said for simplification.

In the 1970s, renowned art professor David Antin referred to the popular Nancy comic strip as “pure art.”

Ernie Bushmiller—who began creating Nancy, Sluggo and the gang in the 1930s—was a master at drawing as few lines as possible to tell a compelling story and bring his characters to life.

Later, beginning in the 1950s, Charles Shultz followed suit with his beloved Peanuts comic strip featuring Snoopy and Charlie Brown.

However, simplicity can be found in fine art as well.

Some artists who use paint, pastels, charcoal or other media do the same thing Bushmiller and Shultz did—they keep it simple.

For example, the artists might make squiggles to represent clouds or flying Ms to depict birds.

Maybe—as Bob Ross suggested on TV—all art is good if it brings joy to the artist and to the art lover.