There are many modern examples of artists taking a nonchalant attitude to their own work. Duchamp did not bat an eyelid at the destruction of his “Large Glass”, while Munch deliberately exposed his famous pictures of “The Scream” to the severe northern climate. Even so, and despite public scepticism, contemporary art is protected with just as much zeal as are the works of the Old Masters. The fact that attempts are made to restore it is positive proof.
Italy, with its exceptional public and private collections, must be the greatest museum in the world. Despite general neglect of the country’s heritage, restoration is a popular topic for debate, perhaps as compensation for the lack of action. The restoration debate starts from the assumption that art is immortal— visible evidence of historical and cultural greatness. Restoration is seen as a struggle against the forces of change and decay, which respect neither man nor materials. Centuries after their creation, we intervene to limit the deterioration of frescoes, painted panels, canvases or marbles, and to preserve for posterity not just an empty shell but the enduring substance of a work of art.
This homage to the past can be seen as an expression of respect for the artist’s original intent, for his ambition to prolong his existence through a work created according to artistic rules, with chosen techniques and materials. Artists in this tradition have always striven to celebrate the present by prolonging it into the future.
Contemporary art, on the other hand, especially the art of this century, has chosen to overthrow tradition. It employs unconventional techniques and materials, even to the extent of transient use of the human body. Pursuing the concept that art and life are one, modern artists have chosen to use degradable materials—concerned more with the nightmare of the present than with the recognition of generations still to come.
From Duchamp’s ready-mades to Dada and Futurist soirées, from Rauschenberg’s assemblages to American-style happenings, from French neo-Realism to Italian Arte Povera, much of contemporary art seems to reject the idea of permanence, the profound yearning for immortality which inspired the art of the past.
Thus we have a varied and respectable repertory of urinals, rags, earth, pipes, plastic, neon tubes and bedpans. The paradox is that restorers are now making as much fuss of these ephemera as one would expect of older and more permanent works. Burri’s “Sack” is now on a par with Leonardo’s “Last Supper”, Warhol’s Brillo boxes with Michelangelo’s “Prisoners”, and Flavin’s light effects with those of Caravaggio.
How is it that restorers seem unaware of the poetical use made of materials or the philosophical and existential reasons that have led contemporary artists to adopt synthetic, ephemeral and deliberately short-lived substances for compositions frequently accompanied by the casual and uninspiring caption “Untitled”?
The answer lies in the centrality of the idea in Western civilisation. We tend to see the history of art as an ordered succession of works appreciated for and judged by their conceptual content. Form is simply the vehicle for intellectual expression, which would otherwise remain invisible. Seen in this light, restoration is a kind of patching up of iconographical clothing, as valid for the grand vestments of the Old Masters as for the everyday wear of modern art. But since this idea-centred vision of art is applied indiscriminately, we have reached a laughable state of affairs.
Art, of whatever period, is an interpenetration of form and matter. The two elements cannot be divorced: the soul cannot be saved separately from the body. One could argue that it is on this account that the restorer applies his efforts to the material element of the work. An artist both creates and clothes the physical expression of his idea. If the garment becomes torn, it is possible to repair it, taking account of the artist’s underlying intent.
But much of contemporary art is not conceived in this spirit. The artist has deliberately chosen transient materials. Why then attempt to patch up an old overall as if one were repairing a sumptuous evening dress? If this is our approach, we force a work of art to last beyond its time, depriving it of the freedom to disintegrate, become a piece of junk, or just an old paint stain. Instead, it is hospitalised in a museum, to be visited by the public, who pretend to relate to the work as if they recognised in it something of eternal value. We are in thrall to the uniquely Western illusion of cheating time by investing the temporal with immortality.
We refuse to accept the human and inevitable tragedy of aging, even in the case of contemporary art, which we condemn to an unwanted permanence, despite its attempt to go the way of all flesh. In this case, restoration is akin to the cosmetic procedures adopted by the American film industry, intent on transforming classics shot in black and white into full technicolour—a facelift for the linguistic corpse left by the director. Of course, it is different if we intervene solely to restore the material condition of a work of art after it has been damaged by external forces such as an accident or vandalism.
Since we have had to accept the loss of many works of art in the past, why not begin to humanise our relationship with contemporary creations? Why not respect the intention implied by the choice of impermanent materials and the adoption of quick and casual techniques? To be truly modern means to accept the process of change without pathetic attempts to prevent it from running its course. The restoration of contemporary art is little more than a childish effort to arrest artistic expression at its moment of birth—a mistaken longing for eternal youth. We should not try to transform the modern artist into an Old Master, making his work last beyond the life-span of the materials he himself chose for it. Far better to respect the work’s impermanence and its desire for a dignified end. I would humbly propose that the contemporary artist be laid to rest along with his works: a royal burial of the kind once given to emperors in eastern lands, whose slaves and worldly possessions accompanied them on their final journey into the unknown.
© L’Espresso