Peter, I signed off on this thread, but you've lured me back in! Please, no offense taken; your post was not rude. I asked, originally, that people be passionate, but civil, and let 'er rip! I appreciate that you did just that. I can come on pretty strong myself, and it would be hypocritical of me to dish it out if I can't take it.
My academic background is in art, and it is one of the overriding passions in my life. I care about it very deeply. It's easy, but wrong, to insist sometimes that others experience it just as I do. But I think that art is important enough that we should come to it with as much self-awareness as possible, and as much openness too, in order to do justice to the artist's attempt to connect with us. That means learning about the history of art and how it functions in our society, and past society. Sometimes that process of learning can feel overwhelming. It's like going out in the garden to dig some carrots, and unearthing the ruins of Troy: What do I DO with all this?
Well. Sometimes what I do is retreat into the safety of analysis, tracing the political or religious or technical threads that constitute the backstory of a work. But at a certain point, it's necessary to just to stop and experience the presence before me. I think that, at that point, you and I would both be experiencing what we call beauty, in much the same way. We're actually not very far apart in our shared love of that experience, I think.
One of the most wonderful aspects of engaging with art is, for me, that moment when I observe an artist experiencing the world just as I would. Vermeer sees a yellow house in Delft and is so struck that he simply has to record his experience of it. Centuries later, I see his painting, and every part of me says "YES!". I've seen that light, striking a bright wall, miles and centuries apart from Vermeer, but I KNOW it! It's a connection with another human that makes me feel freed for a moment of the isolation and loneliness of the human condition.
Peter, I've seen your images posted on RFF, and I think that many of them are quite beautiful. There's a haunting and mysterious quality to them that I greatly enjoy. I hope you can see that all my analytical blather doesn't get too much in the way of experiencing good work!
One last point. The picture you posted of Stalin has been nagging at me, and I've studied it a bit. It's a piece of hack work, but compared to a lot of what I see in galleries here in Santa Fe, not half bad. The artist had a reasonable command of his medium, a decent sense of color and light and atmosphere. Consider this: if Stalin and his companion were replaced by a respectable 19th century Parisian bourgeois and his wife, would this picture offend you so? Or, that substitution having been made, would it have then been equally offensive to the Party bosses in the Kremlin? Would anyone even bother to notice this picture if it were not of this monster? Context isn't everything, but it makes a difference.
But this IS bad art, the worst sort. It makes use of the pretty conventions of art, beauty, if you will, to lull us into a worshipful attitude towards a mass murderer. This is why I find the painting so troubling, and a fine example of why we often need to be on guard when we encounter art, even while we are giving ourselves over to its beauty. There is this moral and political dimension, finally, to the experience of art. The analysis of the experience, the self-reflection involved in the encounter, is necessary before we let ourselves succumb fully to the beauty.
A highly recommended book, small but dense, is "Beauty in Photography" by the photographer Robert Adams. He wrestles well and eloquently with these complicated issues, and provides a number of valuable questions with which to approach art. Too bad I don't enjoy his photography as much as I do his writing. In his photos, his political agenda gets too much in the way sometimes, and his environmental concerns lead him to create dull and visually unresolved images that are essentially just illustrations of an idea. Yes, I said it: His art is sometimes too political, and suffers for it. You can quote me.
Loved the Monty Python clip, one of my favorite scenes. Sometimes I catch myself sounding like the aggrieved peasant....