Heather Withrow

If you found this painting in a shop and didn't know who painted it, would you think it was good or bad? Would it make a difference if you knew it was by Vincent van Gogh? And then what if you found out it was the last painting he ever made? Nobody is completely sure which was the last thing van Gogh ever painted, but it definitely wasn't The Church at Auvers, pictured here. Wheatfield with Crows and Tree Roots are the two main contenders, both painted in Auvers-sur-Oise in late July of 1890. But, under the impression that this really was van Gogh's last painting, you probably paid unusually close attention to it — because context completely changes how we see a work of art. Context — "facts", basically, about who made what and when they did it — can make a work of art either more or less interesting, meaningful, and even beautiful. Thus the rather childish drawing of a bison on a cave wall becomes far more fascinating once you know it is 20,000 years old. Alternatively, when you learn that Salvador Dalí was a fairly despicable person, his spellbinding paintings can suddenly seem tainted. But what about art *without* context? Even knowing who painted a picture changes how we think of it. Hence any old scribble by Picasso is treated as a masterpiece, whereas the same drawing by a random member of the public would not be held in such high regard. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, but perhaps the mark of a truly great work of art is that no context is needed for us to find it interesting, beautiful, and meaningful? The point of all this prattling is simply to say that we should be wary of context when it comes to art, and not be afraid to think for ourselves. When we are told that a painting is by Raphael, van Gogh, or Picasso, we immediately assume that it must therefore be good. And when we are told that a painting is Baroque, Romantic, or Surrealist, we make specific assumptions about what the painting is trying to say. And all of this simply because of what we have been told by other people. The result is that we retrofit the painting to our assumptions rather than making conclusions based on what we actually see, think, and feel. Not that those things aren't necessarily true — but they might not be. Sometimes the best way to engage with art is to forget all context and take a painting (or sculpture, piece of music, poem, film etc.) on its own merits, and to decide for ourselves whether we think it is good, bad, interesting, boring, meaningful, or pointless. As John Ruskin said: "Many persons, capable of quickly sympathizing with any excellence, when once pointed out to them, easily deceive themselves into the supposition that they are judges of art. There is only one real test of such power of judgment. Can they, at a glance, discover a good picture obscured by the filth, and confused among the rubbish, of the pawnbroker’s or dealer’s garret?" So, trying to forget who painted it and when, if you found The Church at Auvers in a shop, what would you make of it? If it really is good — why? And if it isn't — why not?