Or should that be The Utility of Art at a Social Function?
I think I’ve written all I want to say on the topic of the Non-Utility of Art,
see Schoolboy’s Mock-Heroic Epic:
‘That art is non-utile is a self-conscious truism voiced oftenest by post-Marxian cynics.
‘As Oscar Wilde, a socialist manqué, makes clear: All art is quite useless.
‘This
banality is no more absurdly pointed up than in the verses of a lofty
poet who compares himself with his father digging the family cabbage
patch – a spade wielded with evident utility – yet who claims a special
dispensation for his own artist’s pen . . . “I’ll dig with it.” (Pause
for involuntary cringe.)
‘Anthony
Blunt – tarnished knight of the realm, professed communist, and Keeper
of the Queen’s Pictures – was unequivocal when a young man in expressing
his utopian sympathy for the cultural worthiness of Social Realism: “The culture of the revolution will be evolved by the proletariat to
produce its own culture . . . If an art is not contributing to the
common good, it is bad art.” ’
Yet, I now must acknowledge I’m a positive infant in my understanding of this sociocultural conundrum since reacquainting myself recently with the works of that West German champion of dissident literature, Heinrich Böll (1917-1985), staunch enemy of Consumerist Materialism and scourge of its correlative, News Media Corruption . . .
. . . specifically, the closing passages of Böll’s excoriating polemical novel, The Lost Honour of Katharina Blum, or, How Violence Develops and Where It Can Lead:
A Specimen of Instant Art.
Well, if we are to be honest we have regretfully to report that at this moment Blorna did punch Straubleder in the jaw. Without further ado, so that it may be forgotten without further ado: blood flowed, from Straubleder's nose; according to private estimates, some four to seven drops but, what was worse: although Straubleder backed away he did say: “I forgive you, I forgive you everything — considering your emotional state.” And so it was that this remark apparently maddened Blorna, provoking something described by witnesses as a “scuffle,” and, as is usually the case when the Straubleders and Blornas of this world show themselves in public, a News photographer . . . was present, and we can hardly be shocked at the News (its nature being now known) for publishing the photograph of this scuffle under the heading: “Conservative politician assaulted by Leftist attorney.” . . .
At the exhibition there was furthermore a confrontation between Maud Straubleder and Trude Blorna . . . in which Trude B. hinted at Straubleder's numerous advances to her . . .
End of a Long Friendship.
. . . At this point the squabbling ladies were parted by Frederick Le Boche [artist] , who with great presence of mind had seized upon the chance to catch Straubleder’s blood on a piece of blotting paper and had converted it into what he called “a specimen of instant art.” This he entitled “End of a Long Friendship,” signed, and gave not to Straubleder but to Blorna, saying: “Here's something you can peddle to help you out of a hole.” From this occurrence plus the preceding acts of violence it should be possible to deduce that Art still has a social function.
For exponents of unadorned prose see
Nobel-prize-winners for literature here –
See alsoAlbert Camus and Foreshadowers of the Anomic Antihero
