Have you ever stood in front of a work of art and thought, ‘I just don’t get it.”? Have you ever felt baffled while wandering through a contemporary gallery or museum of obscure works, like the curators held some great secret they refused to share with you? Have you ever rolled your eyes at a particularly pretentious description of an artwork, wondering why you can’t see what others see? Even the most enthusiastic art lover has probably felt some sense of ambivalence towards a work of art at a certain point. The study of art history is dense and full of bias, and the contemporary art world is complex and often elitist. It seems sometimes that you have to be in the know to truly connect with the works of art in certain museums or galleries. But to be in the know, what exactly do you need to know? What would occur if you approached art with nothing but your five senses? In Susan Sontag’s essay Against Interpretation, she places more value on the truth found in the viewer’s sensory experience of the work than the intentions of the artist (Sontag 10). Though the scholarly pursuits of art history and fine arts can be compelling and productive, prior knowledge, or lack thereof, should not limit anyone’s viewing experience. In order to create a more welcoming atmosphere in fine art institutions, I believe it is necessary to place value in ambivalence. If museum and gallery visitors are encouraged to value their initial ambivalence (even their anxiety and irritation), to perceive it as a necessary transitional stage rather than a failure of imagination, perhaps a more holistic understanding of contemporary art would come to light. This then would diversify the conversations surrounding contemporary art, adding new perspectives as well as new methodologies.
I will illustrate my personal experience with ambivalence through the analysis of a sculpture I encountered recently: Sarah Lucas’ sculptural assemblage Beyond the Pleasure Principle (2000). Though scholars claim it is imbued with a tongue-in-cheek, second-wave feminist meaning, I’ll admit I had no idea what I was looking at when I first saw the work. I decided to then envision a viewing experience that ascertained the work by degrees, and unpacked where the viewer’s ambivalence might prove particularly useful in establishing a connection to the work. I found that my ambivalence helped me push past the boundaries of what this work was supposed to be, and expand my definition of what it could mean to me.
Sarah Lucas, Beyond the Pleasure Principle, 2000. Image sourced from the Tate website
It seems like if the viewer waits long enough, Beyond the Pleasure Principle will slowly fall apart. The long light fixture speared through the mattress will slide out and shatter on the floor, causing the bucket to spill out the lightbulb, leading to the mattress to slip off the box, which will tip over the rack, inevitably leaving the carefully balanced social commentary a heap on the gallery floor. There is an immediacy to how the objects interact with one another; they are all carefully placed, yet the overall structure slouches, allowing gravity to control how it hangs. This dynamic is laden with tension: tension between curved lines and acute angles, between muted red and stark white, between undulating textures and unyielding surfaces. The human need to recognize the self within the abstract brings this work fully into focus, and this chronic search for meaning among the dissonant objects is as interesting and valuable as the result. Once the viewer is able to recognize the bodily forms in the work, Lucas’ intended themes might become apparent: domesticity and death, the absurdity of the patriarchal gaze, and the drama of relationships in flux. However, there is more meaning to be found (or simply searched for) in between Lucas’ unsubtle symbols. The uncertainty found in the dangling forms, the contrast between its discrete parts, and the confusion found in the gender dynamics at play all speak to the integral presence of ambivalence in this work.
The tension between objects, and the anxiety that defines it, is what faces the viewer upon first glancing at this work. The confusion of how this piece works and the anticipation of its implied movement is immediate and visceral. Susan Sontag calls for an ‘erotics of art’ in her essay Against Interpretation, wherein she espouses the value of the sensory experience when viewing art (Sontag 10). By that logic, the most salient aspect of Beyond the Pleasure Principle is present before the viewer can even acknowledge the symbolized body parts that make up the core theme of this work. The frantic search for a logic in the sculpture carries a charged ambivalence that leads the viewer to catalogue information about the work’s materiality. The eye wavers as it sweeps over the mirrored curves of the lightbulb cords and the mattress, then is disrupted by the angular lines of the black rack and white box that cut through the tableau. There are patterns visible, but no uniformity, as no line is left uninterrupted. The awkward junctions between objects, with their lack of clarity and fluidity, are where points of confusion, even irritation, can occur. Beyond the Pleasure Principle comes into focus in fragments, as shapes and forms before objects, and as objects before symbols. Even when broken down into parts, the sculpture defies convention and expectation. So much analytical work occurs before the realization of Lucas’s intention to depict secondary sex characteristics through the strategically placed light fixtures. Ambivalence clouds the viewer’s experience as they try to parse out the details of the piece, but it also leaves them with an intimate knowledge of the work’s form. This process is natural and immediate, and, depending on its results, can either forge or fracture the viewer’s connection with the work.
After the eye adjusts to the disjointed flow of the sculpture, ambivalence once again clouds the viewer’s experience as they attempt to process the various objects and reconcile their relationships to one other. The process of recognition is tinged with discomfort; the objects’ resistance to create a cohesive scene leads the viewer to travel down many paths of potential analysis that ultimately trail off. The mattress, a ubiquitous symbol of domesticity and intimacy, hangs at such a dramatic angle that it loses its potential for functionality, dismantling the connotation of rest and comfort that is so often affiliated with the object. The combination of the clothing rack, the mattress, and the lights, almost evokes a domestic scene, but it is broken up by the strangeness of the aluminum bucket and white box. In turn, the lights, bucket, and rack almost give the work an industrial quality, but the plushness of the mattress interrupts that line of thinking. The desire to create meaning, which could be argued as fueled by anxiety, leads the viewer on a race up and down the work, forging connections and associations that are quick to fracture. Once again, the work exists in an in-between state; the ambivalence between creating a code and breaking it, establishing a visual language and putting it into practice. The discomfort the viewer feels when faced with the idea of this work as just a jumble of objects, is closely followed by a desire to be moved, to wring emotion out of a structure that at first glance looks completely unapproachable. The space between the desire to understand contemporary art and the result of extricating meaning from what at first appears inscrutable is where some of the most interesting work takes place.
Lucas seeks to code many aspects of her sculptures as either ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine,’ but what is more compelling is the interplay between the two, space symbolic of both, or perhaps neither. At certain points in her work, what was at first glance a comment on the absurdity of patriarchy, seems to bleed into a comment on the absurdity of the body, the myriad of ways we seek to name and define and control our physical forms and their functions. The ease with which the work recalls parts of the body, through a few simple shapes found in household objects, speaks to a natural anthropomorphism fueled by a desire of human connection as well as the over-saturation of images of the body in mass media. But when we look for ourselves, what exactly are we ready to find? In just 20 years since the work was made, Lucas’ essentialist feminist approach to abstracting the body begins to date itself, the pushback against the gender binary leaving even more room for ambivalence.The popular framing of this work as a domestic conflict between a man and a woman (which Lucas herself corroborates) almost seems reductive given the work’s potential for ambiguity (Tate). Rather than searching for elements of the work that are discretely male and female, one can lean into the discomfort of the space outside of the binary, perceiving body parts in conversation with one another, on a continuum, or just as an assemblage of objects. If all it takes is three lightbulbs to signify a woman in the collective imagination, then the spaces in between those lightbulbs become even more valuable. The transitional state where the body becomes an object and the object becomes a body, is where ambivalence becomes particularly available and useful in explaining the myriad of uncanny responses to Lucas’ work.
If the viewer has gotten this far with their interest in Beyond the Pleasure Principle without abandoning its assessment, they will probably attempt to integrate the work’s title into their observations so far. The title adds depth to the work’s carefully constructed symbolism, but also has the potential to incite further ambivalence in the viewer who is not familiar with Freud’s essay of the same name. Focusing solely on the unusual turn of phrase, the viewer would likely seek out the concept of pleasure within the work, perhaps finding meaning in the loosely suggested body shapes, the intimate and domestic connotation of the mattress, or might locate the concept somewhere else entirely. Perhaps, for some viewers, there is no pleasure to be found; the work contains no lushness or serenity, is withholding in its information and confusing in its expectations. In the absence of initial recognition, the viewer might even subconsciously conflate any theme of pleasure found in the work with their own pleasure viewing it. This synthesis of the viewer’s experience and the work’s themes can serve as a site for ambivalence. The interaction between the viewer and the work produces yet another in-between state, one laden with tension as the viewer attempts to ascribe meaning to an unfamiliar concept based on sensory information and their own schematic understanding. Ultimately, the expectation that someone will automatically recognize the work's title and relate the sculpture’s content to the scholarly themes of the essay is another way Beyond the Pleasure Principle could potentially alienate the viewer. Here, the work’s title presents a valuable turning point: the viewer can choose to abandon the work due to their perceived lack of intellectual understanding, or decide to sit with their ambivalence and glean what they can. Despite the fact that the work’s title arguably draws an intellectual line in the sand, it is well chosen due to Freud’s psychoanalytical interest in the in-between. The concept of ‘aesthetic indifference,’which Freud proposes in the essay, is useful when analyzing art, translating easily to the ambivalence found when viewing Lucas’ Beyond the Pleasure Principle. The areas between confusion and clarity, between frustration and satisfaction, are fragments of the foundational area between pleasure and pain. Never straying far from Sontag’s dream for a sensory experience of art, Freud’s description of the body’s reaction to stimuli recalls the interaction between a viewer’s visceral reaction to an artwork and the resulting desire to ascribe meaning to it.
Sarah Lucas’ intended themes for Beyond the Pleasure Principle are clever, humorous, and thought-provoking, yet they are also quite finite. Far too often, potential meaning is lost when a work’s abstract themes and encoded motifs alienate the viewer. Claims of not ‘getting’ contemporary art preclude valuable connections between the viewer and the work, connections informed by the unadulterated point of view, uninhibited by the opaque language of art history or the obligation of higher education (Sontag 7). Trying to illuminate this experience without delving into analysis is an inherently contradictory process, yet the pitfalls and discomforts expose the lack of language generated for what it means to stand in front of a work and feel rather than interpret. Perhaps identifying ambivalence is a necessary first step towards developing that language. Following Susan Sontag’s logic, the truest, most valuable reaction to artwork is the purely sensory experience (Sontag 5). Ambivalence colors the uncomfortable, deeply human process of trying to create meaning in the abstract. It is a breeding ground for the most frustrating, obtuse contemporary works, as artists and viewers bump up against the boundaries of materiality, communicate and miscommunicate, and create more meaning unintentionally than could ever be conveyed through symbols and motifs. Ambivalence is valuable for effectively connecting with contemporary art when it is seen not as a lack (of consensus, of comprehension), but a presence; an existence of a transitional state that fosters a charged connection between the viewer and the work.
Sources:
Freud, Sigmund. “Beyond the Pleasure Principle.” THE INTERNATIONAL PSYCHO-ANALYTICAL LIBRARY , vol. 4, 1920, pp. 1–83., doi:10.1037/11189-001.
Sontag, Susan. “Against Interpretation.” Against Interpretation and Other Essays, by Susan Sontag, Penguin, 2009, pp. 1–10.
Tate. “'Beyond the Pleasure Principle', Sarah Lucas, 2000.” Tate, 1 Jan. 1970, www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/lucas-beyond-the-pleasure-principle-t07820.
From Staff Contributor Thea Hurwitz