Art by committee
I have recently joined the board of a non-profit
organization that supports the work of a professional string quartet in our
town in Maine. Last week, with the help of a facilitator, the board met for a
daylong retreat to discuss long-term plans and goals. At the beginning of the
day, the facilitator asked us to create a short list of ground rules for the
meeting to enhance a constructive atmosphere. These rules simply stated the
obvious: no side conversations and no interrupting, to name a couple. But one
sparked my interest: no member of the group should speak for another. I
recalled occasions in other forums where a clever committee member was able to
push a conversation one way or another by recalling things that others in the
group had said previously. Repeating comments out of context that were made at
last month’s meeting can have strong and sometimes diabolical effect.
But I know that I’m safe when I say I speak for many
if not all of my colleagues in stating that the life of the modern organbuilder
is governed by the pace of committee work. Doing simple business with a church
or educational institution can progress at glacial speed. You submit an invoice
and find that it must be approved by a committee that met yesterday and will not
meet again for six weeks. You wait the six weeks and hear that three of the
members were traveling so the committee could not do any official business.
They promise to get the committee’s approval by phone then call back
saying that the treasurer is out of the country. He’ll cut a check when
he gets back in three weeks.
Doing business by committee is one thing, but creating art
by committee is another. Remember the adage a camel is a horse that was
designed by a committee. There are countless examples of successful
collaborations--there would hardly be any operettas or musicals if there
were no hyphens--but what about a larger group? The fact is many wonderful
pipe organs are the products of collaborations between many different forces.
Can we describe an artwork as the expression of the
artist’s vision or ideas? We have fascinating records of the creative
process--an exhibition of sketches by Rubens or Rembrandt gives us a
chance to see that process in action. The artist tries several versions of
facial expressions or the position of a hand, and it’s fascinating to
compare the sketches to the final work.
I remember a funny episode involving sketches and design.
Nearly thirty years ago (I was still a teenager) the organbuilder I was working
for was finishing an instrument that had a white painted case in the Colonial
style. A late decision had been made to add pipe shades to the case, and during
an installation trip he bought a stack of white poster board, sketched and cut
out a number of prototypes for pipe shade design, and we hung them on the case
one after another. All the versions made it back to the workshop, and as a joke
I hung the worst of them in the doorway to the voicing room encouraged by many
jocular comments.
One of my professors in college led the class through the
manuscript of a Beethoven symphony, playing various passages on the piano,
comparing the early versions with the final work that Beethoven chose to let us
hear. A study of Beethoven’s sketchbooks shows a great artist arguing,
even battling with himself as he walked in the woods. Imagine the unkempt,
nearly deaf genius walking alone, shouting at trees, waving his fists, singing
or whistling passages, unaware of those around him. I saw exactly this scene in
Central Park last week--I wonder if we’re about to be treated to a
new symphony!
We understand that Mozart worked differently. Apparently he
was able to work out entire compositions in his head, and write them down in
finished, polished form. Was he conducting the whole process of revision,
editing, and experimentation in his head, or did it come to him as finished
music? Was Beethoven consciously breaking down barriers, understanding the
risks of rejection, and working hard to be sure he was convinced by what he was
putting before the public? Was Mozart simply confident that what flowed from
his mind would please others? I imagine that this debate would make a great
topic for the thesis of a student of psychology.
Pope Urban VIII commissioned Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598-1680)
to build the bronze, marble, and gilt baldacchino over the high altar at St. Peter’s Cathedral in Rome. Sketches
of several different designs have been preserved. Were these the products of
Bernini’s personal process, or did Urban VIII reject the first few,
sending the artist “back to the drawing board?”
In 1509 Pope Julius II commissioned Michelangelo
(1475-1564) to paint the ceiling of the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel.
This is surely one of the most important commissions in the history of art but
it was part of a long, complicated, often difficult relationship between the
patron and artist. One twist to the story is the legend that the Pope gave the
commission to Michelangelo (who considered himself a master sculptor and a
lesser painter) in order to embarrass him in the eyes of his rival Raphael
(1483-1520). Can we imagine Michelangelo submitting drawings to the Pope
only to hear, “He should be pointing two fingers, not just one.” It
may well have happened--there is a long history of disagreements between
those two figures. By the way, Pope Julius II was known as “The Warrior
Pope.” Though the Pope was the absolute monarch of the Papal States,
Perugia and Bologna declared their independence and refused to pay taxes. The
cash crisis that resulted from that tax revolt was the reason that the Pope
cancelled the lavish commission he had given Michelangelo for his own tomb. The
Pope responded by forming the now famous Swiss Guards and crushing the
rebellion.1
How do we compare the design process of a painting with that
of a pipe organ? Is it safe to say that most paintings are the work of an
individual, not subject to external control of the design or layout? If so,
then it is the prerogative of the viewer to interpret, judge, accept or reject
it.
A pipe organ certainly can be the result of the vision and
expression of an individual, though it typically takes a group to actually
construct it. (Michelangelo engaged six painters to help him with the Sistine
ceiling frescos, but was so disappointed with their work that he destroyed it
all and locked them out of the chapel, finishing the work himself.) But a pipe
organ as a work of art is very different from a painting or sculpture. It not
only needs to be seen and judged by others, but also used by others for specific
purposes. The organbuilder can and should provide a vehicle allowing new forms
of expression for the buyer, and it is his prerogative to refuse a contract if
he disagrees with the input of the client. But it is also reasonable and often
productive for the people who will be using an organ to participate in its
planning. It is very important to add that while an incumbent organist should
contribute to the planning of an instrument, it is the responsibility of all
involved to ensure that the instrument not be tailored to peculiar individual
tastes so as to prevent future organists from understanding or appreciating its
qualities. It is almost always the case that the organ to be built will outlast
the incumbent musician.
I recently spent a weekend with the people of a church
planning to purchase an organ through the Organ Clearing House. We had
discussed in detail the characteristics of the instrument they chose, and were
working to find the best way to make it fit in their building. Of course there
was much talk about logistics, contractual relationships, and schedule. But
more than half the weekend was spent with the organist of the church alone,
discussing the use of the instrument, the particular needs of the parish, and
his philosophies as they compare to mine. We referred to specific pieces of
music to substantiate various points and we found new ways that the instrument
might be used in their sophisticated and complicated liturgy. We disagreed
several times, but the result of the conversation was the concept of an
instrument that neither of us could have produced alone. In my opinion, our art
is advanced by the active, functional, informed exchange between the organist
and the organbuilder. I know that I have learned as much in conversations with
the organists of churches where I have placed organs as I have anywhere else.
The questions surrounding the design of an organ are
expanded by those surrounding the possible alteration of an existing
instrument. When should the original design of an instrument be preserved? This
question comes up often in differing circumstances. I alluded to one
earlier--imagine the new organist arriving on the scene ten years after a
new organ is completed? Those who served on the organ committee are still
around (some of them might have been on the committee that chose the new
organist!), as are those who contributed toward the cost of the organ. It may
be one thing for the new organist to suggest adding a stop or two, but consider
the story (let’s call it hypothetical) of the parish that sold a
twenty-year-old tracker-action organ, replacing it with an electronic
instrument at the behest of a subsequent organist.
There are several factors involved in considering
alterations to an organ. Will altering the organ diminish or enhance its
artistic or historical value? Will the proposed alterations add to the concept
of the organ? Will they change the organ’s personality? If so, is that
intentional? Have styles changed enough since the organ was built so that the
instrument is obsolete, not useful, difficult to play, unattractive to a wide
range of organists? Or simply put, will the alterations contribute to or
detract from the concept of the builder and the intentions of the purchaser?
Michelangelo’s ceiling is one of our most important
works of art--it is also the subject of one of the most notorious artistic
alterations. In 1559, during the Counter-Reformation, Pope Paul IV commissioned
Daniele de Volterra to alter the Sistine Chapel fresco of the Last Judgement by
painting draperies on male figures, earning Daniele the sobriquet il
Brachettone, translated roughly as
“the trouser-maker.”2 (The additions were later removed.) This
calls to mind the modern-day controversies over the use of government funding
such as the National Endowment for the Arts to support controversial art.
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Should art be beautiful or controversial? The American
Heritage Dictionary (Houghton Mifflin Co.
2000) offers several definitions of the word art, the first of which is:
“Human effort to imitate, supplement, alter, or counteract the work of
nature.” That covers just about anything!
