The great English art historian, novelist, and presenter John Berger (1926 – 2017) began his 1955 essay The Clarity of the Renaissance with these words:
‘It’s depressing. The rain’s set in. It’s wet but we can’t grumble. It’s grey and dull. Each of these words describes the same day from a different point of view: the subjective, the practical, the moralistic and the visual.‘
He goes on to point out that although painters (and, for the purposes of this essay, anyone involved in making art and/or design) are expected to render the world around them with a far greater acuity than other people, what they see is the same as everybody else. Berger’s contention was that the artists of the Renaissance, through privileging the subject over their own pictorial mannerisms, were able to make work that embodied a clarity and a directness of vision which was later lost in a wash of subjectivity. Everybody now expects to know the artist’s point of view, but a mention of perspective doesn’t immediately suggest vanishing points.
Anything written by Berger is worth reading (or watching, as in the famous 1992 BBC series Ways of Seeing), not only for what he says but for his ability to craft a text in a manner that is both engaging and profound. When you see the title of the essay The Clarity of the Renaissance, and then begin to read. ‘It’s depressing, the rain’s set in…’ you are immediately intrigued and want to read more.
This is writing about art, not mere description.
Another example is this, from Robert Hughes (1938-2012) the late, great Australian expatriate art critic for Time magazine:
‘At the age of thirty-seven, Sandro Chia, whose show of paintings and bronzes is at the Leo Castelli Gallery in Soho, is one of the more promising of the artists who have recently floated from Italy to New York City like putti on roseate, gaseous clouds of hype.’
In the first sentence of this 1983 essay, re-published in Hughes’ 1987 Nothing if Not Critical: Selected Essays on Art and Artists, we find the name of the artist, the gallery at which he is exhibiting and the nature of objects exhibited, the artists home country (Italy) and a wickedly humorous take on the sudden popularity of this new wave of Italian artists (the others were Enzo Cucchi and Francesco Clemente) by drawing comparisons to the plump and rosy angels that adorned so much of early Italian art, although perhaps more so the flamboyant Baroque than a restrained Renaissance.
Note that both these examples, from Berger and from Hughes, are linked by virtue of their mention of Italy and the Renaissance, and that this essay has begun in a way that is both unexpected, and so – with luck – has piqued the readers’ interest. I am, after all, writing about writing. (Also note ‘flamboyant Baroque/restrained Renaissance – alliteration, metre, are all things to be considered. The sound of words, and they way they sit together is important.)
I began writing about ceramics because my PhD was about writing about ceramics. If that sounds confusing, let me explain.
Titled In the Beginning was the Word (you see, there’s no escape), the thesis analysed the influence of the English potter, Bernard Leach, on the development of Australian studio pottery in the period 1940 to 1964. Those familiar with 20’th century ceramics will know that 1940 was the date of the publication of Leach’s landmark text A Potter’s Book, and so my research was essentially about a book about ceramics. And not just any book, but one that was arguably the most influential book on ceramics ever written.
It quickly became apparent that Leach’s fame as a potter rested largely on his abilities as a writer, and if he would have remained silent it’s doubtful his impact would have been as great. But Bernard Leach did write: first the small pamphlet titled A Potter’s Outlook, published in 1928, and then he elaborated on those basic philosophies in A Potter’s Book, as well as expanding the scope of the text to include technical information of great use to the studio potter at a time when that sort of knowledge was not readily available. And then there were all the other books he wrote throughout his long life, not to mention the essays and articles and his many, many public appearances.
At the same time I was writing about Leach, I began to comment on other aspects of ceramics. These essays were published, and before long writing had become a large part of what I did. I tried to learn from writers I admired, and from those I didn’t. Robert Hughes was certainly a role model, in that his erudition was matched by his wit; I always enjoyed reading what he wrote, which is a good sign.
On the other hand, I keep a book by the French theorist Jean Louis Schefer titled The Deluge, the Plague written about the Renaissance Italian artist Paolo Uccello, because it’s an exemplar of everything I dislike in writing about art.
‘The space is densely woven in the imminence of a deconstruction of its referent….’, and so it goes on, obscurantist pretention lost in translation. The fact that I hold on to a book that annoys me so much speaks volumes. (Sorry.)
Perhaps the greatest gift writing can bestow is that it helps the author to know their own mind, to work through ideas and not rely on assumptions and habits of thought. You think about something, you write it down, you read what you’ve written and then you think again. Then, when you are ready, you put those ideas out into the world.
And then you begin again.
Damon Moon
Bendigo, August 2022
This text was commissioned by Craft Victoria for Craft Contemporary 2022.
About the Author:
Damon Moon is a second-generation potter whose practice spans art and industry.
He has a PhD in art history and is one of Australia’s most prolific commentators on ceramics. Recently, Damon has held solo exhibitions at major regional Victorian galleries including Shepparton Art Museum, Bendigo Art Gallery, LaTrobe Art Institute and Castlemaine Art Museum.
He was Creative Director of the JamFactory Contemporary Craft and Design ceramics studio (2014 - 2018), SA, and recently worked with Bendigo Pottery in R&D and establishing teaching programs (2019 - 2020).