A Taste for Belonging
It is estimated around 10 million visit the Mona Lisa in the Louvre each year. Why? Because it is a masterpiece of the Renaissance, a legacy of Leonardo Da Vinci’s genius, a global icon. Few would disagree with such sentiments, but I also suspect 99.9999% of those 10 million visitors have no qualifications to determine why it is considered a masterpiece, a work of genius or an icon. Do they recognise the intricate brush strokes, the symbolism present in the details, or appreciate the ground breaking techniques used? Most will parrot something about the enigmatic smile, mention it was smaller than they expected, while pointing their phone camera over the heads of others with phones aloft, hoping to capture an image of an image, then regale others with their time in the company of the Mona Lisa.
Now, before you huff and curse at me for being a cultural snob, I confess to no qualifications. I too consider the Mona Lisa to be a masterpiece without an ounce of personal knowledge to back up my claim. Art is largely subjective and thus a very personal experience. In truth, aesthetically speaking, I would not want the Mona Lisa hanging on my wall - it just wouldn’t go with Aunt Maude’s painting of a squirrel with five legs. So, my appreciation of the early 16th century portrait by Da Vinci is very much driven by its cultural standing and fame, not the technique or appearance. To put it simply, I don’t want to appear ignorant and uncouth by not liking it.
You see something similar with sites like Pompeii, a miraculous time capsule from the height of the Roman Empire, with a visit a must on most people’s bucket list. Few will come away without a sense of awe but even less will arrive with an adequate knowledge to appreciate what they are witnessing, their education on Roman history finishing at primary school or with a Hollywood blockbuster. Indeed, that is why Pompeii appeals. It is an historical blockbuster: a dramatic catastrophe that appeals to our curiosity in the same way the Titanic disaster does. So, we generally visit not to understand but to experience and belong to the story. Just like the tourists of the 18th Century on the Grand Tour, we visit to have visited, and return swollen with cultural pride, our position in society feeling a little bit more important, our understanding of the past superficially expanded.
This is all very natural, though somewhat odd. Who doesn’t remember your school days, declaring your allegiance to a music band or sports club to boost your standing among your peers. You probably didn’t think very hard about it at the time, just found yourself following something popular, so that you weren’t unpopular. Even as you got older, into your teens, you might have gone the other way, finding a niche taste, rebelling against your parents’ expectations, thinking you were unique, when all you were doing was creating a sense of belonging among those peers you wished to impress. And then, and it comes to us all, you turn into your parents, returning to the fold carrying a chip of denial on your shoulder, dancing at the Abba experience in your Velvet Underground T-shirt. This need to belong both shapes our tastes and restricts them.
Perhaps this is the definition of culture - a shared appreciation, allowing a sense of belonging to the culture. But shouldn’t we all be able to judge with a detached and individualistic eye, challenging or justifying why we like or don’t like something, seeing beyond the social pressure, and into the very heart of the piece? Our obsession with fame - hero worship or seeking it - dilutes or subsumes this independence. It has always been thus, but whereas in the past the channels of influence were limited, as were the opportunities to shine, nowadays even a uninspiring glow can reach millions through multiple different channels. ‘Influencers’ is now a designation and aspiration. You start life looking up to your parents, a sole beacon as we learn behaviours and standards, but the danger comes as we develop independence, particularly if those lessons proved insipid and unsatisfactory. Rather than flourishing on the foundation of positive virtues and self-determination, we risk the substitution of one uninspiring beacon for another: a processed ready-meal rather than a homegrown and freshly sourced nutritional repast. Thus, the singer with nothing but a nice voice guides you like the Pied-Piper of Hamelin, the lying politician becomes a priest for your faith and the YouTube influencer the captain steering your ship towards the rocks. The culture we aspire to belong to becomes nothing but a shallow and bland emotional fix.
Until we understand the enigmatic smile, the story beneath the brushstrokes, the technique that lies at the heart of creation, and why we admire or dislike, then we will struggle to build on the past and add our own masterpieces for the future.
Nathaniel M Wrey