The Problem With the Art Establishment

09/10/2013 17:37 | Updated 23 January 2014

The modern world thinks of art as very important, something close to the meaning of life. The symptoms of this elevated regard include the opening of new museums, the channelling of significant government resources towards the production and display of art, the desire on the part of the guardians of art to expand 'access' to works (especially for the benefit of children and minority groups), the prestige of academic art theory and the high valuations of the commercial art market.

Despite all this, our encounters with art do not always go as well as they might. We are likely to leave highly respected museums and exhibitions underwhelmed, or even bewildered and inadequate, wondering why the transformational experience we anticipated did not occur. It is natural to blame oneself; to assume that the problem must come down to either a failure of knowledge or of a capacity for feeling.

I allege that the problem is not primarily located in the individual. It lies in the way that art is taught, sold and presented by the artistic establishment. Since the beginning of the 20th Century, the public's relationship to art has been weakened by a profound institutional reluctance to address the question of what art is for. This is a question that has, quite unfairly, come to feel impatient, illegitimate, and a little impudent.

Together with my co-author, art-historian John Armstrong, this is the question that I set out to answer in our new book, Art as Therapy. It is very unfashionable to think that art can 'do' anything for us. There is an assumption in our culture that art isn't 'for' anything in particular. It's just very interesting and important. However, this explanation doesn't seem focused enough to me. I believe that art is a tool, and that like all tools, it has functions. I also think it is important to know what the tool is for, so that we can better know how and when to use it.



This all could sound really abstract, so for a more down to earth taste of what we're up to, take a look at the website we built:

In the meantime, here is one answer to a reader's question:


It looks terrible. How can they survive this? But the boats were designed for this, their hulls minutely adapted for these conditions. The crew have practiced for this. This is an homage to planning and experience. The older sailors on the ship are saying to the novice, with a laugh, that just last year off the coast of Jutland, there was an even bigger storm - and slapping him on the back with paternal playfulness as the youth is sick overboard. We should feel proud of humanity's competence and skill in the face of these dreadful but strangely awe-inspiring challenges. We're better able to cope than we think.

For someone who feels that their work is a bit too routine, that their work has no meaning, I'd go for another Dutch painting, Pieter de Hooch's Linen Closet of 1663




It's a hard message to hold on to, because we are constantly being told other things. This painting is small in a big and noisy world - but that so many people revere it is hopeful, it signals that we know, deep down, that de Hooch is onto something important.

Art as Therapy by Alain de Botton and John Armstrong published by Phaidon is available on 14 October.