If you aren’t terribly familiar with the language and artistic perception of 1888, a lot of Oscar Wilde’s “The Critic as Artist” probably won’t make much sense. While alluding to the works of numerous poets, authors, and philosophers, Wilde posits a thought-provoking view on art criticism. His theory, which is made obvious by the piece’s title, looks to equate the critic of a work of art to the creator of that work of art, rendering the critic’s artistic capabilities as important as the artist’s, sometimes even more so. Although the density of the language—and the relative obscurity of his examples—is frequently overbearing, Wilde’s perspective is simple, and, in many cases, still relevant today.
In a seemingly endless Socratic dialogue between characters Gilbert and Ernest, Wilde displays his vast knowledge of art past and present. He refers to the literature, poems, and philosophy with so much detail and comprehension, that his pathos is never in question. While discussing the world’s need for artistic expression, Gilbert—who presumably shares the opinion of Wilde, as Ernest signifies a more skeptical side of the artistic digest—suggests that “the most perfect art is that which most fully mirrors man in all his infinite variety.” And Gilbert argues that an understanding of this perfection can lead to a realization of one’s own infinite variety and that the ability to recognize great art, and eventually understand it, is made possible by good criticism. And when, in his response, Ernest maintains that “great art needs no explanation,” it comes off more so as a defeated retort than a supported position of defiance.
While Gilbert—but really, Wilde— passionately defends the aesthetics of art criticism by referring to it as “a flawless system” or “the purest form of human impression,” he seems to be unaware of the rhetorical pretension that at times demeans his own philosophies. When discussing the current dumbing down of literature, Gilbert blames it on “the fatal development of the habit of reading amongst the middle and lower classes of this country.” This type of critical self-importance presumably plagued art criticism before Gilbert made this claim—which explains some of Ernest’s skepticism. But just last year, when Stereogum contributor Gabe (last name not listed) referred to the blues as a “terrible music for poor people,” he made it clear that, at least in some cases, this stigmatic self-importance remains. The subject of this 122 year parallel is of course not the point here; rather it is the mere semblance of unintended similarity between one of history’s finest authors and a practically anonymous blogger that compels the critical mind.
Although not every blogger enters their own critical realm with “The Critic as Artist” in mind, aspects of it are still relevant. And they’re not just the pompous ones: when Pitchfork’s Brent DiCresenzo verbosely compared Radiohead’s “Kid A” to “witnessing the stillborn birth of a child while simultaneously having the opportunity to see her play in the afterlife on Imax,” Wilde’s infinitesimal theory of perfection loomed as if to say “I told you so.” After all, Pitchfork did give “Kid A” a perfect rating of 10.0.
It’s entirely possible that Stereogum’s Gabe and Pitchfork’s Brent have never read the ideas of Wilde’s Gilbert and Ernest. But the ancestry is there. No matter the form or subject, the critical motives which “The Critic as Artist” helped define have, for better or worse, survived in art criticism. This traceable lineage proves the longevity and integrity—both artistic essentials—of the critical process; which is basically what Wilde spends upwards of 30,000 words discussing. Learning from your elders, how’s that for an artistic process?
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