Is a Little Knowledge a Dangerous Thing?

Sometimes to know a little can be more confusing than to know nothing. A degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics taught me how little I knew and that has been an invaluable lesson ever since. Studying theories and models, to then knock them down the following week, teaches you to look from all angles, to appreciate relativity and to understand how limited one viewpoint can be. A subsequent Fine Art degree taught me to love that position of uncertain, open curiosity. Both as an artist, and as Blackbird Rook, I try to maintain that approach.

Blackbird Rook began seven years ago as Greg Rook Advisory. Like many artists, I was often asked by collectors of my own work to recommend other artists. One collector in particular wanted to build a substantial, thoughtful and progressive collection, and that set me on the path to art consultancy and to, eventually, whatever Blackbird Rook is now - part advisory, part artist’s champion and part gallery.?

I spend my days looking for artists who I think are making critical and intelligent work and showing that to collectors who I think will appreciate what they are trying to do. Sometimes the artists are new graduates, sometimes long overlooked, others are blue chip. Sometimes the collectors are blue chip, and others just starting out - making their first forays into collecting. At whatever stage they’re at, there is always advice and knowledge to share, as, to repeat myself, contemporary art is not just art that is made now, it is art made now that knows its place in the history of art, and cuts across some element of culture. It acknowledges the past and reflects the present and there is a wealth of history and thought needed in order to see the work clearly. The learning curve is steep when you begin to immerse yourself in the contemporary art world. I ran and taught Fine Art degree courses for nearly twenty years and loved watching students peel back the layers of meaning and possibility - becoming more excited and engaged as they did so.

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One example of why to think and look again that I often gave to students, came from my postgraduate lectures at Goldsmiths. If I remember right it was in a seminar on Hardt and Negri’s ‘Empire’ that I became fascinated with the idea of the impossibility of fully understanding a historical object, despite our best efforts. I have twisted and reinterpreted the thought over the last twenty years, but the way I offer it now is to describe a tool that has recently been unearthed at an archeological site. It is clearly a tool, maybe eight inches long, with what might be a handle at one end and short, flat spikes at the other. The historians and archaeologists, from contextual research, site investigation and chemical analysis, conclude, with near certainty that this object, was a primitive nail clipper.

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To some extent, the case is closed. We know where it was used, and when it was used, and what it was used for… but in the life of this object, in its lived history, those bare facts tell us so little. From all the research available to us now, we can’t tell that people from that time used to habitually use the tool to take pots off the fire, and that it was always lost in the same way that we joke of the TV remote being lost now, and that it was colloquially known as the ‘cuckold’s scourge’ from its apocryphal use in beating unfaithful husbands.

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In much the same way as that object will forever be a partial mystery to us now, so the sincere work of art is a mine of fecund layers and meaning, available to so many layers of interpretation and appreciation – as an historical object, a cultural object, a physical object and an emotional object. How do we introduce people to the joys of collecting whilst also acknowledging the weight of knowledge that is needed to really know what you’re looking at?

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I’ve been thinking a lot over the past few weeks about how we might engage people more widely in art – especially in the UK. Although London, in particular, is one of the top art cities in the world, there is a disconnect between that creative force and the wider public. I wrote in my last newsletter about why that might be the case, but I wanted to think a little more about how it could be changed. It doesn’t seem like an impossible task. There must be a way of encouraging people to begin the journey.

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In some arenas people are happy to be amateurs, to acknowledge that they’re just beginning. If you’ve ever tried to play guitar then you might be familiar with that feeling of accomplishment when you, fairly quickly, master a few chords and, putting them together, a few songs. Soon, those around you will give surprised compliments – ‘I didn’t know you could play guitar.’ Of course, you know that there are limits to your new ability. You know that there are things called ‘harmonics’ but you’re not sure what they are. You know that it must be amazing to play like Segovia or Santana, and that playing a two-hour set is a far cry from what you’re doing, but there are also huge parts of mastering the instrument which you’re not even aware of. To make an inappropriate reference, there are plenty of Donald Rumsfeld’s unknown unknowns. But, to a great extent, people accept all this about playing the guitar – and they’re happy to try and learn anyway.

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We accept expertise in all sorts of fields – marketing, astrophysics, dressage. These are all areas that most people understand that they’re own knowledge is limited. But there is something about art, and its immediacy, and its supposed subjectivity that makes people reluctant to accept that they need to know more. It’s about art, and maybe food, that people say, ‘I know what I like’. That immediately shuts down open curiosity, a willingness to look and think and give yourself to that process. When I use to introduce the final year seminars to BA students, I would always try and emphasise the generosity of spirit that was needed to seriously look at each other’s art – and not generous in the sense of forgiving poor work, but generous with time, effort and empathy. Of course, like most things that are worthwhile, that time and effort pays dividends. How do we convince the new collector to approach with that same open enthusiasm as they would to guitar lessons. There does seem to be something peculiarly British in the reluctance.

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If we can democratise art collecting, and enthusiasm for affordable contemporary art, then we will be doing a great service to the economy, to people’s well-being and to our culture. I know that Tik Tok has a healthy audience, and can introduce people to new possibilities, but maybe we need an equivalent of Richard and Judy’s Book Club. Who would like to take that on? Who could introduce a broadcast audience to Art Club. Any thoughts?

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For further information on Blackbird Rook you can visit www.blackbirdrook.com