The Criterion of Good Art

Essay by Galina Bakinova

Once, I was invited to take part in an experimental project organized as a pop-up exhibition in the garden of a private house on the coast. The invitation came from an artist whom I had previously interviewed for my research project. The exhibition's theme was quite broad and touched upon the subject of emigration, so I readily agreed to participate.

At the time, I already had three works from the same series that seemed to fit the theme perfectly. They were based on 3D scanning and took the form of digital collages — bright, visually striking, and slightly futuristic. I printed two of the works on paper, while I decided to present the video piece on a television set, which I transported from home in the trunk of my car on the day of the exhibition. I hung the two printed works on the branches of bushes in the garden, not far from each other, and placed the television underneath one of the bushes.

Video art on TV in the bushes

The artists participating in the exhibition presented a remarkably diverse range of works: a video piece with social and domestic narratives set against the backdrop of wintertime Russia; a pillow embroidered with black thread; a tourist tent resembling a temporary shelter hastily assembled by an emigrant; a semi-transparent mesh fabric layered with overlapping printed photographs; and something akin to a Caucasian burka made from recycled egg cartons.

Against this artistic vinaigrette, my own works seemed fairly successful, although perhaps slightly out of place.

As evening approached, all the artists had gathered, and the organizers invited each participant to say a few words about their work and explain how it related to the exhibition's theme. One by one, the artists stood beside their pieces while everyone else followed along in a line, listening attentively.

At some point, the initiative was seized by a man who might have been an artist, a visitor, or simply a random guest. He was not entirely sober. A can of beer rested in his hand, his speech was somewhat disjointed, and his face had turned red from the heat, which by late May was already reaching thirty degrees Celsius. This guest decided to inform everyone present which works were genuinely good and which were complete nonsense. Moving from piece to piece, he delivered his verdicts: “This one's okay. This one's okay. This one's so-so.” The artists followed him with surprising interest, listening to his opinions about their work.

When he reached my pieces, he waved his hand dismissively without even looking at them.

“This is complete crap,” he declared. Since I happened to be standing nearby, I asked -perhaps a little too loudly -“Why?” The guest turned around, looked at my works, looked at me, and then looked back at the works. Most likely, some switch responsible for logical connections suddenly flipped on in his head.

He scratched the back of his head and said, with a slightly questioning intonation:

“Oh. These are yours?”

I shrugged.

“Yes, they're mine.”

Then I repeated my question:

“Why are they crap?”

There was nothing confrontational in the question. I was simply curious about the criteria of good art according to this self-appointed expert.

The guest seemed to hide his beer bottle a little and began to answer.

“Well, you see... it's just... how should I put it...”

At that very moment, one of the exhibition organizers approached. As if trying to rescue the situation from its growing awkwardness, he first addressed the works themselves:

“I actually liked these pieces very much.”

Then he turned to me.

“Tell us a little about them.”

Text about artwork "Integracija" on the pop-up exhibition

Awkwardly, I tried to explain how I had made the works, what role the scanning process played, and why all of this related to the theme of emigration. But it was already evening. The guests wanted a drink, the heat was pressing down on everyone's heads, and my explanation was far too complicated and boring for the circumstances.

I wrapped up my speech as quickly as possible.

At that moment, a thought flashed through my mind: I should have simply brought a suitcase from home and placed it in the middle of the garden as an installation.

Perhaps the appropriateness of a work to its place is the criterion of good art.