Towards a Theory of Art
by Richard Gleaves
Contemplating the ineffable sublime: the human mind as a virtually infinite state machine, with any given culture mapping only minuscule subsets of the full state space (but different-enough subsets to make anthropology an interesting proposition).
Recreational chemicals greatly expanded the accessible state space (at known cost), but entertain that one can think/perceive their way into states normally accessed by other means.
If the mind has virtually infinite states, and human culture conventionally defines and authorizes only circumscribed subsets of the entire space (with access beyond the bounds occurring only rarely via means haphazard, illegal, or paranormal (and among the latter I'd include the experience of seeing God or dying from cold on Everest; or perhaps the last few moments before one's car plows into another at 45 mph: I've experienced that, and the visual effect was as striking as a Rothko)), then it's the task of artists to lead people safely out into brain states never visited. The best art does that. And often the brain states achieved elude description in the available language. Behold the ineffable sublime, where ineloquence is bliss.
Radical functionalism: it should all be explicable with a sufficiently-advanced brain science, and some future post-MRI technology will reveal that the experience of looking at a Rothko generates a distinct neural signature in the viewing mind: as distinct as a thumbprint. Which will make for interesting ways of exploring the principles of artistic style.
A virtual infinity of brain states is combinatorically possible precisely because of the brain's relational nature: an extremely large but generally finite number of potential figures and grounds squared (in the simplest case) yields virtual infinity. And the fundamental psychological principle from which art draws its power is perceptual contrast, which arguably translates into brain function as a disruptor (but controlled, like reverb) of stable brain states... the neurological correlate of Duchamp's delays.
Hence the algorithm: begin with two elements in unconventional relation (convention yielding perceptual death); choose the elements so they reveal culturally-unrecognized affinities yet at the same time specific oppositional properties (material, imagistic, or — by metaphorical extension from the perceptual — conceptual). Then put them together. The contrastive tension (harmonies serving as contrasts to the contrasts) drives the artwork's experiential narrative (3 monks debating a flag in the breeze: flag moves! wind moves! mind moves!) which is traditionally labelled the work's strength or power.
Like a deep pun, the careful choice of two apparently simple items or images or properties can establish multiple levels of affinity and opposition, and the more layers and categories of contrast, the more powerful the artwork.
But at bottom it's perceptual contrast, which offers insightful explication of phenomena even as singular as the sublime itself. To wit: if the quintessential sublime is the experience of witnessing nature in its glory while also realizing it cares nothing of us, then this can be distilled to having the experience of fear while knowing one remains safe.
Fear in harmony with safety, when fear versus safety is perhaps the deepest-encoded opposition in the species (or for that matter all conscious life). Hence the power of the sublime.
"cash flow" - Bruno Lavelle
“The Secret Life of Salvador Dali,” published in 1942 against the backdrop of spectacular world events including World War II, the Sino-Japanese War, the Wannsee conference in Berlin which opened the doors to the Holocaust - to name but a few, Dali wrote a manifesto of sorts aptly entitled “My Battle” which wasn’t fought with the Allies against the Axis powers of Germany, Italy and Japan but was fought against conformity in any spiritual, philosophical or aesthetic form. It was one man’s fight against the Nine Muses or any Muse for that matter that threatened to level the battle field to a match nul.
WHEN I moved to Brussels to open my gallery, I found a large home with commercial ground floor space and living up above. De-centralized from the downtown arts district, I found myself located in a predominately Turkish and Moroccan neighbourhood with a couple of aging Belgian families too old to relocate or too stubborn to move like some already lost Alamo battle against the rising tide of immigration washing upon their shore.
The following posting germinated out of a forwarded email to Richard Gleaves, fellow Art as Authority contributor, that I received from Mark Vallen's weblog: 
