On the subject of decay

An underwater sculpture park by Jason de Caires Taylor has gained international recognition for his unique work. His sculptures highlight ecological processes whilst exploring the intricate relationships between modern art and the environment. The cement finish and chemical composition actively promotes the colonisation of coral and marine life.

Imagine creating something with every intention of ensuring its decay. To shed itself of its synthetic, immaculate character in exchange for erosion and gentle oxidations; to meld itself with nature. Growth in decomposition. Therein lies the art.

This notion of disintegration, of systematically, plucking off atom by atom an initially seamlessly structured entity to its naked constituent bones… well, it’s just strangely alluring. Not only does this motif permeate visual art, but it emerges in the realm of literature; I recall a passage from Don Delillo’s White Noise:

Albert Speer wanted to build structures that would decay gloriously, impressively, like Roman ruins. No rusty hulks or gnarled steel slums. He knew that Hitler would be favor anything that might astonish posterity. He did a drawing of a Reich structure that was to be built of special materials, allowing it to crumble romantically — a drawing of fallen walls, half-columns furled in wisteria. The ruin is built into the creation.

Where does this rather counter-intuitive trend spawn from? After all – why not glorify aesthetic perfection and produce architectural marvels that rise and stand, frozen in that moment of time encapsulating their birth? Why not conceive of a world (since art can move beyond reality) where time is construed as some tangible density, acting as a preservative rather than an agent of fermentation and chemical decay? As audiences to art, we seek to find beauty in what is presented before us. We want to be stirred. As humans, it inherent for us to yearn poignancy.

In the commercialistic modern world we inhabit, the visually sleek, the sublimely crafted is marketed towards us – or rather fired towards us with an alarming mathematically accuracy to pierce maximum desire into our hearts. Boxes of technological phenomena, tubes and glass bottles of resplendent hues, and exquisite scents to mask our natural human features and processes, are marketed widely and are appreciated by the masses. There is some portion of us that delights in the idealized – that perfect, unspoiled form, that sheen of the new.

And yet, we are self-loathing because in those moments when the rapidity of life slightly loses its vigor and pace, the fruitlessness of our pursuit becomes painfully apparent.

Taylor and Speer embrace the timely decay of the natural and artificial; theirs are a much more realistic portrayal of the universe we inhabit. But why is deterioration so beautiful? A crooked frame of a bird sprawled on the pavement elicits an initial feeling of discomfort and an instinct to shrink away, yet for me (and perhaps for you, too), I’m unable to will my gaze away from this spectacle.

Perhaps it represents us. It is catching Time in the act of doing its business. In its terrifying inexplicability, we find something beautiful and feel a quiet, involuntary tremble between our ribs reminding us that we are alive. The ephemeral nature of existence gives weight and meaning to life; the very mortality of things and their sheer vulnerability brings forth the worth of every object, for objects innately, without the presence of a human to perceive it, do not possess ‘worth’. Artists then, are rightfully so to be engrossed with the subject of decay. As Ray Carney puts it:

Art is not about making gorgeous images, but about revealing things that matter. Don’t confuse beauty and prettiness. Real beauty is not pretty. It is scary or disorienting, because it threatens everything we think we know.

And thus, I end on an excellent and utterly enthralling articulation by Mr. Carney (from The Path of the Artist) and leave you to better surmise, or simply mull over the reasoning behind what makes this rather dreadful steady deterioration so ineffably enchanting.

Sue majors in Neuroscience & English and tends to lurk in bookstores.