I hope I'm not drudging up bad memories and hard feelings. I also hope my ideas and definitions read clear through all of this. The "2064: Read Only Memories" thread has jogged a fleeting thought I've had for awhile and I'd like to talk about it.
First, it's important that I make a distinction between "being" and "feeling," because I've believed wholeheartedly since I've had a concept of what "art" was that games fell into the category along with everything else like books and movies and comics and stuff. They employ multiple artistic disciplines and primarily exist to invite audiences to have an emotional experience. They're also experimenting with more complex narratives similar to films. So of course they're art.
However, I think part of where people like Ebert were basing those counterarguments from is in the fact that games are still "different." It's not because of the interactive element; we've had interactive art installations since before games were a thing, and you can make the argument as Folding Ideas does that all art is interactive because the act of mentally engaging with a film or physically turning the pages of a book can fall under the definition too. It's not the rampant corporatism and nickle-and-diming either; after all, look at the clusterfuck that is Hollywood.
I think why games don't feel like art is because there remains this barrier, this stigma of sociopolitical criticism "not belonging" in the space of gaming. And as a traditional artist, it honestly bothers me.
Art naturally says stuff, with or without us trying to. That's because it's made by humans, or at least within a space controlled by humans. And us humans don't have the luxury of having a non-human point-of-view. We're all products of an innumerable amount of arbitrary historical and present decisions, cultural values, political realities, advertising campaigns, pop culture, biology and everything else (of which social media only exacerbates) made and categorized by other humans that makes any point-of-view completely divorced from humanity- and subsequently social and political issues- impossible. To ignore one's past and present environment when creating art is like trying to convey the physical feeling of crossing a black hole's event horizon first-hand.
When one ignores the human context within which art exists, discussing art suddenly becomes almost indistinguishable from talking about something that's instead meant to serve a utilitarian purpose like a footstool. True, a footstool is drafted and built by artisans and can be decorated, but I feel intent is the defining factor here. A footstool that exists in a space meant for shorties like me to step up and get higher and nothing else isn't a work of art. However, if I re-purpose that footstool in a shortie statue, then it transforms into art since the intent is not for making a job more efficient but to perhaps make a statement on the struggle of shorties, or even just to make an eye-pleasing statue.
If people are being outright attacked for talking about the inherent sociopolitical statements and ramifications of games, the same things that enthusiasts and critics of films and literature mull over at the dinner table on a Tuesday, if people are waving off this kind of critique as "bringing politics into games" as if the medium is somehow diametrically opposed to politics and thus will be harmed from the mere mention of these concepts simultaneously, well, what honestly makes games different from toys?
A toy's purpose- let's say a Hot Wheels car- is to preoccupy a child in play, the same way a game does. They come to exist as a result a multiple artistic disciplines, but for the most part their purpose leans towards the utilitarian purpose of play versus engagement in the car on the merits of its physical qualities and what those qualities mean from a thematic or a sociopolitical perspective. The car isn't painted red because it intends to visually convey "passion" or "rage." It's painted red because red is a simultaneously eye-catching and popular color. And you'd all look at me like a fool or call me some hipster art student if I tried to wrangle any meaning I felt from the color of some generic Hot Wheels car. A toy is more in line with a footstool than a work of art.
If I'm going to be dismissed or, in the worst case scenario, harassed because I decided to make an artistic or political critique about any given game instead of discussing whether or not I simply think a game is fun or not, then to me games cease to "feel" like art and "feel" more like overpriced toys. The gatekeeping just chops the full breadth of the conversation one can have about any given game down at the knees. Again, art says stuff. It's imperative that we be allowed to say stuff back. Art requires that openness for spirited and thoughtful dialogue, the invitation to allow a person to speak aloud about what the art says to them on an emotional and critical level. The day I'm not allowed to say a Giorgio de Chirico painting (think Ico's JP box art) calls to mind a vast, unsettling loneliness is the day I feel painting would stop feeling like art. The day I'm not allowed to say Michael Bay's annoying obsession with unearned American nationalism and racial stereotypes is the day movies stop feeling like art.
And the day I can say something as simple and perhaps observant as Sonic Unleashed's eating mechanic thematically ties into its themes of positive cultural representation and camaraderie, or something more pressing and socially challenging such as Resident Evil 5's use of generic African settings uncomfortably recalls highly negative stereotypes of Africans and black people as disposable savages, without the risk of dismissal or outright hostility, is the day games will finally start feeling like art.
First, it's important that I make a distinction between "being" and "feeling," because I've believed wholeheartedly since I've had a concept of what "art" was that games fell into the category along with everything else like books and movies and comics and stuff. They employ multiple artistic disciplines and primarily exist to invite audiences to have an emotional experience. They're also experimenting with more complex narratives similar to films. So of course they're art.
However, I think part of where people like Ebert were basing those counterarguments from is in the fact that games are still "different." It's not because of the interactive element; we've had interactive art installations since before games were a thing, and you can make the argument as Folding Ideas does that all art is interactive because the act of mentally engaging with a film or physically turning the pages of a book can fall under the definition too. It's not the rampant corporatism and nickle-and-diming either; after all, look at the clusterfuck that is Hollywood.
I think why games don't feel like art is because there remains this barrier, this stigma of sociopolitical criticism "not belonging" in the space of gaming. And as a traditional artist, it honestly bothers me.
Art naturally says stuff, with or without us trying to. That's because it's made by humans, or at least within a space controlled by humans. And us humans don't have the luxury of having a non-human point-of-view. We're all products of an innumerable amount of arbitrary historical and present decisions, cultural values, political realities, advertising campaigns, pop culture, biology and everything else (of which social media only exacerbates) made and categorized by other humans that makes any point-of-view completely divorced from humanity- and subsequently social and political issues- impossible. To ignore one's past and present environment when creating art is like trying to convey the physical feeling of crossing a black hole's event horizon first-hand.
When one ignores the human context within which art exists, discussing art suddenly becomes almost indistinguishable from talking about something that's instead meant to serve a utilitarian purpose like a footstool. True, a footstool is drafted and built by artisans and can be decorated, but I feel intent is the defining factor here. A footstool that exists in a space meant for shorties like me to step up and get higher and nothing else isn't a work of art. However, if I re-purpose that footstool in a shortie statue, then it transforms into art since the intent is not for making a job more efficient but to perhaps make a statement on the struggle of shorties, or even just to make an eye-pleasing statue.
If people are being outright attacked for talking about the inherent sociopolitical statements and ramifications of games, the same things that enthusiasts and critics of films and literature mull over at the dinner table on a Tuesday, if people are waving off this kind of critique as "bringing politics into games" as if the medium is somehow diametrically opposed to politics and thus will be harmed from the mere mention of these concepts simultaneously, well, what honestly makes games different from toys?
A toy's purpose- let's say a Hot Wheels car- is to preoccupy a child in play, the same way a game does. They come to exist as a result a multiple artistic disciplines, but for the most part their purpose leans towards the utilitarian purpose of play versus engagement in the car on the merits of its physical qualities and what those qualities mean from a thematic or a sociopolitical perspective. The car isn't painted red because it intends to visually convey "passion" or "rage." It's painted red because red is a simultaneously eye-catching and popular color. And you'd all look at me like a fool or call me some hipster art student if I tried to wrangle any meaning I felt from the color of some generic Hot Wheels car. A toy is more in line with a footstool than a work of art.
If I'm going to be dismissed or, in the worst case scenario, harassed because I decided to make an artistic or political critique about any given game instead of discussing whether or not I simply think a game is fun or not, then to me games cease to "feel" like art and "feel" more like overpriced toys. The gatekeeping just chops the full breadth of the conversation one can have about any given game down at the knees. Again, art says stuff. It's imperative that we be allowed to say stuff back. Art requires that openness for spirited and thoughtful dialogue, the invitation to allow a person to speak aloud about what the art says to them on an emotional and critical level. The day I'm not allowed to say a Giorgio de Chirico painting (think Ico's JP box art) calls to mind a vast, unsettling loneliness is the day I feel painting would stop feeling like art. The day I'm not allowed to say Michael Bay's annoying obsession with unearned American nationalism and racial stereotypes is the day movies stop feeling like art.
And the day I can say something as simple and perhaps observant as Sonic Unleashed's eating mechanic thematically ties into its themes of positive cultural representation and camaraderie, or something more pressing and socially challenging such as Resident Evil 5's use of generic African settings uncomfortably recalls highly negative stereotypes of Africans and black people as disposable savages, without the risk of dismissal or outright hostility, is the day games will finally start feeling like art.
