Ｓｏｍｅ Ｔｈｏｕｇｈｔｓ ｏｎ Ｂｉｏｇｒａｐｈｙ 傳記與藝術欣賞隨感

I remember an anecdote I once found in a Sunday newspaper. Thearticle related to a press conference for Iris--the biopic of the famous.scholar/novelist Iris Murdoch. Responding to questions， KateWinslet admitted to completing her role in the film without ever havingread one of her character's novels.

This came as quite a shock to the journalist--the admission， perhaps，as much as the fact.

But the story also serves， I believe， to invite further questions withrespect to art and artists' lives.

Perhaps partly because the experience of certain arts--music， forexample---is so unaccountable to language， it has been acceptable， formuch of history， for the scholar or fan to discuss not only about thetechnical details of a work of art or its effect on its audience， but alsodetails relating to the life of the artist， or the intentions of the artist.

Many will argue that such biographical details help to attract anunfamiliar audience to something of cultural importance. Some，moreover， will contends that knowledge of the artist's life and intentionsare necessary to a real understanding of their work.

I emphatically oppose both such arguments.

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Art may require some degree of translation. Its cultural andhistorical context may need to be untangled somewhat for anuninitiated audience. But if one can neither comment upon， norenjoy art without knowledge of its creator and his/her reputation，it is either bad art or else not art.

Let us consider the issues of an artist's nationality， politicalaffiliations and sexual habits-not issues we as humans are verygood at forgetting.

There is a good chance that such details might prejudice oneagainst the merits of a work. Opportunities for enjoyment orreflection may be lost.

But even if not as barriers， such biographical concerns may actas distractions， wasting one's concentration and appetite for art.And (sadly perhaps)， biographical evidence， whether proven ornot， is much more distracting to humans than pure biographicalmystery.

We can never make information secret again. What we can do isto separate biographical enquiry from our descriptions of art.

Much in art is connected with human questions--allegiances，attractions， sensations and motivations. Many argue thatbiography the study of real people's real lives， offers， like art， anenormous scope for interpretation and imagination. I agree.

At its best， biography can transcend gossip and tabloidobsessions， providing affirming and thought-provoking material.

But for the biographer of an artist， there are many reasons for avoidingcriticism of the work itself. Alongside a desire not to offend thosecooperating in the research， and a possible lack of interest or expertise， thegood biographer recognizes that investigations into life and art representdifferent fields.

More commonly it is critics who attempt to combine these two kinds ofinformation. The results often resemble a process of \"cross-referencing'--with\"facts\" or \"answers\" from the one sphere used to validate speculations in theother.

Too often， it is the perceived difficulty of a task that earns an artist thegreatest applause.

Like singing a high note， standing on one leg for a certain length oftime is quite visibly difficult. But only the richest presentation could makeit meaningful to watch.

Through a different kind of difficulty， the work of a conjuror inspiresthe gasps of his audience. It's not important whether or not the viewersolves the mystery behind it; there is little incentive to watch the sametrick again and again. A show whose terms of attraction are so obvious tothe viewer will never engage his/her full consciousness.

Appreciation of art requires fruitful difficulty on the part of everyparticipant.

As myth would have it， the difficulty of giving birth to art is necessarilyborne over a \"difficult life'. I personally would have great trouble inappraising the work of an artist who smiles through a pudgy face， dineswith TV stars， and retires early to look after family and realty. It doesn'tfit my image of the \"suffering artist\". It doesn't fit my irrational prejudices.

Those producing the most meaningful works are just as likely orunlikely to be recluses， or the self-assured celebrities of book-signings.Since it is often difficult to think of artists without such stereotypes， it isperhaps better not often to think of artists.

In their fear of \"over-interpreting\" or of \"being fooled by\" a work，many people make unconscious reference to the question of whether ornot their own interpretations were considered， or intended by the artist，In doing so， they confuse art appreciation for the decoding of a puzzle.Such enquiry， whether or not it can besubstantiated， treats the meaning of awork as finite--a series of answerablequestions about what the artist \"meant\".

This license to question is consideredacceptable in much contemporarydiscussion of art. But equally common isthe assumption that certain artisticfigures--geniuses--are exempt from it.

Rather unhelpfully， I was taught inhigh school that， whereas most literaryworks should be considered finite in value，Shakespeare's texts could be said topossess infinite depth.

If literary over-interpretation is indeed possible， the fringes of theShakespeare industry are where it is most likely to be found. Mostcultures have their equivalents. But this is not my main concern.

I fear that the insights of new artists， forgotten artists， even ofordinary people， are constantly denied， for lack of some \"evidence\"，for lack of the ultimate biographical-shorthand: reputation.

In asking ourselves whether or not our interpretations of a work ofart are objective， we would do well to consider the interpretations ofother beholders of the same work: Can we express our interpretationsin ways understandable to the intelligent， non-expert witnesses of ourage? Would they recognize the work as we describe it? If the answer is\"yes\"， and the interpretation is original， express yourself. If it's \"no\"，just enjoy your idea as part of the delightful subjectivity ofexperience.

It's possible that artists consider such questions， too—either increating， or releasing their work. But by then， of course， theirspeculations are no more valuable than anyone else's.

I therefore wholeheartedly admire Ms Winslet's brave decision toseparate art from biography. And， should I ever see the film itself， Iwill endeavour not to consider her decision in judgment of herperformance.