A Shot
Every single work of art is a shot. Be it a revolver, cannon, water gun, or bow, it doesn't really matter. What matters is that it always has to hit the target.
Naturally, every shot has a person who shoots behind it, their weapon, projectile and anything else accompanying it. Since any work of art is a statement, i.e. an idea put into a certain form, the thought must find consistency within the form. If there's not enough content, the shot will be a blank, or you will simply miss. Otherwise, if the amount of meaning far outweighs the given form, the weapon will break in your hands, hurting you. A plastic water gun loaded with a chemical solution will melt, a musket will explode from the abundance of gunpowder in it, a bow will break in half under the pressure of an arrow, and a cannon will explode from the amount of what you stuff into it.
It leads us to the idea that every shot is worth cherishing. On the one hand, this speaks in favor of the need to endow each work with meaningful depth. But on the other hand, conceptual depth should correspond to the form. Obviously, none of this makes much sense if you're just shooting bottles in your backyard. But since art is social in nature, and if an author is considering having their work heard, seen, felt, understood and appreciated for what it is, it's better for them to conserve the energy. Although one can spend years preparing for a single test shot, eventually discovering that the target was blown away by the wind long ago.
This doesn't at all imply that creating a complex, deeply structured work with fewer means would be impossible. For sure, meaning can prevail over form, and there is nothing wrong with them being slightly disproportional. More content than form is better than more form than content. However, it's essential for form that it must be able to accommodate more meaning in the first place, otherwise it's going to crumble under the weight of ideas it couldn't provide. There are certainly some basic requirements for form, the lower threshholds, and in each case they must always be defined. Grandpa's old rifle, if taken care of, might still do well, despite its age. Depends on who's holding it and what they want to do with it. Even an ancient trebuchet can throw cinder blocks.
The same is true for some complex works that at first mimic something way less simple. Imagine going to a shooting range with a water gun. The people there would kind of understand what to expect based on the situation, but would still remain unsure: is it a water-shooting toy, or a real gun and now you're about to set a new record with the most unusual looking thing in the history of that range? When the shot is fired, any doubts disappear. Of course, all this looks like a cheap trick, but the more connections and internal logic between the real gun and the water gun, the more interesting would be the shot itself. After all, unconventional situations sometimes require solutions as equally as unconventional. Remember that even in this case you may miss.
Sometimes the goal may seem deceptive: then we find out that the projectile launched by the author deliberately bounced from the first, superficial target to the true essence of the work, its hidden meaning. In such cases, to fully understand the work, we have to find the real target by tracing the trajectory of the projectile. As always, quite puzzling one. Nevertheless, at the end of this maze, people are bound to be granted with a reward that is respective to their efforts to understand it. If there's no target at all or the projectile ricochets off the initial target somewhere else, or its multiple maneuvers are so complicated that they cannot be deciphered, the shot itself is probably a failure.
Alright, let's say the shot is fired. What can we tell about it? Why was it fired in the first place, what was the goal? When we perceive a work of art, it reveals to us the very picture of the shot and thus the target. Goal, therefore, must come from the work itself, its form and content, i.e. the weapon and the projectile, or rather the relationship between the contents of the projectile and the target. The clearer the goal, the less the author needs to provide any explanation of the intent behind their shot, except in situations mentioned above where the meaning remains hidden until discovered.
Keep in mind that different weather conditions accompany a shot and shouldn't be overlooked. But the weather is never and can't be perfectly clear, since there is no escape from atmospheric effects and their imprint: we always deal with at least sun glare or light fog, and in a thunderstorm or blizzard it might be difficult or even straight impossible to determine the target. That's why some works of art wait decades or even centuries for recognition, without finding it with contemporaries. Weather also affects the shot itself: bad weather might deflect the projectile or damage the weapon. Sometimes the weather becomes the reason why the author can even miss and accidentally hit another target, but do that with such elegance as if they were aiming at it from the beginning. It's possible.
But even the most beautiful weather will never adorn a bad shot, for it's always being a fixed act, if the work does exist and is available to us in full. And if there is a shot, there is also a target. It follows that the shot can be interpreted in different ways, but all these versions will come with a different weight. Some of the interpretations will help us get closer to discovering the goal of the shot, while others will take us further away from it.
To conceptualize the work, to consider its goal, is a matter of proper optics, and that should be the purpose of aesthetics. One can indeed see something in a shot that others haven't seen before, but it's impossible to endow it with its own, special meaning. Otherwise, it goes beyond any evaluation and analysis and naturally becomes the drawing of one's own targets to the shot, imposing own goals on the author that the didn't pursue. So the author is alive and has never died: otherwise, who pulled the trigger all this time?
The shot is fired right before our eyes. So how do we evaluate it? If the main criterion for evaluation is accuracy, what is the means of measuring this accuracy? That is the exact point where the shot metaphor is exhausted, because real art is trillions of times more complex than any sport shooting or darts game. After all, it's no longer about earning points, since the end goal of all these shots is not about setting any records. Or rather, it is, but setting records in human genius, the greatest accuracy among all.
I believe the essence of art lies in the cognition of the reality through artistic images. This simple presupposition sets the basis for the goal: to reveal any phenomenon as deeply as possible; convey feelings and thoughts in the most accurate and clear way; at last, reflect the totality and complexity of the infinite world, humankind included. Thus, accuracy is not a binary hit or miss but a qualitative criterion not reducible to quantity. The deeper and closer to objective truth a work is, the closer the author is to hitting that target and the more brilliant the work turns out. The goal might be one, but the number of targets and ways to hit them is infinite.
In practice, however, we meet many different, even opposite, goals and targets. After all, people engage in art for different, often deeply personal reasons. Thus, the existence of many works is limited to the purpose of simply demonstrating a spectacular shot, a mere trick, or to repeat a legendary shot from the past as accurately as possible. Instead of one author, a whole fleet orchestra might lie behind the work, specializing in this kind of performative shooting, making a grandiose show out of each shot which of course should involve a thousand guns, lasers, rockets and bombs. Sadly, all these shots might turn out to be blanks, or even a cheap illusion deliberately drowned out by impressive explosions, while the target is hidden behind the clouds created with air vortex cannons and fog machines.
But what if the author's goal is to shoot in the air, not shoot at all, or point the weapon at themselves? No doubt, the possibilities are truly countless within each case. But what is important here is not what the goal may be, but what shapes it systematically takes. No matter how brilliant the authors are and how unique their intent is, the goals and targets generally are set by objective conditions, by history itself. It's impossible to argue that art reflects the society at given time. And then, if we are not satisfied with the status quo, it becomes important what should the system be that presets these goals. Still, the most advanced art at all times is that which not only adequately reflects the current historical stage but also transcends it. The art which unites past, present and future in its shot. So, what's with the status quo of our times?
In the case of modern & contemporary art, I see the picture as following: you are in the middle of a shooting range turned into a chaotic battleground, right in the middle of a ravaging blizzard. Shots whistling around, shells flying in mere inches from people's heads, while everyone tries to make a shot, but the goals are either trivial, or unknown even to the artists themselves. Some are goals in itself, be it the frequency at which the bullet rings, what pattern is engraved on the gun, the boldness of uniform the author wears, and what not.
Yes, art history will bite this bullet as well. The only thing is that people shouldn't hit each other or themselves, yet unfortunately, that's exactly what happens. But one day this storm will end; the disasterous fog will be unveiled, and the weather will start to clear, along with the goals themselves. In the meantime, what people now need most of all, whether they realize it or not, are loud shots discharged from numerous flare guns to light their way through this turmoil, to build the better climate.
Every single work of art is a shot. A shot right to the target; and every artist should aim for truth.
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2025