I had the chance to visit the The Armory Show earlier in March. It is an annual art fair, held at Piers 92 and 94 in Manhattan, that exhibits some of the most renowned works of the 20th and 21st century. I saw fascinating pieces including works by avant-garde Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama, learned about South Korean minimalist Chung Sang Hwa and even saw some of Robert DeNiro’s paintings. As I walked through the gallery I couldn’t help noticing a large polished rock propped up on a stand. The young man who worked for the exhibit eagerly explained details about the artwork to a curious lady. I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying but was shocked when I caught him mention the piece cost upwards of $20,000. When it comes to some works of modern art I can’t help but question why a certain object counts as an artwork in the first place? I sometimes think, “even I could make that,” a common response to this is “well you didn’t.” But nonetheless, “What more could there possibly be to this rock?” I thought to myself secretly. It looked as if it was picked up from the ground and placed on a pedestal for no good reason. I am no art expert but this led me to think about why the rock deserved a place at the exhibition, what distinguishes a work of art from any other object?

One explanation to what makes an object a work of art comes from English art critic Clive Bell. He argued that the form of an object, for example, the relations between colours and lines in visual art, is essential to what makes it an artwork. Bell states that art evokes a special type of emotion in us and calls this "aesthetic emotion." According to him what all artworks have in common, including cave art, Polynesian carvings, a Vermeer painting or a Cezanne, is a form that provokes this "aesthetic emotion." This specific emotional response is different from other emotional responses; looking at a painting of a house and feeling nostalgia because it reminds you of your childhood home is not "aesthetic emotion." The sort of feeling Bell is getting at is disinterested and would be tied to the form of the house and the colours that constitute the painting.

At first glance, this doesn’t seem far from my experience of art. When looking at a painting like Starry Night by Van Gogh, I feel a sort of emotion that seems impersonal and is rather inspired by a fascination with the interesting shapes and colours that make up the stars. With many great works of art, there appears to be a mysterious allure that evokes a certain indescribable feeling. However, this isn’t always the case. To me, works like Picasso's Guernica provokes emotion through providing a new perspective and highlighting the horrors of war. Moreover, Bell’s explanation doesn’t address what a rock is doing at a top art exhibition. Reflecting more on modern art I thought about artists like Marcel Duchamp and Andy Warhol who made some scandalous pieces in their time that pushed the already nebulous and essential aesthetic question of ‘what counts as art?’ over the precipice.

In 1917 Marcel Duchamp submitted a sculpture to be exhibited at The Grand Central Palace in New York, entitled Fountain. It was a urinal. According to the artist’s biography (Tomkins, Duchamp: A Biography) he “purchased a standard Bedfordshire model urinal...reoriented it to a position 90 degrees from its normal position of use, and wrote on it, "R. Mutt 1917". I don’t know what is more confusing to find at an exhibition, a rock or a urinal. Neither evoke any sort of emotion and certainly not any sort of wondrous “aesthetic emotion.” Duchamp’s submission was declined. Nevertheless, the sculpture later gained critical acclaim and now is widely seen as an icon of twentieth-century art. Similarly, in 1964 Andy Warhol exhibited one of his most famous works titled Brillo Boxes. He made copies of regular soap boxes (almost identical to ones found in a supermarket, however these were made of plywood). A lot of Warhol’s iconic work capitalized on reproduction and was a departure from refined artistic taste. Warhol’s work subsequently influenced many other prominent artists.

Perhaps Arthur Danto, American philosopher and art critic, can better explain why the rock, the urinal and the soap boxes are artworks. Danto draws an analogy between art and science. Just as new scientific discovery can overturn deeply held scientific beliefs, this sort of paradigm shift occurs in the artistic domain when new forms of art are created. To him a theory of art is what is important. It is not a quality of an object that qualifies it as art but rather it is the viewer’s perception. Knowledge of the history of art and artistic theory influence the way we see objects, this knowledge compels us to categorise them as art. When it comes to Duchamp’s Fountain and Warhol’s Brillo Boxes it is difficult to draw the line between the objects they instantiate and the artworks themselves. What really is the difference between a regular urinal and the one Duchamp submits for exhibition? The difference is the relationship Duchamp’s Fountain has to the previous body of artworks it arises from. At the time of creating(or buying) his sculpture, Duchamp was part of the anti-art movement, which aimed to subvert previous definitions of art. This shows that his work was in dialogue with the long history of artistic tradition. Andy Warhol’s Brillo Boxes make a similar gesture and have made a mark on the wave of art to come after.

There are still problems with Danto’s theory. It privileges the views of art critics as the best judges of art and how about pre-historic art such as cave paintings? There was no artistic theory back then. Furthermore, he points to theory itself is as a defining factor of what makes an object art but doesn’t offer us any new theory for considering works such as Brillo Boxes. Perhaps we’re asking the wrong question.

The German Jewish philosopher, cultural critic and essayist Walter Benjamin, In his work The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical argues that we have been asking the wrong question all along. Writing in 1936 he proposes that questions raised on the nature of art are fruitless if raised without an understanding of the revolution of the artistic domain as a result of new technologies. He states “Earlier and much futile thought had been devoted to the question of whether photography is an art. The Primary question—whether the very invention of photography had not transformed the entire nature of art—was not raised”.

This does seem to echo Danto’s proposal in that a revolution within art has called for a shift in our understanding of what art is. However, Benjamin particularly brings attention to the drastic change in the nature of art before and after mechanical reproduction. Film and photography have added a new dimension to art and has expanded its definition vastly. According to Benjamin, art once was tied to the realm of ritual, works of art such as Tell Asmar Hoard, ancient Mesopotamian votive statues erected to pray to the gods in the place of the dead, acted as functional objects for ritual. The unique history and spatial location of an artwork such as an old painting once created a special ‘aura’ when we observed it. The domain of film and photography has changed all of that. Film and photography is never situated but circulated endlessly. The ‘aura’ is no more. Art is rendered an experience for the masses. Benjamin states that, post mechanical reproduction, art’s purpose is now tied to propaganda. This leads me to consider whether advertisements are now part of the artistic domain? Though advertising attempts to sell a product and propaganda a lifestyle, there is a similarity in advertising and propaganda, both attempt to persuade through artistic means.

Overall, ‘what counts as art?’ is a philosophical question that does not have a straightforward answer. Our conception of art is always evolving as Danto and Benjamin illustrate. I can’t deny that some works invoke a special, mysterious “aesthetic emotion” in me but maybe this is only reserved of artworks that are untouched by mechanical reproduction. Perhaps “aesthetic emotion” and “aura” refer to the same sensation. The question becomes fraught with further complications when considering interactive art such as video games and Artificial Intelligence that can produce forms of art independent of human input like Aaron, a computer program that has been painting since the 1970s. Finally, what does all this mean for my rock at The Armory Show? The complex nature of the question as to what can count as art compels me to be lenient with the artwork. If a urinal deserves a spot then maybe so can the rock. Danto’s theory might explain how within the wider body of work this rock might be in conversation with what came before it. Maybe I would have understood and profited from the work if I had heard what the young man working for the exhibit had to say. However, even if the work can be seen as artistic achievement, this does not mean it is an example of aesthetic achievement. I am not compelled to like it and I would certainly not pay upwards of $20,000 to have it in my home.