Many beggars are kept from reaching their full potential by undistinguished, ill-designed, and even downright amateurish signs. As a service to the community, Dr. Boli now offers these handsome signs for beggars at very reasonable prices. Write for price list and easy payment terms.

An artist unveils three paintings to an audience of connoisseurs, who are appalled to discover pictures of things they can recognize on the canvases, with no political content at all. This artist will not be represented at the Carnegie International. He may not leave this room alive.

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☛We are indebted to our longtime correspondent “kyp” for the phrase “curatorial prose.”

The main purpose of jargon is to give people something to say when they have nothing to say, which allows them to join the interminable conversation in their businesses and justify their salaries. The jargon allows them to live productive lives, in the sense of bringing home enough money to keep eating, without any conscious thought.

The art world is just about the most jargon-infested business there is, because there is literally nothing to say about most current art. Much of it is just a bumper sticker or printed T-shirt enlarged to take up more gallery space. Museum curators really have only one message for the public about current art they place in their museums: “This art is good and not bad.” Perhaps we should interpret the one message more precisely as “This art is virtuous and not wicked,” since art is to be judged only by its utility.

Are we being unfair to the curators? Perhaps we are. So, in the spirit of fairness, every so often we shall take a bit of these curators’ writing and see what it really means by analyzing the meanings of the words and applying the rules of grammar and syntax to their arrangement.

Today we take only one sentence, but this one sentence should give us enough to think about for a while.

The projects emerge through everyday acts, materials, and environments, offering spatially expansive portraits of collective life in the present.

Right away Dr. Boli should confess that he is bumbling about in the dark here, because he has not yet seen any of the exhibits. He can only take the words as they come to him, and add to them his knowledge of what commonly goes on in these exhibitions.

Let us start with the first subject and verb: “The projects emerge…”

Most of these works will be installations of some sort—sculptures, paintings, found objects, overturned garbage cans. Leaving the performances off to one side for a moment, in what way do these projects emerge? Well, they probably emerge from a big truck. After they get to their designated spaces, they just sit there.

But the projects do not emerge from in our text. They emerge through. Specifically, they “emerge through everyday acts, materials, and environments.”

First, the acts. Since these works are created by working artists, whatever those artists do for their art is an everyday act. For Michelangelo, hacking David’s foot out of marble was just another day on the job. So we can agree that these projects do indeed emerge through everyday acts.

We also have no quibble with the everyday materials, because we do, from our experience with past Internationals, expect to see a lot of things that would have ended up in the recycling bin if they had not been snatched up by an artist with an idea.

We can probably apply the same logic to the everyday environments, because—again—working artists spend every day in their studios doing art stuff, which eventually emerges from (though perhaps not through) the studio to go to some exhibition or recycling plant, depending on how successful the artist is.

But you may have noticed that, insofar as this part of the sentence says anything, it says nothing interesting. It tells us that artists did what they always do to create art out of things.

However, it was important for the curator to get that word “everyday” in there somehow, because it was important to show that we are not elitists here. A museum curator can imagine nothing more evil than elitism. “Elitism” usually turns out to mean the uneducated opinions of ordinary people, which are bad, and need to be corrected by the salutary application of Art as practiced by people who have earned doctorates from recognized art schools.

The real meaning of the phrase so far, therefore, is This art is virtuous and not wicked.

We go on: “…offering spatially expansive portraits…”

It is the “projects” that are “offering,” if we parse the grammar of the sentence correctly. They are offering portraits, which is different from being portraits, and these portraits are spatially expansive.

“Expansive” is often used metaphorically to mean “high-spirited,” but modifying the adjective with the adverb “spatially” seems to cut off all possibility of metaphor. We must take “expansive” in the literal sense of “growing to occupy a good bit of space.” That is probably true of many of the works, which come off the truck in kit form and are assembled into large displays that take up more space than the unassembled pieces did when they were crated.

In other words, the projects are offering big portraits.

Even though that is what the words mean, however, that is almost certainly not what our curator meant to say. In fact, the curator almost certainly did not mean to exclude small works. What probably happened was this: the word “expansive” came to the curator’s mind as a synonym for “good,” but it suggested the idea of physical space, and since the phrase without an adverb sounded too much like a thing someone who hadn’t been to art school would say, “spatially” stepped up to do its job of prolonging the sentence and making it sound as though the curator had some carefully thought-out ideas. It added dimension and heft and other good things. It did not add meaning.

But what kind of portraits are they? Not portraits of your Aunt Minerva, you may be assured. They are “spatially expansive portraits of collective life in the present.”

These are portraits that tell us something about life, but not a particular life—not the life of some special person—but collective life, the life we all live together. There are no elitists here: that is the message of the word “collective.”

And there is no past. The past is bad, and only the present is morally defensible. Therefore, every single one of these works is a portrait of collective life in the present. You will not find any pictures of historical events, like Julius Caesar crossing the Delaware, because the past is all bad and anyone who cares or knows anything about it must be repudiated. All this art exists in the present, because it is virtuous, and virtue lives only in the present.

So we have looked at one sentence from a curator’s description of the Carnegie International and found that, reduced to its essence, it says nothing at all, except that, if you are an habitué of the art world, the art will not challenge your preconceived notions of what is good and proper. Now, you may see some promotional literature from the Carnegie describing the art as “challenging,” but “challenging” is a code word in the art world. It means “not challenging.”

Perhaps in a few days we can spend another few hundred words picking apart another sentence, but it would be naive to expect any other meaning to come out of it.

Medal of Honor designed in 1896 by Tiffany & Co. for the Carnegie International, from the catalogue of the 1899 International.

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The Carnegie International opens on May 2, so you have one month to get ready. Traditionally the International is looked on in the art world as one of the top two or three exhibitions of contemporary art in the world; only the Venice Bienniale is more prestigious and more eagerly anticipated. The International is also, after the Bienniale, the second-oldest continuously running exhibition of contemporary art in the world: it began in 1896. Over the past 130 years, the greatest names in art have sent their works to the International, and the best of those works have been bought by the Carnegie to enrich its famous collection of modern art—giving life to Andrew Carnegie’s ambition to collect the Old Masters of tomorrow.

The 59th International is entitled If the word we.

The description on the Carnegie Museum of Art site is such a museum of artistic buzzwords in itself that we quote this paragraph (for the fair-usey purpose of criticism) in the confidence that our readers will learn more about contemporary art just by reading it than they would learn by actually attending the exhibition.

Titled If the word we, the 59th Carnegie International considers the first-person plural as an open and evolving proposition—one shaped by listening, translation, and transformation—bringing together artistic practices that engage shared experience, circulation, and worlds in transition. Drawing from a commissioned catalogue essay by writer Haytham el-Wardany, the exhibition approaches “we” not as a unified subject but as a complex and porous position, attentive to contradiction and change. Across a wide range of media, from painting, photography, and sculpture, to installation, video, performance, and theater, participating artists traverse cultural, political, intellectual, and spiritual geographies that extend beyond national boundaries. The projects emerge through everyday acts, materials, and environments, offering spatially expansive portraits of collective life in the present.

It seems to Dr. Boli that he will need at least a month to get ready for the 59th International. It will take him that long to brace himself for pronouns that are attentive positions.

But he will probably visit the International, if only because he has been a member of the Carnegie Museum for a long time, so the exhibition is already paid for, whereas the comedy theater on Liberty Avenue charges admission. And if any readers happen to be in Pittsburgh over the next few months (the International continues to the beginning of 2027), he recommends that they spend an hour at the International; it will teach them more than any other single experience could teach about the meaning of art in a post-art world.

After that, your admission is also good for the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, which is in the same enormous complex, so you can go see the world’s best collection of dinosaurs and tell them, “I know how you feel.”

Debate is good, especially when defish take it—

Pardon us, please. We have been reading too much James Joyce.

Let us begin again (Finnegan!).

Our article about whether there can be AI art provoked an interesting debate. Fred wrote:

The way it’s set up AI generates “art” without the permission of about eight billion involuntary contributors which I would think would be a violation of copyright. The copyright office might not think so but I suspect it will take approximately 150 years before the question is really settled.

In response, Belfry Bat wrote that

up until some remarkably recent point, ’most every artist anywhere spent most of his apprenticeship (oh, how I date my assumptions!) consuming, analyzing, synthesizing the art of Tradition; and “breaking” his hands, as it were—to make them do what he rather than they themselves wanted—by “copying” or “studying” these historical ARTifacts.

He goes on to doubt the possibility of complete originality in art, describing it as “a very young myth.”

In the case of human artists, it seems true beyond argument that every artist has learned from previous artists and is influenced by artists of the current generation, willingly or unwillingly. Even the self-trained outsider artists who are occasionally discovered by the art world, like John Kane, can usually be dated just by their style, showing that they were part of a larger environment of artists who, consciously or unconsciously, learned from each other’s art. There is nothing wrong with that, and in fact it is the very definition of culture. Dr. Boli was about to say that a society without those influences would be a society without culture; but then he realized at once that it would also not be a society.

Then when does influence become plagiarism or copyright violation?

We have spent many years working out the answer to that question for human artists (or writers, or musicians, or other workers in the fields our twenty-first century calls “creative”). The answer is that influence becomes theft when the artist adopts all or part of another’s work without credit or permission. It is not plagiarism if the original is credited, but it may be copyright violation if a large part of the work is adopted without license. For example, you might print a new edition of The Satanic Verses and credit Salman Rushdie as the author; that would not be plagiarism, but it would be copyright violation if you did not have the permission of the copyright holder. On the other hand, you might publish a novel that is word-for-word identical to Can You Forgive Her? by Anthony Trollope and claim it as your own; that would not be copyright violation, but it would be plagiarism, even if the only penalties would be social and not legal.

There is a certain latitude for “fair use” in quoting from or alluding to another’s work, and since it is impossible to draw a sharp line around the area of fair use, intellectual-property attorneys will never starve. In many jurisdictions (not including the United States), the question of “moral rights” makes the attorneys even fatter.

Now, how do the answers we have worked out for human “creatives” apply to the creations of artificial intelligence?

It seems to Dr. Boli that we can think of the bots in two different ways. Either they are minds in their own right, producing their own art the way an artist working for hire would do; or they are mindless tools in the hands of their users, like a more sophisticated (though not more artistic) version of a camera or a paintbrush.

Which of those two ways we choose is probably irrelevant, since in either case Dr. Boli’s conclusion would be the same. We can judge whether theft has occurred only by looking at the “art” the bots produce. If, after studying the works of all the artists in the world, they produce works in which substantial parts of the art they have studied are reproduced without permission, then those parts are stolen; and if they are under copyright, there are legal penalties to be paid. But if the bots’ productions are merely in the style of the artists they have studied, then they are no more plagiarizing than a human artist who paints Indianapolis street scenes in an Impressionist style is plagiarizing Monet or Pissarro.

This seems to be the case with visual art by artificial intelligence: it does seem to take what it learned and transform it (a term that is very important in American copyright law) into something original. It may not be good, but it is original, which is the moral or legal question to be answered.

It would be lovely to think that the corporate keepers of the bots trained them carefully to stay on the right side of that legal line. But if they are on the right side, it is almost certainly pure accident. As a counterexample, many open-source programmers complain that the AI bots that spew out code often take whole long sections from published open-source programs without crediting the original authors or abiding by the other terms of the open-source licenses. That is plainly illegal, but Microsoft, for example, publishes “agreements” in which you agree, merely by existing, not to prosecute the company for those violations, so we suppose it is quite all right and everyone ought to be happy.

In the case of art and literature, though, American courts seem to have settled on what Dr. Boli thinks is the most reasonable interpretation of the law. In the class-action suit against Anthropic, the court decided that it is fair use to train the bot on electronic copies of books, just as it would be fair for you to read those books and learn from them—if you have the right to use those books. But it is not legal to download a bunch of pirated copies and keep them for training purposes, any more than it would be legal for you to do the same thing.

In other words, if the bot is a tool, then the humans who use it are allowed to use it as a tool for learning skills and styles in order to make original works—but not for reproducing the copyrighted works of others. If the bot is an intelligence in its own right, then it is a sort of pet or minor person, and its keepers or guardians are responsible for making sure that it stays within the rules of fair use.

To Dr. Boli this seems like the only possible answer to the question of the legality of AI art. It does not begin to answer the question of the desirability of AI art. For that, Dr. Boli sticks to the answer he gave before: he thinks that, eventually, there will be art, and possibly even good art, that has used AI as part of the process. But most AI art—like most art in general—will be slop.