Is the Aura of Art Dead or Are We Too Dead to Enjoy Art?
Sleepover at the National Gallery, the Meh-na Lisa, and philosopher Walter Benjamin.
For its two-hundredth anniversary, London's National Gallery, one of the world's most respected museums, launched a most incredible competition. The lucky winner would get to sleep within its walls, “within sight of the world's greatest paintings”. For all the art nerds out there, this would seem to be the dream sleepover!
This dream was scheduled for May 9, 2025, but we do not care if it came true. For you are all invited to an intellectual sleepover around this topic, and, because at Arcadia, Architecture & Art History we offer you ‘extraordinary experiences’, we have a very special guest. On the program: philosophy, piquant humor, and, I hope, as always, something to stimulate your thinking.
The philosopher who thinks that your fascination for art is a bit fascist
Without further ado, let’s invite German philosopher Walter Benjamin to this sleepover. In his 1936 essay The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, Benjamin explained his concept of the aura of art. According to him, an artwork possesses an aura, determined by its existence at a time and place. Our awareness that this work exists in one place in the world, and one place only, and that it will be visible to us only on the condition that we go to meet it, creates a power over the potential beholder, but also an almost mystical distance. Even when we have made the effort to travel to see this work, with our nose very close to it, the emotion we feel induces a remoteness. We unconsciously perceive its aura, and instinctively react with an attitude akin to veneration. The power that the artwork has on us feeds from the object’s authenticity (an expert said it belonged to history, with an iconic provenance), its tradition (the expert identified the era it was made in, what the art scene was then, its cultural, social or religious ties), and its uniqueness (the expert assured it was the only version, not a ‘pale’ copy).
The power of the aura has been a source of inspiration for artists, and of fascination for collectors and art patrons for centuries. A real driving force to dream and create more art. And then... we started making increasingly faithful copies. From then on, the work was no longer in a single place, visible to the few, the happy few, the band of worshippers. It was everywhere, distributed, touched even! So, what happened to its aura? Benjamin argued that the process of mechanical reproduction induced its decline, which he perceived as a positive progress. Now, the word ‘aura’ may seem glamorous, attractive, if not new age-y, and so it may surprise us that someone as intellectual as a philosopher would want this quasi-mystic concept put to death. We need a little context here: when Benjamin wrote his essay, he was fleeing Nazi Germany. And so, in his mind, the elitism of the aura intertwined far too much with the aesthetic propaganda of fascism —the purity of neo-classicism, the truthfulness of academic painting, and all that controversial jazz.
From art that smells of incense to art that smells of burgers
For the philosopher, the artwork belonged by tradition to a ritual. We need to travel back to time, or at least to remember that, at first, indeed, art was not designed to be visible by all, but to please a supernatural entity. The Parthenon sculptures were too high to be appreciated by the human eye, as were the ones at the top of cathedrals. Once the craftsman had finished his work, whatever the religion, the art slipped away from ordinary mortals. Almost 99% of art produced before the Reformation had to be religious, and even if it was commissioned by wealthy patrons for their own visual pleasure, there was still a very strong incentive to please a god or a church. So, the beholders of ancient art belonged to two categories: supernatural beings and chosen few. From this social distance derived a cult value, both in the religious sense, and relating to the use of an art object as a subject of contemplation, strictly by the elite.
The advent of mechanical reproduction, in particular the printing press, tempered with that ritual by offering an accessibility of images to a wider public. It resulted in a secularisation and democratisation of art. Through the production of prints, from woodcuts to engravings, artists and collectors created a network of learning, desacralising works of art in order to appropriate them. Prints reproducing famous works of art were passed from hand to hand, from social class to social class, traveling across continents, thus transforming them into a powerful means of educating the masses. The breakthrough of lithography and photography went one step further, by increasing the possibilities of distribution and even of creation. These practices indeed allowed everyone to become an artist, thus annihilating any auratic function linked to a Vasari-type of genius creator. The democratic role of photography made possible a generalisation of critical thinking in the field of images, and demoted the aura as an emotional response of the past.
Benjamin also valued the replacement of the cult value by the exhibition value, bringing art to the masses, starting in the end of the eighteenth century/beginning of the nineteenth century. Opening museums and exhibitions to the general public took the sanctity and elitism of artworks away from princely galleries. In addition, by getting the public used to looking at works of art, the power of museums themselves was weakened, with exhibitions now possible in less auraticised venues. After the stress of knowing where you put your passport at the Fiumicino Airport of Rome, you can admire works by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, and the 100 BC sculpture called the Borguese Gladiator points you in the direction of the Five Guys at the mall of Westfield-Rosny 2 in Paris.
Capitalism enters the chat: experiences for the gods
If we follow the train of thought of the German philosopher, who certainly had not planned to eat French fries in front of a Hellenistic sculpture but perhaps would have been delighted by the idea, we can speculate that he is having a great time at our sleepover. Why not? Opportunities such as sleepovers at the National Gallery or at the British Museum bring you closer to art and history than you have ever dreamed of. No more distance, no more historical barrier, kids racing through museum corridors in sleeping bags: on the face of it, all the criteria are met for our friend Benjamin to certify these initiatives as anti-aura.
One point of detail, however: the vocabulary chosen to describe these experiences. The National Gallery flatters the “lucky winner” who will be able to “wake up to the wonder of art”, the first and only to admire his renovated gallery. The British Museum, meanwhile, assures us that each sleepover is “unique”, and that lucky participants will be able to equate with “kings and gods from these ancient worlds”. The selling point of all these initiatives is exclusivity. In short, elitism. In short, we are back to the chosen few and the cult value, which excludes the rest of the population, for whom £70 is better spent in everyday, prosaic lives. Walter Benjamin has got his moustache caught in the zip of his sleeping bag, a zip that bears a striking resemblance to Capitalism. Plot twist: your aura got rebranded.
Indeed, the democratisation of art during the twentieth century proved to be a smokescreen to conceal a return to elitism, particularly in the art industry and art market in the twenty-first century. Leaving the replicas to mainstream consumption, the elites reserved the originals for themselves, thanks to two sleight-of-hand tricks. The first is “l’art pour l’argent” (art for the sake of money), i.e. the imposition of a financial investment value on a work of art, focusing once again on its authenticity, even if it meant manufacturing it. For more historical artworks, experts use very elaborate scientific processes to prove an authenticity that secure the hoped-for financial value. For contemporary art, artistic rarity can also be deliberately recreated. It is the case of street artist Banksy, who went as so far as to destroy one of his artworks during an auction to increase its uniqueness, and thus its aura. In the digital reproduction era, this control of an object’s rarity and the limit on the right to produce copies ensure the financial gain of the makers and sellers, and promise an exclusive experience to the buyer, which is capitalism's second magic trick.
Experience. The mystique of this concept is amplified every day by thousands of media, marketers and, above all, influencers, our contemporary clergy. A genius hijack of aura theory: even if something is not unique, it still can be made rare and thus, coveted. When the digital mediation studio Factum Arte created a facsimile of Paolo Veronese’s Wedding at Cana in Venice, they argued that it provided “a more authentic experience than the original in Paris”. Why go and hang out in a museum with the rest of democracy, when you can enjoy a special moment with art? Even the exhibition value hailed by Benjamin underwent an auratic makeover. With a great deal of exclusive openings and private viewings, it reinstates the notion of lucky elite and of a distance with the display. Distance for people lacking taste and financial means, that is.
With his theory, Benjamin thought that we would get rid of the art’s cult value. Unfortunately, he had no way of foreseeing that digital reproduction would reinvent the pilgrimage. The notion of experience, indeed, in a way, replaces religion. In the same way fifteenth-century prints of portraits of saints encouraged a ritual, photographs and videos on social media now entice visitors to museums, or to buildings and places chosen for their aesthetic value. Translate: Instagram-able. Cultural tourism thus sells the idea of an encounter with authenticity. However, we are no longer going to visit a work of art or an iconic place, we are going to inscribe ourselves in them with plenty of evidence of our connection with the exclusive, especially through selfies. As such, our social media feeds serve as ekphrases for the ‘real deal’. Those who give in to the siren song could not care less that, in reality, their experience is far from unique since it simply follows the same dictates. The important thing is that THEY experienced it. The rise of the god-like main character has made the aura flourish again.
Knock twice if you are still alive (and once if you are a robot)
But in the end, is the experience genuinely satisfying? Does it live up to the emotional and egotistical magnitude touted and therefore hoped for? Or have we not, by depriving it of a pivot to democratic education and enjoyment without elitist enrapture, emptied art like a fish on a fishmonger's stall? Is it looking at us with its dead eyes on its pile of ice, or are we the ones looking at it with dead eyes?
As far back as 1972, art critic John Berger noted that, “For the first time ever, images of art have become ephemeral, ubiquitous, insubstantial, available, valueless, free.” Little did he know that anyone could one day take a technological tool from their pocket and instantly access all the images produced since the beginning of humanity. Faced with image bombardment on an unprecedented scale, our expectations of a pleasurable experience become impossible to meet. We are like drug addicts who need a stronger dose to feel something again, and museums are struggling to provide these new highs. Even bestsellers and celebrities no longer hit the mark.
Take Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa. Iconic as hell, as we could write on social media, next to some art history meme. Everyone flocks to the Louvre in the hope of catching a glimpse of her mischievous gaze and legendary smile. But here is the thing: art history's most famous portrait is also the world's most disappointing masterpiece. In February 2024, the website Coupons Birds studied over 18K reviews from tourists about their museum experience, and found that the Mona Lisa had 37.1% negative reviews. Admittedly, she is difficult to get close to because of the crowds of visitors, protected by her glass, but what emerges above all from the reviews is frustration. Tourists find it underwhelming to see her in the flesh. Mona Lisa's aura has backfired: over-glorified by art historians, pop culture and tour operators, she has become... Meh-na Lisa. We could be frank and admit that, indeed, perhaps too much has been made of this portrait, and that it pales in comparison with other works. But when we learn that Delacroix's Liberty Leading the People, and Dali's Persistence of Memory are just behind in the list of what people consider overrated artworks, we wonder if the problem might lie with the beholders. Haven't we become a little too jaded for our own good? Or, by dint of seeing a great Flemish master next to Sephora, an Egyptian sarcophagus next to one’s bed, and a myriad of selfies in front of the Acropolis, have we finally overcome the aura?
Before asking you, the reader, whether aura (in reasonable quantity) is necessary for the survival of art, it remains to address the most recent technology of reproduction, and therefore of potential destruction of aura, namely artificial intelligence. Here is an invention that would make Walter Benjamin and John Berger dizzy: in a fraction of a nanosecond, it copies all the images created since the dawn of mankind, and uses them to create, all by itself, a new work of art. Impossible authenticity, permanent accessibility, and a democratic façade. What is more, how can we still marvel at the creative genius of artists when a machine can do it so much faster? Why even bother drawing, painting, sculpting, etc. when AI can do it for you? We seem to have reached the ultimate cancelling of aura. Is our German philosopher finally happy?
Since the Devil is in the details, let's return one last time to Benjamin's key argument in favor of aura decline: the egalitarianism in front of art. By allowing the masses to take control of art at the end of the nineteenth century, the importance of aesthetics declined in favour of a politicisation of art, the very antithesis of aura. Starting in the twentieth century, art became a weapon used by activists to fight fascism. In an attempt to counteract this evolution, the elite introduced the concept of ‘l’art pour l’art’ (art for the sake of art), which establishes that art must not be tainted by mere mortal considerations, such as the social, the moral, the political, let alone the educational. No, it must be beautiful, period. Let's not forget that in Walter Benjamin's historical context, beauty was a Nazi argument, and a superb propaganda tool.
And that is where the problem with AI-generated artworks lies. AI art tends to emulate the wanderings of ‘l’art pour l’art’, by creating images designed to flatter the eye. Too beautiful, too smooth, but above all, uninteresting. A work of AI is instantly forgettable. It does not call for a revolution like a Delacroix, it does not intrigue with its gentle madness like a Dali. We do not feel an emotion, an intellectual curiosity, and even if we made it accessible at all times, its coldness deprives us of an intimacy with the reproduction it provides, making art unattainable once again. And we can no longer use it to thwart elites and threatening ideologies. The aura seems to have something in common with an indestructible Nokia.
So, how can we regain a sense of wonder and pleasure in contact with art, in the midst of happenings for the privileged, snobbery in auction rooms, soulless images, and capitalist over-tourism? Should we contact a German philosopher on a Ouija board, or are we still alive enough to find the answer ourselves?
Bibliography
Benjamin, Walter. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.
Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. London: Penguin Books, 2008.
Cooper, Andy. “The World's Most Disappointing Masterpieces to Visit”, https://www.couponbirds.com/research/disappointing-masterpieces
Hallett, Florence. “We Made It: Factum Arte”, https://www.theartsdesk.com/we-made-it/we-made-it-factum-arte
Larsen, Erik. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction”, https://campuspress.yale.edu/modernismlab/the-work-of-art-in-the-age-of-mechanical-reproduction
Tate. “Aura”, https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/a/aura
The British Museum. “Sleepovers”, https://www.britishmuseum.org/membership/sleepovers
The National Gallery. “Wake up to the wonder of art and see the transformed Sainsbury Wing – be the first to sleep with the treasures of the National Gallery”, https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/about-us/press-and-media/press-releases/wake-up-to-the-wonder-of-art-and-see-the-transformed-sainsbury-wing-be-the-first-to-sleep-with-the-treasures-of-the-national-gallery
I haven't read a lot of English writings on Benjamin (most of what's out there seems to be in German), so this was really refreshing and interesting! I think learning may be the way to establish a sense of wonder in contact with art. When you know more about what you are looking at, you can experience a sense of appreciation (and wonder!) that is separate from simply looking at the authentic object.