Why Realism
I am drawn to realism for two reasons. First, realism poses extreme challenges. Work must succeed on all levels -- composition, communication and craftsmanship. Realism is as daunting as writing a new Shakespeare play, formally constrained, rich with meaning and sublimely crafted. I am not claiming to ever have succeeded.
Second, realism gives me an excuse to look at things. Realists have to look because we have to understand in order to portray and looking is a big part of the reason I get up in the morning.
Consider these master realists: Michelangelo Caravaggio, Nelson Shanks, and Mariano Fortuny. Their work rests on three pillars: 1) composition -- an abstract skeleton of value and color that has visual appeal apart from the subject matter of the painting; 2) thought -- the communication of ideas or emotions; and 3) craftsmanship -- the seemingly effortless use of methods and materials.
Although the paintings of these artists look real and immediate, the world they depict never existed. If this isn't obvious to you, picture Winslow Homer's Breezing Up, or Anders Zorn's The Lacemakers, or Joaquim Sorrolla's Return from Fishing. The waves, oxen, and women were in constant motion and never occupied the exact positions portrayed. Objects and people are rarely so deliciously arranged in real life; the pictorial elements were manipulated by the artist to create a compelling composition. These artists have edited nature into an abstraction so perfect that we see it as having been real and, indeed, have to be persuaded that it never was.
Contemporary art has taken the pillars of realism -- composition, thought, and craftsmanship -- separated them and pursued each part independently. It is a tribute to visual art that even when it is pulled apart, the strands remain rich and interesting. Art can be pure composition (Mark Rothko or Jackson Pollock) or pure idea or emotion like much conceptual art (Rachel Whiteread.) Some work combines thought and composition, like Willem de Kooning who expressed emotions using images that were representational but not naturalistic and were seemingly executed without finesse or craftsmanship, or Gustav Klimt whose work is representational, thoughtful and finely crafted, but not naturalistic.
Finally, some contemporary art originates outside visual art entirely and belongs more properly to theater, film or music. Some of this stuff is great, but why is it taking up space in an art museum? (Film Guido van der Werve's Nummer acht, Everything is going to be alright; Political Commentary William Kentridge's Refusal of Time; Cao Fei's Asia One; Theater Marina Abramovic's The Artist is Present).
Contemporary art eschewed craftsmanship when it began to xerox its successes. Artists made art that looked like Picasso and Rothko without following the path those artists took to get there. This gave rise to the belief (only among those who have never tried) that "I could paint that." And museums filled with found objects that were no longer as revolutionary as Marcel Duchamp's urinal (for example the work of Peter Fischli and David Weis).
I love contemporary and modern art even if its not realism. Artists continue to do amazing things with ideas and composition and even with pieces that would more properly be called film, theater, documentary, political theater, or music. I admit I am sometimes annoyed by contemporary art -- most often by work that copies without adding anything, exploits the viewer and venue (notable only because it is in a museum), is unintelligible without explanatory text, or is trite, bland, or merely decorative.
Realism also can disappoint in all of the ways I have listed. And, realism is not and should not be static -- in any school of art there are new ways to paint, avenues to be explored, and questions to be asked. Life happens, history happens, art happens; it's not Caravaggio to the end. The challenge of creating realist art and the joy of just looking at the world seems inexhaustible. I'll sooner reach the end of the Internet.