For most of our history artists had jobs, what we might now call commissions that unlike contemporary commissions (“here’s some money, do what you want”) were highly prescribed tasks with required outcomes, budgets, and schedules. Artists were given a program (an assignment) to follow. Paint this biblical story in this way and make it fit here, sculpt a statue of that military hero and put it there, and so on.
They called this kind of an assignment a “program.” In architecture we still recognize what a program is although mainly it prescribes functional requirements while a hundred years ago (and even now although to a lesser degree) it would have also prescribed “stylistic” requirements. But that painters and sculptors ever had to work under the demands of a program (a subject, a story, or style) by those who paid them may to us seem outrageous, if not unbelievable.
Historians might be able to explain when, how and why painters and sculptors broke free from the constraints of making a living by following the dictates of others. But maybe it was 1) the diversification of subject matter (landscapes, still-life scenes, secular and profane subject matter); or 2) the diversification of clientele-- merchants, wealthy land owners and other affluent types who could afford to buy art; or 3) the increasing agency of increasingly sophisticated artists who preferred the freedom (and the risk) associated with what we might now call “free-lance” work (the bohemian thing -- starving artists willing to sacrifice everything for “their art”).
Or maybe it was also 4) the invention of the museum in the 18th century, its dissemination and popularization in the 19th century and its transformation into a place where not only the work of dead artists (usually ripped out of their original context) but also living artists were and are exhibited (MOMA, MOCA); or 5) the arrival of the white box gallery where the work of artists is exhibited as a standalone object (and commodity to be bought and sold by gallerists, brokers and inevitably investors and speculators).
Regardless we have come to expect that artists refer to “their art” and those in the know will refer to “their art” by their name more than the name of the art the artist has given their art (“I bought a Bacon the other day, did you know that she has a Richter?”). And for those of us who can’t afford a Bacon or a Richter (or Monet or Manet) we have mostly experienced most art for most of the 20th century and well into the 21st in isolated settings confined within art galleries and museums.
This has not gone unnoticed by those artists who chomp at that bit by staging supposedly anti-elitist rebellions with the offering of ever-expanding range of genres (written, assemblage, installation, performance, projection, street, land, etc) that can be presented in an ever-expanding range of settings outside of the gallery or museum space—often in public spaces and in your face (bad ass art). And, therefore, even as we have become accustomed to art outside of the gallery setting and artists behaving badly we might also be forgiven for expecting that we should live in a world flush with more good and less bad public art.
Nor has it gone unnoticed by well-meaning public servants who believe that art should be for everyone without having to buy it or a museum ticket to see it. This has manifested in what we in our line of work encounter as the public art requirement, that is, the requirement by local governments that within a building’s project budget funds be set aside for the hiring of an artist to incorporate their art into the building. As a remnant of what we used to understand to be the purpose of art the aspiration is always expressed that the art be integrated into the architecture of the building.
It rarely works. Probably because 1) Artists don’t make a lot of money from it, so the accomplished ones are not interested; 2) The selection of the artist happens by a committee nearly always comprised of opinionated people of whom few know what they’re looking at; and, 3) artists don’t like to be told what to do —it is after all ‘their art.” (Architects don’t either, but when we embrace what we’re told to do, when we take it seriously we often come up with something surprising and surprisingly better than what we might have come up with on our own).
We have had in our public work positive experiences and outcomes, but rarely, and usually only when we have had a say (or, even better, the last say) in the selection of the artist, and when in contemplating the selection we have in mind where and how that artist’s work might fit within the architecture of the building whose design we are working on—and most crucially when we find the rare artist willing to work within the requirements of an assignment, one they have not dreamt up on their own, one in which they are encouraged to step outside of themselves and into a world in which they live both in freedom and service to others.