Notes & Queries 4th October 2013 – Harald Bɵrja revisited (What makes a painting a masterpiece?)

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The Norwegian writer and commentator, Harald Bɵrja, is regarded as the founding-father of the mikro-estetisk (micro-aesthetic) school of art criticism. He has vigorously distanced himself from the movement. In interviews he defines himself as a scientist, for whom visual beauty is incidental and subservient to underlying physical processes that are invisible to the human eye and all but the most powerful microscopes and scanners. He regards the universe as deterministic and therefore void of any true creativity or spontaneity, which he demotes to a byproduct of artistic vanity.

I will not delve any further into Bɵrja's complex opinions on this subject, mainly because all attempts to accurately translate his 2700 page treatise from its original Norwegian, in a manner that conveys its true meaning, have failed. Regrettably I do not speak the language well enough to make my own attempt.

For Bɵrja, a masterpiece is defined by details that exist beyond the scope of human perception: You or I might gaze upon Charlier's Theatre of 18th Century Man and be moved by the humanity of these sculptures which appear to radiate an inner light, as though the soul of the subjects was somehow infused in the plaster. Bɵrja would regard this as a superficial distraction. While he agrees that this artwork is undoubtedly a masterpiece, his appreciation of it lies in the “whorls of particle matter” that comprise these sculptures “as if a school of tornadoes have momentarily resolved themselves in human form”. 

It is this methodology that often leads Bɵrja to make controversial statements. A good example is his insistence that an amateur painting of some cats that he purchased from a cafe in Zurich is worth more to the art world than Van Goph's Sunflowers series, which he regards as a collection of unfinished works in progress that will only be improved by the passing of time, an accident, or some violent act of human intervention.

In support of this Bɵrja points to an impasto smear in the bottom right hand corner of Two Cats (artist unknown) which accurately reproduces a section of the Swiss Alps.  

Bɵrja embraces the concept that decay and vandalism play a role in the creation of great art and cites cases where these processes have elevated previously banal paintings and sculptures to works of majesty. Regrettably a few individuals have taken his philosophy to heart and have attempted to make their own 'improvements' upon priceless treasures: In 2007, a student and devotee of Bɵrja flung a vial of sulphuric acid at Die Magd von Echternach while it was on loan to a museum in Atlanta. The damage caused to the painting proved to be irreparable. It is now displayed with a velvet curtain covering it left-hand side. 

A few months after the attack Bɵrja made a comment during an interview with the Czech art journal  - Oko Jehly - that appeared to endorse the actions of the vandal, remarking that “what was once serviceable at best is now a thing of rare beauty”. 

Naturally these remarks provoked outrage and were widely criticised as an irresponsible thing to say, yet I have no doubt that they were spoken with great sincerity. Bɵrja genuinely believes that, in the aftermath of the acid attack, the painting is more beautiful on a microscopic level. 

In 2014, the Tate Modern will host an exhibition of artwork alongside critical interpretations by Bɵrja, as part of the gallery's Dual Perspectives season. Whatever your opinions are of this polarising character, it is likely to be a fascinating and thought-provoking installation.

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