THERE is, of course, a man (if he isn't a woman) behind the
librarian. When the librarian leaves his office or the counter, the man
steps forth... If someone says “So-and-so looks like a librarian,” he is
probably thinking in terms of the old-time librarian, spectacled, round-
shouldered, peering, and surrounded by an astral aura derived from the
immemorial dust that time has dropped gently on his books.
-Author unkown, from
“The Man Behind the Librarian:
the Results of an Enquiry” in Library Review, vol. 9, issue 8, 1944 (URL).
The
aura of the librarian is as dusty as a
witch’s spell
or as the passages of space between lines of poetry, cast away in a Charles Halloway-esque attempt at redemption. But before we cast about in our own mutterings of
Shakespeare let us remember who had the last laugh: because just as Mr. Cougar crumbles to dust in his attempt to outsmart the
angel of history, so, too, does the machine. Perhaps, after all, only Halloway was right.
Technology is moving as rapidly as this opening paragraph, with as many connections and inquisitions, and sometimes it makes just as much sense. There is something poetic about its movement, however, something dynamic and progressive. And most of all, democratic.
Walter Benjamin argued that the mechanical reproduction of works of art (through mass copies, photographs, and assorted other methods) destroys the feeling of awe that the spectator feels when gazing at, say, a painting by Monet. This feeling is inspired by what Benjamin called the “aura” of art. The aura, according to Benjamin, was not something inherent in the art itself, but was based rather on the historical and cultural values—values that are political in nature. Monet is impressive because he represents a major development in the history of art, and because society has deemed his work to be impressive. But is he any more impressive—intrinsically—than the work of another and less popular impressionist painter?
Benjamin’s friend Theodor Adorno agreed with him that mechanical reproduction “shatters” the aura of art. Not only do major art works become commonplace through mechanical reproduction, but they lose their history and uniqueness within a historical context. Monet’s singular and unique work—awe inspiring as an exhibition at a major art museum—is commonplace and ordinary hanging over the booth at the local truck stop. But does that make a viewing of the original any less dramatic? Or are lesser known works, works without such dramatically spectacular auras, truly less resonant?
'Impressionism in Autumn': this photo has a CC Attribution non-commercial 2.0 generic copyright by tanakawho (flickr username)
