Before the Age of Enlightenment, art was largely untitled. Subject matter was explicit, culturally integrated and mostly iconoclastic. Scenes of Christ, his disciples, Madonna and Christ, crucifixions needed no titles. Some of the earliest art as well: cave paintings, rock art all are hypothesized to have been ceremonial or to record daily rituals and events.
It might have been very smart to title these “primitive” images as a way of laying down data for the next generation. But these works were probably not intended as art per say, and subject matter was explicit. Once portraiture became culturally important, titles were used as a kind of recording, historic documentation. As art has grown into other realms and categories, titles can offer a kind of buoy, making explicit the implicit, calling meaning to the unconscious process. Even “untitled” invites the viewer into the artist’s internal world, to comb over ambiguity and find meaning. A powerful piece can certainly stand alone, title-less. To some however titling a piece “untitled” is far from captivating.
Recently, a colleague of mine said that her past work was often untitled. She felt that her non-representational pieces were more accessible to the viewer’s unconscious when signed “untitled”. It felt like a safe, open haven in which the viewer could project his/her own associations and experiences. Interesting that currently she puts a great deal of time into conceiving of titles and she feels that this is developmental for her. Now, she uses the power of a title to extract as much meaning and message from her internal process as possible in the hopes that it will strike a responsive chord in the mind of the viewer (or perspective buyer). A title, she says is now an added vehicle to communicate. It is interesting to consider whether many other artists also turn to the title for artistic enhancement or begin “untitled” works as they mature.
The visual experience of an artwork, combined with the linguistic overlay of a title can add a powerful dimension. The piece may be suddenly more accessible to the viewer. A successful title can lead us back to the glimmer of a memory, and replay it. It can summon visceral sensations that can clarify and calm. This is not to say that an evocative piece cannot or should not stand alone, title-less, but when the title is well-suited for the piece, when the partnership is right, then connections are ignited; connection between visual experience and written word, connection between artist and viewer and connection between past and present.
Arthur Dove, an early twentieth-century American painter gives us a wonderful example of the irony a title can evoke. A bold non-representational brown/green painting depicts a grassy form in the lower right and a light-colored bone-like form in the center. The title of this painting is “A Neighborly Attempt at Murder”. Well, what a shocker! For some, it offers permission and reason to walk away. For other onlookers, it is a marvelous invitation to taste, to wonder and to look more closely. The experience opens possibilities, the mind is charged. Another great example of this is evident upon viewing Charles Sheeler’s detailed, representational painting of a printing press in a room with a window. Sheeler, another twentieth-century American artist shows the viewer a calm room and out of a window in the back one sees some lovely clouds against an uplifting-blue sky. The title is “View of New York”. Sometimes, there is more linguistic information than merely a title. Georgia O’ Keefe’s painting “Bone and Shingle” is a good example if this. The piece depicts a soothing grey landscape: a mountain, a horizon line. Visually, it is a calm story. Upon reading past the title to the description of this work, the reader is brought into another story. This work, the plaque tells us is her final work in a series of explorations with the shingle and the bone. The story is broadened, embellished. The added information acts as a kind of history to the painting’s creation. It is a good example of the linguistic world and the visual world charging one another.
Titling, pricing, showing, hanging and finishing our artwork often falls under the ominous umbrella category of “marketing”. I use the word ominous because for many of us, it is daunting to go from studio work to advertising. The subject of selling our art is far from straightforward. Yet the process of selling is paramount to our identity, our success and livelihood.
Titling often allows the artist to let go of the piece, to send it out to the public in the hopes that its “message” will be well-received. Titling is the artist’s farewell, and the viewer’s welcome invitation: an introduction and a conclusion simultaneously. When well-conceived, a title can be profoundly succinct, and serve as a door for the viewer to open into their own world as well as the artist’s.