An Irishman's Diary

READERS may be familiar with the case of an artwork by Henri Matisse called Le Bateau (The Boat): which in 1961, apparently, hung for 41 days in New York's Museum of Modern Art, until a female visitor noticed there was something slightly wrong about it. The picture, it seems, was upside down.

It's a perfectly understandable mistake, given that Le Bateauis a minimalist piece, representing a sail reflected in water. In fact, when the woman pointed out the error to a museum guard, he wasn't immediately convinced. But Moma's art director heard about it eventually and the necessary adjustment was made.

The incident is one example of the problems that abstract (or in this case near-abstract) work may present. It also helps explain the alienation many lay persons feel vis-a-vis modern art. The suspicion is that – to put it crudely – there are a great many chancers involved in the field. And that if even supposed experts can be fooled, how is the public to know what’s really good.

I was wrestling with this very problem the other day while passing – of all places – the old Kilmainham Courthouse in Dublin. Where, quite without warning, a possible solution presented itself.

The courthouse closed in 2008 and is now awaiting a new lease of life as something other than what it was. Last I heard, the OPW had been asked to consider turning it into a legal museum, although trustees of the adjacent Kilmainham Gaol – already a museum and linked to the courthouse by a tunnel once used for escorting prisoners – were hoping for some kind of strategic relationship. At any rate, they wanted the historic courtroom preserved.

My idea would would not prejudice either of these objectives. And it would also build on the already complex – and in some ways amusing – relationships between public buildings in this area.

The neighbourhood now includes a modern Hilton hotel, for example, wittily situated just across from the jail. Nearby too is that former retirement home for British soldiers, the Royal Hospital Kilmainham, whose location also seems symbolic, distanced from the jail, as it is, both by the course of Irish history and the (at times equally unbridgeable) South Circular Road.

BUT the RHK now also houses the Irish Museum of Modern Art. Which is where my idea for a strategic link-up with the courthouse comes in. A tunnel for escorting “prisoners” might or might not be necessary. Either way, what I propose is that certain works now or in future posing as art at Imma would occasionally be summonsed to appear in Kilmainham Courthouse, where hearings would be held into their real worth.

Each case would be presided over by a judge. Not a legal one, necessarily, just a person of unquestionable refinement, fair-mindedness, and good sense (I might even make myself available from time to time). For more serious cases, there could be a jury. And judge and jury alike would reach their verdicts based on evidence for the prosecution and defence.

Of course the artists responsible could be called as witnesses, by either side. But they would also have the right to remain silent, which is a standard tactic in the visual medium anyway. Except in certain cases of performance art, the work would be allowed to speak for itself without imputing anything about its creator.

Maybe the only point of such a process, in the end, would be to increase public understanding about art. After all, even if an installation were found guilty of being the work of a charlatan, how would you punish it? By locking it away in a room? Which, assuming it was allowed visitors, is the fate of most masterpieces? And anyway, given that many now famous artworks were misunderstood when they first appeared, all verdicts could only be temporary. At best a judge could recommend a limited custodial sentence for a painting or sculpture, at the end of which the case would have to be reviewed, to see if the work now had a recognisable contribution to make to society.

Another problem is that official rejection is sometimes considered a badge of honour by artists. Thus a collection of condemned works housed, even temporarily, in the cells of Kilmainham Courthouse might become celebrated as a " salon des refusés".

If the system were not to fall into complete disrepute, some element of shame would be required. But I can envisage a sentencing ritual that would meet this requirement, while also aptly echoing the medieval punishments with which Kilmainham was so long associated.

Judge: “The abstract sculpture of a man will now stand.” Court Clerk: “It is standing your honour.” Judge (addressing sculpture): “You have been found guilty of artistic worthlessness by a jury of my peers. I hereby order that you should be taken from this place and, for the foreseeable future, hanged upside down. So help you God.”