Although talk about expression as a process is hedged with difficulties and in any case seems irrelevant to the philosophy of art (as opposed to the psychology of art), there is another way in which talk about expression may be both true and important to the philosophy of art. Mention is made about expressive properties as belonging to works of art: for example, it is said that a certain melody expresses sadness, that there is a feeling of great calm expressed in a particular painting, or that tension is expressed in the thrusts of a tower or the development of the plot of a novel or drama.
The question arises at once of what it means to say such things. Melodies and sentences are not joyous or tense or melancholy; only persons have these qualities. The artist can have them, but how can the work of art? Clearly, to speak of a work of art as having emotions, if it is not to be utter nonsense, must be metaphorical. But what is the meaning of this metaphor? What does it mean to say that the music expresses sadness, if not in the sense of process (i.e., that the writing of it expressed the composer’s own sadness)?
The music is heard, the painting is seen; each presents itself to the senses. But there is much more involved in music than simply hearing (or even listening to) the sounds and in visual art than simply seeing (or even looking at) the colours and shapes. Even very simple combinations of sounds and shapes and colours seem to express certain qualities of life: a curved line, it is said, is graceful or sprightly; the drooping willow tree is sad, as are certain passages in music. It is virtually impossible for most persons to view art as a series of sensory stimuli only. Even when a picture contains no story, no plot, no program, the viewer “reads into the script,” attributing to works of art qualities of human moods, feelings, emotions—in short, “affects.” It would be safe to say that in all art, every percept is suffused with affect. The problem is: What is it that makes certain percepts expressive of certain affects?
The simplest answer—that “The melody is sad” means no more or less than “Hearing the melody makes me (or other listeners, or most listeners) feel sad”—is surely inadequate. (This would be a theory of evocation, not of expression.) “The music expresses whatever feelings it arouses in me when I hear it.” But often listeners do not feel emotions at all (they may imagine them), or, if they do, they feel very different emotions from the ones they believe to be expressed in the music. One may consider the rondo delirious with joy, but if one is grief-stricken on a given day one hears it without feeling joy, and if one has heard the same rondo 30 times that day one feels only boredom or fatigue, while still believing that the piece is expressive of joy. Nor is it an adequate analysis to say that “The melody expresses joy” means “I am disposed to (or inclined to) feel joy when I hear it,” for many people seem to recognize joy as a quality of the music without feeling it at alclass="underline" or they may imagine it or just recognize the emotion without feeling it or believe that what they hear sounds the way joy feels—or any of a number of other accounts.
The true analysis of expressiveness in art must be more complex than this: it is not that the melody evokes emotion X, but that emotion X is somehow embodied in the music. But this leads back again to the question, how can an emotional quality be in a work of art? There is no single answer to this question that would be accepted by all philosophers of art, but most accounts begin by noting certain similarities, or analogies, between features of music and features of human feeling, so that when X (a passage of music, for example) is said to express Y (a state of feeling), there are certain similarities (for example, of structure) between X and Y. The physical accompaniments to a mood, say, of restlessness, such as rapid breathing and drumming fingers, have their musical equivalents: trills, quavers, increases in tempo, and the like.
When listeners say that a certain melody is sad, they are saying that the music literally has certain qualities A, B, C, D that can be perceived in the music. Slowness is surely one such quality (the same melody played fast would not be called sad); another is the absence of large intervals between tones; another is that the sounds tend to be hushed rather than, for example, strident; another is that the tendency of the musical movement is downward rather than rising. When listeners say that the music is sad, they are saying that it has these qualities.
But why these qualities rather than others? Why is it said that the music is sad when it has A, B, C, D rather than when it has M, N, O, and P? Because A, B, C, D are the qualities that also characterize people when they are sad, such as slowness and soft and low speaking voices. If this theory or anything like it is true, it explains how emotional characteristics can be attributed to works of art—why it can be said that the melody is sad, that the horizontal lines in a painting make it calm (horizontal being the position of rest and peace, sleep and maximum relaxation, and from which one does not fall), why the lines in a painting are droopy (they are lines similar in shape to that of, say, an old woman with hunched shoulders), and so on. These qualities, it should be noted, are qualities of the work of art, not of the artist (whether the composer was sad when writing sad music is a separate question, to which the answer may sometimes be no) and not of the listener or observer (the melody is sad even if I am not sad when I hear it). They are, so to speak, embodied in the music, quite independently of the state of the artist or of the observer, or listener, though of course it requires the presence of a listener to recognize them and be moved by them.
Talk about artistic expressiveness, then, can be justified. But there is no need to resort to the language of expression in order to state it: instead of saying, “The music expresses sadness,” it can simply be said, “The music is sad.” But regardless of the terminology employed, it is important to have justified this conclusion. Art as form The formalist position