What’s in a Name?

From nameless masters to larger than life personas, the artist has become as recognizable as the art.

Édouard Manet, Flowers in a Crystal Vase, circa 1882

Through most of human history, artists have been anonymous, their individuality either irrelevant or subservient to their adherence to subject matter and mastery of technique. There is an entire group of important art from the Middle Ages and the Renaissance attributed by art historians to Anonymous Masters. A debate continues to rage over whether Salvator Mundi - the most expensive ($450m) artwork ever sold, is painted by “the hand of” Leonardo da Vinci or one of his students. Nobody knows the names of the many who painted manuscripts and folios in Bengal in the 19th or even the early 20th century. So one might be tempted to ask, what’s in a name?

Pierre Auguste-Renoir, Bouquet of Roses, oil on canvas, circa 1909-1913

The anonymous artist of yore has given way to the very individual, modern artist known and recognized not just for his own distinct art, but often also for their outsize personalities and eccentricities. Andy Warhol not just for his Campbell’s Soup Cans but also for his parties in Studio 54. M.F. Husain for his murals but also for his preference to tread upon this earth barefoot. Freed from being answerable to anyone but himself once the age of patronage diminished, the artist could explore whatever interested him, be it a political ideology or a little flower. He could be an innovator who found new ways of seeing, an activist, a navel-gazer, or all of the above as freely and loudly as he chose. No matter what their solitary endeavours, artists began to be perceived in popular culture as rebels and mavericks who stood against the establishment, flamboyantly defied convention, and were often as outspoken as their art. And yes, the capital A – Artist, through much of history has been male. Women have only recently become a relevant part of the conversation about art – but that is material for a future article.

The identity of the named artist now becomes inextricable from the art he creates. People go to see a Vermeer or a Picasso, often unconcerned with which painting they are seeing, as long as it is painted by the master. F.N. Souza’s grotesque heads and V.S. Gaitonde’s enigmatic colourscapes have nothing in common though both artists belong to the same generation, share the J.J. School of Art as an alma mater, and were friends. The subject matter and style of their artistic output is a reflection of their almost diametrically opposed personalities and world views. But neither does being thematically linked mean the resultant art is similar. Thota Vaikuntam and B. Prabha, two artists whose oeuvres consist almost exclusively of women in traditional wear, would never be mistaken one for the other, each being so specifically rooted to the cultural ethos of their respective states. But let us stick with the floral realm, since Juliet paused on the balcony to muse that a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. Even a fleeting glance would suggest that flowers painted by Édouard Manet are likely to have a completely different fragrance than those painted by Renoir. Flowers picked from a Suhasini Kejriwal garden would not sit comfortably with those filling vases painted by K.H. Ara. And Georgia O’Keefe’s flowers evoke a whole lot more than scent.

With due apologies to Shakespeare as well as Gertrude Stein’s proposition that things are what they are, a rose is not a rose is not a rose. Van Gogh’s sunflowers are interchangeable with no other. So, what’s in a name? Everything, because the artist puts everything of themselves – their skills and mastery of medium of course, but also their thoughts and ideas and their very sense of self – into their work to make it essentially distinct and uniquely theirs. They are not painting the flowers as they are, but as they see them. That is how each flower becomes more than just a rose or a sunflower. The artist claims ownership of the object or subject through every choice they make with their mind and body through the process of their re-creation of it. That means each work is singular, none is replicable.

Or is it? Japanese artist Takashi Murakami’s flower paintings are painted by numerous studio assistants, overseen by him. They are acquired by collectors as authentic Murakami works in spite of the public knowledge they have not in fact been painted “by the hand of” the artist. Louis Vuitton has a collaboration with Murakami for flower imprinted luggage. Easily identifiable at baggage claim, but few would know the flowers are the trademarked work of a renowned artist. They are easy subjects for cheaper knockoffs. Perhaps we are returning full circle to a variation on the age of the anonymous artist in a time of mass production.

(Meera is an architect, author, editor, and artist. Her column meanders through the vibrant world of art, examining exhibitions, offering critiques, delving into theory and exploring everything in between and beyond.)