Source: https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/depiction/
Timestamp: 2019-04-25 14:15:10+00:00

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Depiction or pictorial representation was studied less intensively by philosophers than linguistic meaning until the 1960s. The traditional doctrine that pictures represent objects by copying their appearance had been challenged by art theorists since the first quarter of the twentieth century, when what were thought of as illusionistic styles of painting lost favour, due to the growing prestige of so-called “primitive” artistic styles, and the fauvist and cubist experiments of artists at that time. But it took several decades before philosophers became interested in these debates. When they did so, it was largely due to the impact of two books: Ernst Gombrich’s Art and Illusion (1960), and Nelson Goodman’s Languages of Art (1968). Gombrich explored a variety of problems about the nature of depiction, the evolution of style, and the nature of realism, drawing extensively on theories of visual perception advanced since Helmholtz, and on Karl Popper’s falsificationist theory of science. Goodman, by contrast defended a purely conventionalist theory of depiction in general and realistic depiction in particular, which was rooted in the nominalist philosophy he had developed in collaboration with W.V.O. Quine. A large part of the philosophical work on this topic during the past fifty years consists in attempts to develop theories of depiction in general, and realistic depiction in particular, which overcome the objections to their views, while avoiding the simplifications and alleged cultural bias of the traditional ideas they rejected.
Resemblance theories of depiction are commonly traced to Republic, book X, where Plato suggests that a painting of an object is a mimesis (imitation or representation) of its shape and colour. The idea is intuitively plausible, and it provides the basis for a variety of attempts by philosophers to define or analyse the concept of a picture, or to explain how pictures represent. It is true that pictures represent things that do not have shapes or colours, such as God and Justice, but they do so by depicting things that do have shapes and colours, such as bearded men and blindfolded women carrying scales. Accordingly, the basic thought that underlies resemblance theories of depiction is that pictures are composed of shapes and colours that resemble the shapes and colours of the visible objects they depict. But even if this provides an adequate starting-point, a convincing theory of depiction needs to be elaborated with care, as Nelson Goodman (1968) showed. The simplistic claim that A depicts B if and only if A appreciably resembles B is demonstrably false. According to Goodman “more error could hardly be compressed into so short a formula” (1968: 3–4).
As a matter of fact, the simplistic formula Goodman attacks was never proposed by Charles Sanders Peirce or his followers, such as Suzanne Langer (1942) and John Hospers (1947), whose semiotic theories were Goodman’s immediate target, or by any other philosopher or theorist of art. Peirce described pictures as iconic signs, i.e., signs that signify objects by resembling them, and he contrasted iconic signs with indices, which signify objects by standing in spatial, temporal or causal relations to them, and with symbols, which signify objects by means of conventions (Peirce 1982, Vol. 2: 53–56). But this classification depends on the basic idea of signification, which Peirce holds is a three-termed relation between a sign, its object, and an “interpretant”, i.e., a thought of the object or a translation of the sign. Moreover, Peirce acknowledges that these three categories of sign are not mutually exclusive, and that the signification of a picture can also depend on iconographic conventions, and on its context of use.
Hence, Peirce’s conception of depiction is not captured by the formula Goodman criticizes. But arguably the formula has some heuristic value, because it draws attention to some of the challenges a theory that explains depiction in terms of resemblance will need to address. Thus, according to Goodman, resemblance is a reflexive and symmetric relation, whereas representation is neither: an object resembles itself to the maximum degree but does not normally represent itself, and the object that a picture represents does not represent the picture, although it resembles the picture to exactly the same degree and in exactly the same respects as the picture resembles it. Furthermore, many pictures resemble other pictures, such as copies of them, more closely than they resemble their objects, but they do not represent those pictures. “Plainly” Goodman concludes “resemblance in any degree is no sufficient condition for representation”(1968: 4).
As we have indicated, Goodman’s initial challenge to resemblance theories of depiction does not show that the approach is wrong. For according to philosophers who favour the approach, the idea of resemblance is used to explain what makes a pictorial representation specifically pictorial, rather than what makes it generically representational. The depictive relation between a portrait and its subject is indeed neither reflexive nor symmetric. But resemblance remains a candidate for explaining what makes a representation pictorial or figurative, and therefore how a portrait of an individual differs from a text describing her appearance. For comparison, the referential relation between the indexical “now” and the time it refers to is neither reflexive nor symmetric, but this does not prevent us from explaining how “now” refers to a specific time in terms of simultaneity (between the use of the word and the time referred to), which is both.
However, the example of a portrait brings us to another objection to resemblance theories of depiction, which Goodman mentions in passing (1968: 25), and others have accorded greater weight (Hopkins 1998b; Abell 2009). For if resemblance is a relation, and if the relata of a relation must be existing particulars, then it appears that pictures that represent fictional individuals (Zeus, Pegasus), and genre pictures, which represent kinds of objects without representing any particular instances of them, cannot resemble what they represent. Hence, even if it is plausible that a resemblance theory can explain how a portrait represents a sitter, it cannot provide a general explanation of depiction.
One response to this argument is to claim that fictional characters are abstract entities that actually exist (Kripke 2013: 73). Another is to claim that a fictional character can be a genuine relatum of a relation without existing: it is sufficient that it is capable of being identified, referred to, and described, and meeting these conditions does not require existence (Rundle 1979: 249; Sainsbury 2005: ch. 6). But even if one of these responses is correct, and the objection therefore fails to show that the concept of resemblance is unsuited to explaining how pictures represent fictional characters, the problem of genre pictures remains. However, John Hyman (2012: 129–132) has argued that the verb “resemble” sometimes expresses a relation and sometimes does not. For instance, in the sentence “Darwin resembles Socrates”, “resembles” expresses a relation, whereas in the sentence “Socrates resembles a satyr”, it is a copular (linking) verb. Thus, according to Hyman, “resembles”, “looks like”, “is like”, etc. have the same kind of dual use as “is”, which can either express identity or have a copular function (Russell 1914: 48). If this is right, the objection also fails to show that the concept of resemblance is unsuited to explaining generic depiction (cf. Blumson 2014).
Goodman places more weight on a third objection to resemblance theories of depiction. A theory of this kind, he maintains, would need to specify the visible aspect or aspects of its object that a picture imitates or copies. But every object can be seen in many ways, depending on the experience, interests, and attitudes of the viewer: “the object before me is a man, a swarm of atoms, a complex of cells, a fiddler, a friend, a fool and much more” (1968: 8). Since the artist cannot copy all of these aspects at once, all of the ways the object is or looks, one might assume that her aim is to strip away the varnish of perceptual habit, prejudice or interpretation, and capture the object as seen “under aseptic conditions by the free and innocent eye”. But, Goodman claims, following Ernst Gombrich (1960), “there is no innocent eye”: the idea that we can access some raw visual data by means of “purification rites or by methodical disinterpretation” is a myth. Both “the way we see and the way we depict depends upon and varies with experience, practice, interests, and attitudes” (Goodman 1968: 10).
Goodman and Gombrich associate this conception of painting with resemblance theories of depiction. But it is not an essential part of such a theory. If the depiction of an object depends on the imitation of its form and colour, it follows that an artist must be able to perceive these properties and reproduce them, but it does not follow that we need to conceive of painting in the way Ruskin recommends.
The principal objections to resemblance theories of depiction may be unconvincing, but the challenge for such a theory is to specify the respect or respects in which pictures resemble their objects, and this is not a simple task. Merely referring to ‘form and colour’ is unsatisfactory. For as Descartes pointed out, it is unclear how the 2-D shape of a mark on the surface of a painting or drawing can resemble the 3-D shape of an object it depicts; and the use of foreshortening shows that rhombuses can represent squares better than squares, ovals can represent circles better than circles, and so on ( 1985: I 165). Furthermore, some pictures (for instance, cubist paintings) do not bear much obvious resemblance to the objects they depict in either form or colour. Hence, the basic idea that depiction depends on resemblances in form and colour will need to be specified in such a way as to meet what Dominic Lopes calls the diversity constraint (Lopes 1996: 32), in other words, it will need to accommodate the wide variety of styles of picture-making. Different resemblance theorists have responded to these challenges in different ways.
Hyman’s principal claim is that the sense or mode of presentation of a picture is defined by the colours and shapes of the marks on its surface in accordance with definite optical principles concerning colour and shape (2006: ch. 5; see also Hopkins 1998a: 27). We shall concentrate on shape.
Hyman’s shape-principle employs the concept of an object’s occlusion shape, i.e., the 2-D cross-section of the cone of light it subtends to a viewer’s eye. (The concept is similar to Hopkins’s outline shape; see below, §3.2.) For example, the occlusion shape of a circular coin viewed obliquely is an ellipse. This shape, Hyman argues, is a visible property of the coin. It is especially salient when an object is backlit, and appears in silhouette. It is relative to a point of view, and changes as the point of view changes. But Hyman insists that relative does not mean subjective. An object’s occlusion shape “is not merely a feature of the viewer’s experience. It belongs to optics, not psychology” (2012: 143; cf. Peacocke 1987). Hyman’s shape-principle is that the shape of a region on a picture’s surface (or, in the case of anamorphic pictures, its occlusion shape relative to the intended point of view of a spectator) is identical to the occlusion shape of the object it represents, relative to the implicit point of view. In other words, there is an exact resemblance between these shapes (2006: 81).
Hyman’s theory has been criticised on various grounds. First, and most generally, Michael Podro argues that it expresses a bias in favour of realistic or literal representation (Podro 2010: 457). However, Hyman replies that the optical principles he defines “do not dictate or limit the forms artists create, the models they follow, or the values they embody in their work”, any more than English grammar limits the imagination of English poets (Hyman 2012: 145). Second, it has been alleged that Hyman’s theory cannot explain “the depiction of nonexistent objects” (Abell 2009: 195). However, this objection depends on the questionable assumption that resemblance is invariably a relation between existing particulars (see above §1.1). Third, it has been argued that indeterminacies in the occlusion shapes of objects represented in a picture may not match the indeterminacies in the shapes of the parts of the picture that depict them (Kulvicki 2014: 61–62). Finally, it has been argued more generally that the exact correspondences in shape and colour between the surface of a picture and its content, which Hyman’s theory predicts, sometimes break down; and that the correspondences which do exist depend on contingent features of the human visual system (Newall 2006; Hyman 2007; Newall 2011).
The last objection reflects the most widely accepted reason for rejecting resemblance theories such as Hyman’s, in which the basic mechanism of depiction is defined without reference either to the visual experience of a spectator, or to the changing cultural context in which pictures are made. Catharine Abell has defended a resemblance theory of depiction which differs from Hyman’s in both of these respects, and is designed to avoid the objections mentioned above. It is also a more ambitious theory, both because Abell does not distinguish between the sense and reference of a picture, but aims to explain both at once, and because she explains the depiction of specific kinds of objects, such as men and horses, in terms of resemblance, instead of confining the scope of the theory to the shapes and colours of the objects in a picture. Unlike Hyman, Abell does not specify which particular respects of resemblance are necessary for depiction, beyond the requirement that they should be visible (2009: 199), arguing instead that “different respects of resemblance govern different instances of depiction” (2009: 196), including resemblance in respect of optical properties, such as occlusion shape, and response-dependent properties, such as when painters mimic the effect of simultaneous contrast.
According to Abell, a picture depicts some object O only if it resembles O in a range of relevant respects, and if it thereby captures O’s “overall appearance”, enabling a spectator to distinguish it from objects for which it would not ordinarily be mistaken (2009: 210). As noted above, Abell regards pictures of objects that do not actually exist as problematic for resemblance theories of depiction. Her solution to the problem combines two ideas: first, a picture of an object that does not actually exist, but could exist, such as a gold mountain, would resemble the object, if it did exist; second, we can make-believe that a fictional character such as Sherlock Holmes exists, and make-believe that a picture resembles him (2009:216).
Abell argues that because she does not specify which particular respects of resemblance are necessary for depiction, her theory is consistent with the diversity constraint, in other words, it accommodates the wide variety of stylistic conventions that have developed in different artistic traditions. However, it can be objected that it fails to accommodate another alleged constraint on an adequate resemblance theory of depiction identified by Lopes, which he calls the independence constraint. According to Lopes, a spectator must be able to perceive the resemblances postulated by a resemblance theory of depiction “without first knowing” what a picture represents (Lopes 2005a: 16–17). In fact, this objection only applies to a theory which implies that a spectator perceives a certain kind of object in a picture by perceiving a resemblance between the marks on its surface and an object of this kind, and a resemblance theory need not have this implication. However, Abell accepts that the objection applies to her own theory, especially since she holds that the “respects of resemblance” that “govern” a picture depend on the artist’s communicative intentions, and that a spectator’s knowledge of these intentions is gained, at least in part, from the picture itself. However, she addresses the objection by highlighting alternative, context-specific sources of information about them (Abell 2005, 2009; cf. Blumson 2014).
Resemblance theories of depiction differ from one another in significant ways. But they agree on the following crucial point: the fundamental difference between pictorial and linguistic representation consists in the fact that the former depends on resemblances between representations and the objects they represent, whereas the latter does not. It is widely agreed that linguistic representation depends on conventions that create the vocabulary of a language and the semantically significant structures in which the elements of its vocabulary are combined. But the contribution words and structures make to the meaning of a sentence are hardly ever explained by resemblance. If there are exceptions, such as onomatopoeia, they confirm the rule.
However, the first attempt to defend a conventionalist theory of art systematically and in detail was made in Goodman’s book Languages of Art.
Goodman does not define denotation, beyond describing it as a variety of reference, but two features of his conception of denotation should be noted. First, it is supposed to be the relation in which a name stands to its bearer, or a predicate stands to the members of its extension, or a portrait stands to its subject. Hence the controversial doctrine that predicates and names have the same semantic function is implicit in Goodman’s theory of depiction (Geach 1972; Strawson 1976; Hyman 2006: 185–190). Second, Goodman’s nominalist theory of properties excludes the possibility that a symbol denotes an object because it resembles it (Arrell 1987: 42). For he does not merely make the uncontroversial observation that an object is gray if and only if “gray” applies to it, he claims that the properties an object has depends on what predicates apply to it (Goodman 1968: 51, 54–55). In other words, “gray” does not denote an object because it has the property of being gray; on the contrary, it has the property because “gray” denotes it. Equally, the same predicates do not denote different individuals because they resemble each other, or have properties in common. On the contrary, they resemble each other, or have properties in common, because the same predicates denote them. Hence, resemblance is explained by, and therefore cannot itself explain, denotation.
Thus, whereas different instances of the same written letter, word or sentence can differ widely in appearance, pictures that differ in appearance, in any one of many different ways, and however small the difference is, will also differ in what they represent.
Depictions differ from descriptions in belonging to symbol systems that are analog/dense and relatively replete.
Depictions and descriptions are equally “artificial”, “arbitrary”, or “conventional” (1968: 230–231).
Denotation is the core of representation, including depiction.
All three claims have been contested.
This raises two questions. First, is an ordering of pictures of this kind possible? Second, Goodman’s ordering appears to depend on degrees of resemblance, albeit between signs as opposed to between signs and denotata. But is this reintroduction of the concept of resemblance compatible with his nominalist theory of properties and his attack on the doctrine of the “innocent eye”?
The second difficulty with (1) is that digital photographs would normally be classified as pictures along with analog ones (Bach 1970; Kulvicki 2006); and some diagrams, which would not normally be classified as pictures, are analog and relatively replete (Peacocke 1987). Furthermore, outline drawings are less replete than diagrams in which not only shape but also colour affects what they represent, but the former would normally be classified as pictures, whereas the latter would not (Schier 1986; Kulvicki 2006). Goodman acknowledges that “some old and vague boundaries are transgressed, some significant new alliances and alienations effected” by the classification of symbol systems he defends (1968: 232), but it is debatable how revisionist his theory can be, without ceasing to be a theory of depiction. For we want to know how pictures, including digital photographs, represent. It is possible to claim, in reply, that depiction is not the unitary phenomenon we naïvely imagine it to be. But this cannot be established merely by showing that Goodman’s theory of symbols precludes a unitary explanation of depiction.
However, there appear to be conventional symbol systems, such as guitar tablature, in which natural generativity occurs. Hence, it is arguable that Schier and Wollheim mistook a disanalogy between pictures and words for a disanalogy between pictures and conventional signs in general.
(3) invites two questions. First, what explains the fact that a picture has a particular denotation, e.g., that Goya’s portrait denotes the Duke of Wellington? Second, denotation is a relation—the relation between a name and its bearer, or between a predicate and the members of its extension. So Goodman’s theory also faces the question raised earlier about resemblance theories of depiction, regarding pictures of fictional individuals (Zeus, Pegasus), and genre pictures. If the relata of a relation must be existing particulars, then it appears that pictures of these kinds cannot denote what they depict. So how do they depict them?
Regarding the first question, Wittgenstein claims that “An obvious, and correct, answer to the question ‘What makes a portrait the portrait of so-and-so?’ is that it is the intention” (1958: 32). But Goodman disagrees. He acknowledges that intentions are “usually involved” in setting up symbol systems, as they are in building bridges, “but in both cases, we can study the results independently of the thoughts of the makers” (1972: 125). He claims that what a painting or drawing denotes pictorially depends solely on the arrangement of colours on its surface, and the semantic and syntactic conventions that define the symbol system to which it belongs (1968: 42). But it seems to follow that few portraits, if any, portray a single individual, as opposed to every member of a class of similar individuals. For if pictures are effectively predicate-like symbols in a pictorial system, then unless X is the sole individual satisfying a portrait, i.e., unless the portrait is a uniquely identifying pictorial “description” of X, X is not the only subject of the portrait, the sole individual it portrays. Furthermore, it is hard to see how one can paint an inaccurate portrait of someone, just as it is hard to see how one can use an inaccurate description to refer to someone (e.g., “The man drinking a martini is my brother”, when he is actually drinking a daiquiri), if whom one refers to depends purely on the syntax and semantics of the phrase (Kripke 1977).
Regarding the second question, concerning pictures of fictional individuals and genre pictures, Goodman argues that the verbs “depict” and “represent” are “highly ambiguous” (1968: 22). In the sentence “Goya’s portrait represents the Duke of Wellington”, “represents” is a two-place predicate, expressing a relation, and the sentence as a whole identifies the denotation of Goya’s portrait; whereas in the sentence “Rubens’ painting represents Pegasus”, “represents” is part of a one-place predicate, and the sentence as a whole classifies or characterizes Rubens’ painting without implying that it denotes anything at all. Thus, pictures with null denotation are comparable to predicates or descriptions with null denotation, such as “flying horse” or “largest prime number”. We can distinguish between a picture of a centaur and a picture of a unicorn, even though they denote exactly the same objects (i.e., none), because they are instances of different characters in a symbol system that we understand. The symbol system consists of rules “correlating symbols with denotata” (1968: 228), but it provides for pictures with null denotation.
Finally, according to Goodman, a pictorial symbol system consists of rules correlating symbols with denotata, but he does not propose a single example of such a rule. He refers to “the traditional Western system of representation” (1968: 226), but he does not begin to formulate its rules. It is uncontroversial that various kinds of customs, rules and conventions are involved in making pictures, including technical procedures, iconographic conventions, rules of composition, and so on. But none of these have the function of correlating symbols with denotata, and it is doubtful whether pictorial rules of this specific kind exist (Hyman 2006: 174–175).
Despite these objections to Goodman’s theory of depiction, it continues to exert an influence on philosophers of art. For example, John Kulvicki has recently defended a theory that is designed to address some of the arguments above, and to incorporate some of the ideas advanced by Goodman’s opponents, while retaining Goodman’s principal ideas. In particular, Kulvicki agrees with Goodman that a picture is a symbol in a denotative system, and that a denotative system is pictorial in virtue of its structure, rather than any resemblance between its symbols and the objects they denote (Kulvicki 2006: 13). But it is difficult to be certain how far he shares Goodman’s approach to the semantics of pictures, and of symbols generally. In particular, Kulvicki relies on the idea that pictures have different kinds of content (see below), but it is unclear whether he agrees with Goodman’s reduction of content to denotation (1968: 27–29), and whether he shares Goodman’s general commitment to extensionalism (see entry on Nelson Goodman, §3.1), or whether he agrees with Frege that as well as having a reference or denotation, names and descriptions also express a sense.
According to Kulvicki, the semantic features of a picture are the “features the picture depicts its scene as having”, while its syntactic features are the colour and shape properties that are “relevant to the semantics of the picture” (2014: 92–93). Not all of a picture’s colour and shape properties qualify as syntactic features. For example, the brownish colour of a sepia photograph is merely an “incidental” feature. Kulvicki argues that a pictorial symbol system has four characteristics: (a) repleteness, i.e., a relatively wide range of properties of a picture qualify as syntactic features, e.g., colour, thickness of lines, etc.; (b) sensitivity, i.e., small changes to a picture in respect of any of these properties are syntactically significant (cf. Bach 1970: 128–132); (c) richness, i.e., “there are at least as many possible denotations in the system as there are syntactic types” (Kulvicki 2006: 38); (d) transparency, i.e., if part of a picture X depicts a picture Y, then that part of X has the syntactic features that Y is depicted as having.
The main questions critics have raised about Kulvicki’s theory are as follows. First, it is designed to avoid some of the objections to Goodman’s theory, notably the fact that there are digital pictures as well as analog ones, but other objections remain, especially those concerning Goodman’s doctrine that denotation is “the core of representation”. Second, it is unclear what role Kulvicki accords to the artist’s intention in the theory of depiction. The question is ignored in Kulvicki 2006, as it is in Goodman 1968. In Kulvicki 2014, by contrast, he suggests that pictures “represent in virtue of the intentions of their makers” (2014: 156), but he does not discuss the scope of this principle (e.g., whether it applies to the sense or reference of a picture, or to both) or how precisely the role of intention should be defined. Finally, Kulvicki’s explicit disagreement with Goodman focuses on how the relationships between the symbols in a pictorial system should be defined. But it is debatable whether the four conditions he stipulates are in fact necessary and sufficient for depiction. Some alleged counter-examples are discussed in Blumson 2011, Newall 2011, and Kulvicki 2012.
Experiential theories seek to explain depiction in terms of the kind of experience a picture causes in a spectator, rather than the kind of representational system to which a picture allegedly belongs, or the spectator-independent resemblance or isomorphism between a picture and the objects it depicts, or the subpersonal cognitive mechanisms a picture may be thought to engage. It remains an open question whether theories of this kind can avoid the charge of circularity, in other words, whether it is possible to define the experience of seeing what a picture represents without employing the concept of depiction. But even among philosophers who believe that this is possible, the exact nature of the experience has been a matter of debate.
Gombrich explores a variety of fertile ideas in Art and Illusion, about the history of style, about realism in the visual arts, and about the relationship between the content of a representation and its use in imaginative play, some of which we shall return to below. But the comparison between seeing pictures and seeing aspects provides the focus of Richard Wollheim’s criticism of Gombrich’s ideas, out of which he develops his own theory of depiction.
Wollheim interprets Gombrich as claiming that a spectator cannot be simultaneously conscious of the marks on a picture’s surface and the scene it represents, and that these can only be objects of alternating perceptions, although Gombrich does not say this explicitly (Wollheim 1963; cf. Bantinaki 2007). But according to Wollheim himself, simultaneous awareness of surface and content is precisely what is distinctive about the experience of seeing a picture. Furthermore, these are two distinguishable but “inseparable” aspects of a single visual experience, and not two experiences somehow combined (Wollheim 1987, 1998, 2003a,b; Wollheim does not attempt to define a criterion of identity for experiences, so this claim is difficult to assess). Thus, the experience of seeing a picture has a sui generis phenomenology, which Wollheim calls “twofoldness”. The two aspects of this experience—its configurational aspect and its recognitional aspect—are held to be psychologically real and to be integrated in a way that also affects the phenomenal character of the experience as a whole.
Wollheim names this twofold visual experience “seeing-in”, but he explains that it is not confined to pictures. For example, it can also occur if we follow Leonardo’s famous advice to discover landscapes, battles and grotesque faces in the stains on an old wall.
This is not meant to be piece of speculative history. The purpose of the story is to show that depiction occurs when the marks on a surface are successfully designed to make the seeing-in experience occur. It is not enough that this experience should occur. It must, when it occurs, fulfil the intention of the “artist”. Notice that for Wollheim, neither trompe l’oeils nor purely abstract paintings (i.e., abstract paintings that do not solicit the perception of figure-ground relations), are depictions, although they may resemble depictions in certain ways and embody some of the same aesthetic values. Purely abstract paintings do not produce an experience with the “recognitional” aspect of seeing in, whereas trompes l’oeil do not produce an experience with its “configurational” aspect.
Wollheim’s theory has been widely discussed and criticised (see especially van Gerwen 2001 and Kemp & Mras 2016). The principal objections to it are the following. First, the implication that trompe l’oeils are not representational has been contested (Lopes 1996: 49–50; Levinson  2001; Newall 2009: 25–26; for a critical assessment of Wollheim’s conception of abstract painting see Caldarola 2012). Second, the suggestion that the figure-ground relationship is a universal feature of depiction has been challenged (Hyman 2006). Third, Wollheim proposes that the standard of correctness, which determines whether the spectator has correctly perceived the content of a picture, “is set … for each painting by the intentions of the artist in so far as they are fulfilled” (Wollheim 1987: 46). But this appears to oversimplify the relationship between the representational content of a picture and the content intended by the artist. It is well known that the meaning of an uttered sentence can diverge from the intended meaning of the speaker, and hard to see why the same should not apply to a picture (see entry on Paul Grice, §4). Fourth, Wollheim declines to offer a detailed characterisation of seeing in, which explains (a) how the experience of seeing a certain kind of object in a surface is related to the experience of seeing the same kind of object face to face (he describes these experiences as “incommensurable” (1987: 47)); or (b) how the experience of seeing one certain kind of object in a surface differs from the experience of seeing another kind of object in a surface (Budd 2008a; Hopkins 1998a). Finally, Wollheim’s theory is unable to explain the fact that objects are necessarily depicted from an implicit point of view (Hopkins 1998a).
Despite these objections, and the elusive character of his writing, Wollheim’s theory became the key point of reference for subsequent experiential theories of depiction.
Experienced resemblance: As noted above, experiential theories explain depiction in terms of the kind of experience a picture causes in a spectator. The two most influential theories that have sought to define this experience more precisely than Wollheim does are due to Christopher Peacocke and Robert Hopkins, and the principal concept both employ is that of experienced resemblance.
Consider the experience of being struck by someone’s resemblance to another person one already knows well, e.g., when one sees the grown-up child of an old friend for the first time in several years. (We might speak here of seeing the parent ‘in’ the child.) No doubt there is a resemblance—in bone-structure, pigmentation, etc.—with a genetic explanation. But we can describe the experience as an experience of a resemblance, independently of whether the resemblance actually exists, in what respects, or why. According to theories that employ the concept of experienced resemblance, this is comparable to (though not exactly like) the experience a spectator has when she sees what a picture represents. Hence, the assumption (made by or attributed to Wollheim inter alia) that the object or scene represented by a picture is itself somehow perceived by the spectator, or present in her experience, is rejected by those who explain depiction in terms of experienced resemblance.
According to Peacocke (1987: 386–388), a design or configuration of marks on a surface depicts a certain kind of object φ if, and only if, it is successfully designed to occupy a region of the spectator’s two-dimensional visual field that she experiences as similar in shape to a region in which a φ could be presented, but without being experienced (as a sculpture representing a φ might be) as occupying a three-dimensional region of physical space similar to one which could be occupied by a φ. The details of Peacocke’s account have been criticized (see Hopkins 1998a; Budd 2008b; Voltolini 2015), but his appeal to experienced resemblance in the explanation of depiction proved influential.
Hopkins’ definition of seeing-in addresses several influential objections to Wollheim’s own approach. In particular, it avoids the implication that the figure-ground relationship is a universal feature of depiction; it explains precisely how the experience of seeing a certain kind of object in a surface is related to the experience of seeing the same kind of object face to face, and how the experience of seeing one kind of object in a surface differs from the experience of seeing another kind of object in a surface; and it explains the fact that objects are necessarily depicted from an implicit point of view. But Hopkins does not claim that there is invariably an exact match between the content of a picture and what can be seen in it (Hopkins 1998a: 128; see also Brown 2010; Dilworth 2005, 2010). Drawing on his or her knowledge of pictorial culture and convention, an educated spectator will discount some features of the object seen in a picture—such as deviations from normal human anatomy—attributing them to the prevalent pictorial style, rather than including them in the picture’s intended content. In this way, Hopkins draws a distinction between the content of seeing-in, which is determined by experienced resemblance in outline shape alone, and pictorial content, which also depends on the artist’s intentions (Hopkins 1998a).
We noted in §3.1 that experiential theories seek to explain depiction in terms of the kind of experience a picture causes in a spectator, rather than the subpersonal cognitive mechanisms a picture is thought to engage. Some philosophers therefore maintain that theories which explain depiction in terms of the propensity of a picture to activate a spectator’s recognitional skills are not experiential theories, on the grounds that recognition can occur without experience (Matthen 2005: 25–26; Newall 2011: 21–23). Others either claim or assume, on the contrary, that recognition is a kind of experience, at least the kind of recognition that is stimulated by a picture (Squires 1969; Schier 1986).
Accordingly, Schier argues that depiction can be defined in terms of natural generativity and recognition: a picture is the kind of representation that causes naturally generated interpretations in competent spectators by activating their recognitional skills. Thus, “pictures are symbols whose interpretation can be causally explained by relevant recognitional abilities” (Schier 1986: 49). Specifically, “a picture of O is precisely something which can trigger the interpreter’s O-recognising abilities” (Schier 1986: 195).
Schier’s basic thought was subsequently incorporated into an eclectic theory of depiction by Dominic Lopes (1996). Drawing on Gareth Evans’s information-theoretic account of reference (Evans 1982; see entry on reference §2.3) and Kendall Walton’s controversial claim that photographs are “transparent” (Walton 1984), as well as Schier’s recognition-based theory of depiction, Lopes defends the following ideas.
First, pictures belong to “information systems”, and transmit perceptual information from their subjects (Lopes 1996: 107), thereby engaging (and also extending) the recognitional skills spectators exercise in ordinary visual perception. “The ability to work out what pictures depict covaries with the ability to recognize their depicta in the flesh” (2005a: 170). Second, Lopes adopts Walton’s claim that photographs are “transparent”, i.e., spectators literally see the objects that appear in photographs, as if through a pane of glass, and not merely visual records or sources of information about them. However, Lopes extends this claim to encompass every kind of picture: “there is as much reason to believe that we see through paintings and drawings as through photographs” (1996: 181). Third, pictures present aspects of their subjects, by making both “commitments” and “non-commitments” regarding their properties: “Every picture represents its subject as having some property that precludes it from making commitments about some other property” (Lopes 1996: 125). For example, a picture that depicts a man sporting a beard makes a commitment regarding the property of being hirsute, but by the same token is non-commital regarding the property of having a dimpled chin. Explicit “non-commitment” distinguishes depiction from other kinds of representation. (For criticism see Herwitz 2000, Savile 2000, Kulvicki 2006.) Fourth, pictorial styles, or systems of pictorial representation, differ from each other in the kinds of aspects they typically present. Pictorial competence is relative to specific styles or systems: to be able to interpret a picture, one needs to have the recognitional skills corresponding to the system to which it belongs (Lopes 1996: 152–3).
These ideas face various difficulties, some of which we have already considered in connection with other experiential theories. First, Lopes’s ideas about the transmission of perceptual information and the transparency of pictures are difficult to apply to pictures of fictional individuals and genre pictures (Hopkins 1997). Second, the transparency claim has been criticised even in the case of photographs, where the problem of fictional subjects and genre pictures does not normally arise (Currie 1995). Third, the claim that pictures differ from other kinds of representations in that only pictures explicitly “non-commit” to properties has been challenged (Kulvicki 2006). Finally, as we have seen, Walton’s theory that picture are props in games of visual make-believe does not seem capable of explaining how the shapes of the marks on the surface of a picture constrain the shapes of the objects they represent, or the imaginative games they invite spectators to engage in. Recognition-based theories are open to a similar objection. Various theories of depiction are compatible with the claim that pictures activate the same recognitional skills as the kinds of objects they depict. The question on which they differ is why they do so. For example, is it because the shape of a region on a picture’s surface is identical to the occlusion shape of the object it depicts? Or is it because part of a picture’s surface occupies a region of the spectator’s two-dimensional visual field that she experiences as similar in shape to a region in which the kind of object that it depicts could be presented? Or is it for some other reason? Without an answer to this question, the problem of explaining how pictures represent is elaborated by introducing ideas about recognition, natural generativity and transparency, but it is not solved (Newman 1998; cf. Neander 1987, Sartwell 1991).
As we have seen, any plausible theory of depiction will need to accommodate the wide variety of styles of picture-making. Art history contains more sophisticated and fertile treatments of the concept of style than philosophy does, notably by Heinrich Wolfflin (1950), Alois Riegl ( 1992), Erwin Panofsky (1997), Ernst Gombrich (1968), and Meyer Schapiro (1994). However, one topic in the theory of style on which there is a substantial philosophical literature is realism.
The term “realism” and equivalent terms in other European languages were introduced into literary and art criticism during the nineteenth century, and paintings and sculptures are still commonly described as realistic (faithful, true to nature, etc.) by critics and historians of art. However, many philosophers and historians of art since the 1920s have expressed scepticism about the idea that some styles of art represent reality more truthfully or faithfully than others (Jakobson [1921/1971] 1987; Steinberg  1972; Nochlin 1971; Stewart 1997). The most influential exponent of this view is Goodman, who argues that realism cannot be a matter of fidelity to nature, and cannot be measured by resemblance to reality, because our judgements about fidelity to nature depend on our visual habits, which are shaped in turn by the visual culture we inhabit, and the images we are used to seeing and interpreting. Resemblance cannot be a “constant and independent” standard against which works of art can be measured, because “the criteria of resemblance vary with changes in representational practice” (Goodman 1968: 39). “The literal or realistic or naturalistic system of representation”, Goodman claims, “is simply the customary one”.
Goodman’s argument has been challenged on several grounds. First, the realistic system of representation cannot simply be the standard or customary one, because as an artistic style evolves, spectators are inevitably less accustomed to innovative subjects and techniques than they are to the ones these modify or replace. So if Goodman’s claim were true, an artistic style could never become more realistic, in the eyes of spectators living at the time. But the historical record proves, on the contrary, that it does (Newall 2011: 119–121). Second, Goodman exaggerates the extent to which visual experience is modified by art. Oscar Wilde famously claimed that there had been no fog in London before it appeared in Turner’s paintings. But in fact, writers generally described optical effects long before painters learned to represent them. For example, the spinning highlights on a chariot-wheel were described by the Latin poet Prudentius many centuries before Velazquez captured this effect in paint. Third, even if the art we see does modify our visual habits and influence the resemblances we perceive to some extent, it does not follow that realism cannot consist in resemblance or fidelity to nature. Compare the relationship between theory and observation in science. The growth of scientific knowledge has enabled us to refine our observations of natural phenomena, and these observations have in turn enabled us to test scientific theories. There is nothing suspicious about this interaction between theory and observation, and nothing that should make us wonder whether we possess a “constant and independent” standard, with which scientific theories can be assessed (see entries on theory and observation in science, §4; and Popper §3).
It is now generally agreed that the concepts of resemblance and fidelity to nature are too vague and metaphorical to explain what realism is, and that “realist” or “realistic” art proceeds from specific values, methods and viewpoints, no less than other kinds of art (Schapiro 1978). Furthermore, confusion about realism is compounded by the fact that the term is used to describe a variety of period styles, including late medieval and early Renaissance art, Dutch painting in the seventeenth century, and French painting in the nineteenth century. But it does not follow that “realism” is merely an honorific term, which we apply to art in a familiar style, or that fidelity to nature is a vacuous idea.
The fundamental distinction we need to draw, in order to clarify the concept of realism, is between realism in subject-matter and realism in technique (Hyman 2005). Realism in subject-matter is about the choice of subject-matter and the manner in which it is treated. Realistic art, in this sense, represents the lower social classes, comic as opposed to tragic material, daily life as opposed to myth. For example, in the paintings of Courbet, Manet and Degas the traditional hierarchy of genres, which promoted the representation of history, myth or allegory, is definitively set aside, and the everyday lives of people belonging to the lower social classes are taken seriously, and placed in a contemporary social setting, as they are in the novels of Balzac and Flaubert.
The commonest argument debunking the idea of a realistic artistic style depends on the thought that artistic styles are analogous to languages (see above, §2 for references). The comparison is intended to underline the extent to which artists rely on systems of conventions, and to discourage the idea that some styles are more truthful, or closer to reality, than others. For the things we say are not truer or closer to reality if we say them in French, or English, or Chinese. However, the analogy actually supports the claim that expressive potential is the measure of realistic art. For languages are not like codes or scripts. For example, the Hieratic and Hieroglyphic Egyptian scripts do not differ in the range of information they can be used to record, and neither do Semaphore and Morse code. But languages obviously differ widely in their expressive powers, and have expanded rapidly in some periods of history. Thus, the difference between trecento and seicento Italian art is comparable to the difference between the English of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and the English of Milton’s Paradise Lost, not to that between Morse Code and Semaphore or between English and French (see Ackerman 1978: 157–160; Hyman 2005: 47).
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References: §3
 §1
 §3
sui generis
 §4
 §3
 §2
 §4
 §3
 §2