The Brooklyn Rail

“The arts capture our insecurities, quicken our instincts, guide us through threats. They help us know ourselves. They help us know each other. They help us know better.”
–Agnes Gund

“Spoon feeding, in the long run, teaches us nothing but the shape of the spoon.”
–E.M. Forster

“One who refuses to seek the advice of others will eventually be led to a path of ruin. A mentor helps you to perceive your own weaknesses and confront them with courage. The bond between mentor and protégé enables us to stay true to our chosen path until the very end.”
–Daisaku Ikeda

As we celebrate our twenty-five-year anniversary of the Rail this month, I’ve come to recognize it as a new social environment—not a conventional printed matter or a magazine created for artists, but rather a living organism, filled with inspiring expressions of artists and other creatives for our various communities. In thinking back to the numerous historical events that gave rise to the latest iteration of globalization—from, say, June 5, 1989, known for the “Tank Man” of Tiananmen Square; the fall of the Berlin Wall on November 9 of that same year; to the shocking dissolution of the Soviet Union on December 25, 1991, which ended the Cold War and left the United States as the world’s sole superpower—many of us also remember several texts: among them, Francis Fukuyama’s 1992 book The End of History and the Last Man; Anthony Lake’s 1993 speech “From Containment to Enlargement” (written by Anthony Blinken) at Johns Hopkins University, which became the Clinton Doctrine; and Samuel P. Huntington’s 1996 book The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. Now, some three decades after the end of the Cold War and manifest US dominance, it is apparent that a second and somewhat different cold war (Cold War II) is imminent and real, beginning with the Russo-Ukrainian War in 2014, followed by Israel’s war on Gaza in 2023, along with crises in Lebanon, Sudan, Syria, Myanmar, and Haiti.

As we observe the new hybrid model of politicians and businessmen with dictatorial ambitions, as seen in Donald Trump, Benjamin Netanyahu, and Vladimir Putin—their overt and unchecked autocratic impulses along with their relentless deployments of the psychology of fear and violence—we realize that our fellow creative men and women need to respond with an unparalleled urgency on a never-seen-before scale that can match the destructive measures around them, and to do so without fear of failure. We should keep in mind that while the downfalls of autocrats are usually purely catastrophic, when artists fail, their works often become even greater. Here we think of Giambattista Vico’s verum factum principle, which posits that we can only know the truth in what we make: for the Latin verum [the true] and factum [what is made] were interchangeable. This so-called “fact,” based on what has been made, is the opposite of the usual definition of the word “fact,” that is associated with what has once been agreed upon and was to be applied to every single situation without further doubt or inquiry. It has been terrifying to see how the left insisted on facts while the right offered alternative facts, and how the former hasn’t yet woken from its prolonged dream of “one-worldism,” while the latter has opportunistically redeployed a nativism playbook. It is here that the practice of “creative intuition” used by our fellow artists can be useful as counter-friction against politicians’ calculated complacency. Once again, we must remember the value of slowness. It takes time to make a painting, a sculpture, a film, or to write a book or a poem, to compose a song, choreograph a dance, and so on. So, we must counter with the essential slowness, imminent warmth, and social intimacy of culture against the inherent coldness and speed of technology, and of “social distancing.”

 

Whatever costs life may impose upon our fellow artists—from practical matters such as hand-to-mouth existence, to unexpected physical and mental health issues—they’ve always insisted on their “inner freedom”: what Friedrich Nietzsche referred to as amor fati [to love one’s fate]. To express one’s “inner freedom” often involves time being misunderstood, feeling marginalized, or having to confront personal failures. Yet artists in the depths of their minds and hearts understand that those conditions are essential parts of the journey. John Keats’s term “negative capability” and Hannah Arendt’s “thinking without a banister” brilliantly testify to their ability to live and work under stressful situations and degrees of uncertainty and anxiety, without having to appeal to reason or any other form of justification for such a calling. This is one of the reasons why there has been increasing demand to see and feel the auras of made objects, and to internalize the values that they implicitly convey to us. Everywhere in our world, from small to large cities, museums and galleries are experiencing record-breaking attendance and are tirelessly mounting exhibitions that represent works of art by artists of all persuasions: younger and older, well-known and lesser known, from all genders and ethnicities—all expressing a wide range of different themes.

Whatever the critical issues we’re now confronting, we must remember that those before us who have fought to advance good causes in this so-called “civil society” have not gone unnoticed and have made a difference. For example, the right for women to vote was affirmed in the Nineteenth Amendment in 1920, and the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was another hard-won landmark moment in our history. Now issues such as same-sex marriage, the right to abortion, and other progressive initiatives must be fought for again. As the popularity of the role of artists increases, and their works of art are increasingly considered invaluable cultural capital, we are indeed ready to elevate the true testaments of our fellow artists’ inner freedom. Together, we must reassert as clear a definition as we can of what it means to live and work in a free and open society.

In solidarity with love, courage, and cosmic optimism as ever,

Phong H. Bui

P.S. This issue is dedicated to our beloved, brilliant, and visionary friend and mentor Agnes (Aggie) Gund (1938–2025), from whom I’ve learned how to be more disciplined, more agile, and more generous and compassionate as a means of bringing together our diverse communities in the arts and humanities. We at the Rail and Studio in a School send our deep condolences to Aggie’s four beloved children, Catherine Gund, David Saalisi, Anna Traggio, and Jessica Saalfield; her twelve grandchildren; her siblings Gordon, Geoffrey, and Louise Gund; and other members of her extended family, as well as her millions of admirers here in the US and across the world. Finally, to celebrate our 25th anniversary and the launch of this issue, please join us at Paula Cooper Gallery on Friday, October 3 from 6–8 p.m., and stay tuned for details about future launch parties taking place throughout this coming year.