Essay

"Greenberg’s Arcade: Videogames and the Medium Specificity Debate"

Sections: Introduction | Greenberg | Medium Specificity in Videogames | Conclusion | Citations

Introduction

Gotthold Lessing’s Laocoon established an influential precedent in the history of art, defining a set of formal distinctions for differentiating between sculpture, poetry, and painting. By using a single shared subject matter as a kind of scientific control case, he proposed the strengths and weaknesses of each medium. Mimicry across forms was a limitation, he argued, and each medium should only pursue its particular strength. Thus painting, as a spatial art, should ‘relinquish all representations of time,’ since that was the purview of poetry (Lessing, 90).

In the mid-twentieth century, art critic Clement Greenberg discarded the Laocoon myth as subject matter, but maintained the name and spirit of Lessing’s project. However, in a distinct departure from Lessing’s Laocoon, Clement Greenberg introduced a new kind of narrative to the history of art, wherein painting (and the other plastic arts) follow a trajectory of increasing self-awareness of their own unique boundaries. This narrative is played out as a struggle of competing forms, where the dominant art of an era dictates the structure and possibilities of the other arts. Though Lessing’s argument is not ahistorical—he noted, for instance, the Hellenic preference for beauty versus the 18th century European emphasis on ‘truth and expression’—he constructed no over-arching meta-narrative to explain art’s historical progression. Greenberg more explicitly established a historical path for each medium’s ‘self-purification.’

The purpose of this paper is first to understand Greenberg’s notion of medium specificity as he describes it in ‘Towards a Newer Laocoon.’ I argue that Greenberg’s claims continue to be a persistent influence in the discussion of any emergent new media. Second, I will examine videogames as a case study to track contemporary discussions of medium specificity. As the medium matures, game critics and designers are searching for ways to distinguish videogames from the other arts, in order to quell the debate concerning whether videogames can achieve artistic legitimacy. Since the designers surveyed propose mutually exclusive arguments for the ‘pure’ game form, I will propose a counter-argument that explores the aesthetic value of videogames beyond Greenberg’s stricture of medium specificity.

Clement Greenberg and the ‘New Laocoon’

Greenberg begins his art historical analysis in 17th century Europe. This era, he claims, is dominated by literature, which serves as a ‘prototype’ for the other arts (painting, sculpture, and so on). The relationship is necessarily detrimental, since it involves first, the imitation of literature by the ‘subservient’ arts and second, the conscious denial of those qualities that make the other arts unique. I stress the word ‘conscious’ here, since Greenberg argues that artists must first exhibit some technical mastery of their medium before they can subsequently conceal it. For example, music at that time, in its ‘rudimentary’ form (and arguably poorest of the arts at imitation), was not indebted to literature in the same way that painting was. This hierarchy of dominant and subservient art forms leads to what Greenberg calls a ‘confusion of the arts.’ When painting and sculpture are invested in the imitation of literature, they deny the qualities that make them unique and foster a society-wide decline in the ‘subservient’ arts. Even the exceptional painters and sculptors of the 17th century are precisely that—exceptions to this dominant self-denial. In the 17th century, Greenberg argues, “All emphasis is taken away from the medium and transferred to subject matter” (Greenberg 1986: 25). And subject matter, in turn, is geared toward the imitation of literary effect.

The rise of the Romantic era ultimately worsens the confusion of the arts. According to Greenberg, the arts of this period are relegated to transmission devices—the artist has a feeling that he wants to pass along to his audience and works with a medium that provides the least amount of friction to that transmission. Greenberg writes, “The medium was a regrettable if necessary physical obstacle between the artist and his audience, which in some ideal state would disappear entirely to leave the experience of the spectator or reader identical with that of the artist” (26). Despite music’s inherent object-less manifestation, poetry becomes the ascendant medium of the era, as it grafts comfortably to the newfound role of the ‘genius artist.’

Painting’s adherence to literary content and poetic expression furthers its dissociation from its own medium, despite the Romantic revival of creative energy and new sources of subject matter. Greenberg’s description is unclear about exactly what type of formal or stylistic shifts occurred from the 17th to 18th centuries, referring vaguely to ‘more powerful literary content’ or ‘new form for the new content,’ but he does sketch the formation of ‘academicism,’ one of the more sinister institutions of the 19th century art world. This school of painting—disciplined by the standards of bourgeois taste—represents an ‘all-time low’ in Greenberg’s account, yet constructs a suitable foil for a newly-emerging avant-garde.

For Greenberg, the arrival of the avant-garde marks the moment when the arts finally begin to follow their instincts of ‘self-preservation.’ The plastic arts dismantle their dependent relationships with literature, the Academy, and even the concerns of society at large. The avant-garde mantra of ‘art for art’s sake’ highlights the emphasis on a practice that needs to be responsible only to its own values. Consequently, music gains recognition from the other arts, first in the same way that literature or poetry had dominated, as a model for imitation. Its strength as an abstract medium of ‘pure form’ makes it the envy of the other arts, but mimesis could never be the avant-garde’s saving grace. Rather, it was “…only when the avant-garde’s interest in music led it to consider music as a method of art rather than as a kind of effect did the avant-garde find what it was looking for” (31). Finally freed from the imitation of a dominant art form, the recognition and pursuance of art’s purity in relationship to its own medium could become the preeminent concern of the arts.

Greenberg’s obvious investment in his progressive narrative was the defense of a new crop of abstract painters that were gaining prominence in America in the early- to mid-20th century. After the devastation and demoralization of World War I, the center of cultural life had shifted from Paris to New York City, where art-making was bolstered by several progressive policies of the Roosevelt administration and an influx of European immigration. This wave culminated in the abstract expressionist movement, borrowing the introspective angst of German expressionism and the modern abstract tendencies of French art and coupling it with a distinctly American sense of scale and bravado.

Greenberg championed this group of painters for their dedication to working through the medium-specific problems of painting, apart from the concerns of representation, Romantic lyricism, or illusionary space. They were showing how “the picture plane itself grows shallower and shallower, flattening out and pressing together the fictive planes of depth until they meet as one upon the real and material plane which is the actual surface of the canvas…” (35). This was the real and unique concern of painting, apart from all other media, the new Laocoon for a modern generation.

Medium Specificity Arguments in Videogames

Even beyond the generation of American abstract expressionism, Greenberg’s narrative of painting’s ‘progressive surrender to the resistance of its medium’ has been a powerful paradigm in the history of art (34). Despite its dilution and rejection in movements that countered abstract expressionism and its direct descendents, the ‘ghost’ of medium specificity still haunts the discussion of any emergent medium.

For instance, the debate surrounding videogames as a ‘proper’ medium, distinct from other art forms, has come to the fore in recent years. Compared to painting, film, or television, videogames are relatively new media. The first examples of videogames appeared in the 1960s, but their commercial adoption and mainstream recognition did not occur until the mid-1970s to early 1980s. Though the analogy is not perfect, compared to the history of film, videogames are still in their early silent era. So why, forty years into its history, are artists, critics, and programmers beginning to grapple with videogames’ self-identity?

There are several key contributing factors. First, the complexity and sophistication of videogames has reached a point that allows its comparison to other more established media, such as film. This is a reiteration of Greenberg’s claim that a medium must first reach a threshold of technical sophistication before it begins its own self-examination. Videogames are often discussed in cinematic terms—with references to effective editing, camera placement, sound design, scripting, and voice talent—yet they are routinely derided for their simplistic narrative structures, plot developments, or poor acting. In Greenberg’s terms, this would be an indication of videogames’ failure to address the problems unique to their medium; in their nascent form, they are distorted by their imitation of cinema.

This relationship to film accounts for a second factor: videogames are now a multi-billion dollar industry. In many cases, their revenues surpass comparable big-budget films or musical acts. Big business means mainstream recognition. Economically, videogames can no longer be ignored and companies want to tap into its ever-expanding market share. Even if they never gain any artistic significance, videogames have carved out a massive share of the entertainment space. In a crowded market of limited dollars, it pays to distinguish one’s industry from one’s competitors.

A third factor is the persistent stigma of ‘games’ in general, especially their association with children’s entertainment. Early videogames were created as distractions for university students, or downtime hobbies of scientists and mathematicians. As their commercial potential expanded during the 1970s and ‘80s, videogames were increasingly marketed toward children. The videogame ‘fad’ was expected to eventually die out as children outgrew them, much like the hula-hoop or comic books (and this nearly happened with the videogame market crash of the early 1980s, led by Atari’s poor business decisions). Instead, the industry grew alongside its early users, as better hardware, graphics, and sound led to increased realism, sophisticated narrative structures, and adult subject matter. Despite this progression, videogames are often still judged in terms of their early incarnations—Donkey Kong or Super Mario Bros—while more modern examples such as Grand Theft Auto are demonized for their excessive violence or sexuality. This plays to the assumption that videogames are still designed solely for children.

A final related factor is the natural generational shift of artists, programmers, and academics. The children that grew up with videogames are now populating university posts, making art, and designing their own games. That generation has uncritically absorbed videogames as a given in their cultural lives. In the same way that most of Western society is accustomed to the ‘language’ of cinema, television, or radio, we now have a generation raised in a setting where videogames have always existed. This shift inevitably leads to a critical reconsideration of videogames—artists working with videogames will seek the acceptance of museums and art critics, academics will fight for videogames’ consideration as a serious discipline, and so on.

Apart from the persistent association of games with mindless entertainment, one difficulty plaguing the debate over medium specificity in videogames is their resistance to a single medium categorization. Even the most primitive videogames combine sound, image, animation, programming, and hardware engineering. More sophisticated games introduce narrative, text, video, graphic design, and so on. Many of these elements are considered media in their own right. So are videogames simply a composite media, brought together by digitization, or is the sum greater than its constituent parts? Film combines image and sound, yet it is considered to be a medium in its own right. How are videogames different?

The comparison to film has been a frequent point of contention in the ‘videogames as art’ debate, most famously when film critic Roger Ebert claimed that videogames could never reach the status of high art: “Video games by their nature require player choices, which is the opposite of the strategy of serious film and literature, which requires authorial control.” Ebert may be claiming allegiance to an ‘auteur theory’ of film, where the director pursues their singular creative vision, but he does not state it specifically (‘author’ might mean ‘screenwriter,’ for instance). Still, authorial control is a strange claim for cinema, since their production involves the collaboration of numerous people, including directors, screenwriters, cinematographers, producers, and so on. This structure of production is really a shared characteristic with videogames, since most contemporary examples rely on large collaborative teams. Even if we concede the distinction, the requirement of authorial control in any ‘serious film and literature’ is a dubious claim. Many poststructuralist theorists since the 1960s, including Barthes and Foucault, provide rigorous critiques of authors and authorship in the arts.

Game designer Rod Humble was an early responder to Ebert’s dismissal and one of the more eloquent defenders of videogames as a serious medium. As the title of his essay ‘Game Rules as Art’ states clearly, Humble believes that rules define the game as an artistic medium. He claims that “the creation of a set of rules within which the successful player must be creative is a form of expression exclusive to the domain of game design. No other art form does this. (Humble 2006: 3)” This statement drills to the heart of the debate and suggests that narrative, image, and sound are merely complementary supplements to the true artistic core of games. It marks a clear distinction from film, poetry, dance, or any other art. In a line that Greenberg would be envious of, Humble writes, “We cast aside the fiction and graphics to peer at the underlying boundaries that define our ability to interact with the objects and systems being simulated. (2)” If painters get the flat, material surface of the canvas, and poets have exclusive domain in the ‘general consciousness of the reader’, then game designers claim ownership of rules.

Humble’s own game design articulates his theory. The Marriage distills the videogame to its essential components, eschewing representational graphics, sound, and storytelling in order to highlight what is essential to the medium. Unlike many modern videogames, there are no tutorials or hints to reveal the rule system beneath the game. Instead, the player is encouraged to work out the system on her own. This is the impetus behind much modern art, wherein interpretation or even coherence are left to the reader, rather than the author. Admittedly, Humble sabotages his own enterprise by providing an explanation for the work, a move that he concedes to be a ‘failure.’ Still, he self-consciously presents The Marriage as art, a step that most game designers either neglect or refuse to take.

More interesting is Humble’s failure to articulate the specificity of videogames versus games in general. His argument makes no distinction between the two, so that board games, tabletop role-playing games, and even children’s make-believe are grouped under the same heading. Is there really no distinction, at least at the level of medium, between a game of chess and a Halo deathmatch? Most board games make an easy transition to videogame form, but the improvisational methods of role-playing or make-believe do not cross over. Likewise, very few videogames make good board games. Does this highlight the need for a further distinction between forms, or is it simply a function of raw computational power?

Humble addresses this problem, perhaps inadvertently, by establishing a typology of rule systems. The rules of chess and the rules of Halo both fall within his matrix, but they are categorized differently. Chess fits the Type 1 category, since its rules can be held in the player’s mind during play. Halo fits Type 2a, since the player is only required to hold a limited rule set in their mind; the simulation is too complex to do otherwise, so a computer is necessary. Still, the computer has its limitations. Types 3 and 4 are both unique to non-videogame formats, since the necessary improvisation of rule sets is still beyond the computer’s capabilities.

In programming parlance, rules are called algorithms. They are the basic instructions carried out by computers in order to solve problems. Obviously, computers are superior to humans not necessarily in the types of rules they can generate, but in the sheer volume and speed with which they can handle them. Does computer mediation change the relationship between rules and algorithms in a way that might require a distinct medium specification? In the history of art, there are several examples of rule-based works that might lean precariously close to Humble’s definition. Sol LeWitt’s wall drawings or serial works are sets of instructions to be carried out by a team of draftsmen. Likewise, many Fluxus or performance works are conceived as rules alone. Though I’ve never heard them referred to as games, these artistic styles involve a level of play and interaction that rivals more conventional examples of the form.

The role of player interaction is another essentialist claim that follows Greenberg’s influence, but diverges from Humble’s argument. In the article ‘Making Games Art: The Designer’s Manifesto,’ game developers John Sharp and David Fox again attempt to draw clear distinctions between videogames and the other arts. However, they focus on ‘participatory play experience’ rather than rules. They write,

Games produce meaning, but in a very unique way, a way that no other medium can. Game design is a second-order discipline, which differs from most every other expressive medium. Where the audience for film, painting, ballet and music consume the art passively, the audience of games is required to actively engage, to become an integral part in determining the substance and quality of their play experience. (Fox and Sharp 2008)

In other words, a game designer structures a ‘space of possibility’ within which the player can play. Though rules are still important, since the game designer is still the ultimate source of the game space, players ultimately create meaning through their actions in that space. In this sense, the rules are inert until a player is present.

This is a serious challenge to Humble’s claim and perhaps closer in spirit to the strategies of conceptual and performance art. Certainly rules allow for creative expression, but how do they become ‘active’? A recipe for chocolate cake is never an actual cake, no matter how elegant its description. The rules must be played.

Yet Fox and Sharp seem unclear about their own definitions, alternately delineating and conflating the medium of videogames with its process, ‘game design.’ In a single sentence from the previous quotation, game design is described as both a ‘second-order discipline’ and an ‘expressive medium.’ Further on, game design is described as distinct from the medium upon which it operates, i.e., the former sets the conditions for play, while the real expressive content exists separately, in the actual interaction. Are they attempting to locate the ‘art of games’ or the ‘art of game design’? The former ties to the emergent nature of ‘player participation’ through process, while the latter better denotes authorial intent through rules and structure. Clearly, Fox and Sharp want to find a unique expression for their medium, but their distinctions between process and form are internally inconsistent.

Game designer Steve Gaynor follows Fox and Sharp’s emphasis on player interaction (without the logical contradictions), but takes further steps to discredit rules as the essential concern of videogames. In his article ‘On Invisibility,’ he uses the iconic puzzle game Tetris as an example of ‘abstract formalist’ game design, where the ruleset is completely ‘exposed’ to the player and supported visually by its graphic elements. In contrast to formalist art that, he argues, aims to erase the artist’s presence in the work, the formalist game creates a direct relationship between game designer and player, as expressed through rules. This relationship, Gaynor claims, is actually a failure of game design, since the verisimilitude of the player space is continually interrupted by the interjection of the designer’s wishes. Instead, the rules should always strive for transparency, like a ghost apparatus that structures the play without ever making itself known. He writes,

Every time the player is confronted with overt rules that they must acknowledge consciously, the lens is smudged, the stage eroded; at every point that the functionality of a simulated experience deviates jarringly from the natural world's, the designer's hand is exposed to the player, drawing attention away from the world as a believable place, and onto the limitations of an artificial set of concrete rules dictated by the designer. (Gaynor 2008)

Clearly, Humble’s game fails miserably when judged according to Gaynor’s criteria, since Humble wants to foreground his intentions at the expense of any other element. In Gaynor’s vocabulary, The Marriage is ‘abstract formalist’ design par excellence, since it aims to communicate rules between designer and player with as little embellishment as possible. The fact that Humble resorts to a written explanation of the rules only reinforces this idea. However, counter to Humble’s work, Gaynor pushes Ebert’s criticism of videogames further along its trajectory, in a move that would ideally erase the game designer’s (i.e. author’s) presence altogether. For Ebert, this is a move away from ‘serious art,’ but for Gaynor it is a distinguishing characteristic of videogames versus other media.

Gaynor’s arguments may fit comfortably alongside his colleagues in the medium specificity camp, but his reference to stylistic tendencies in Tetris provides a useful departure from Greenberg’s influence. In “Medium Specificity Arguments and the Self-Consciously Invented Arts,” Noel Carroll makes a compelling counter-argument to Greenberg’s ‘necessary’ self-realization of the arts. Carroll illustrates how medium specificity arguments arose within three recent arts: photography, film, and video. In each case, after a period of time in which the newly emergent medium stylistically resembled other media (e.g. film mimicking theater, video mimicking film, and so on), groups of artists or critics begin to argue for the ‘purification’ of their respective medium, stripping away that which is mimetic or non-essential. This inevitably leads to competing or contradictory claims for a single medium. Thus, photography finds proponents of its capability for ‘instantaneous recording,’ which dispenses with any optical or chemical manipulation, in opposition with those who argue that camera-less ‘photograms’ are essential to the medium, since they focus on production instead of reproduction. Likewise, the medium purists plead for illogical limitations, such as ‘Don’t make a medium do what it is incapable of doing.’

Ultimately, these arguments boil down to claims for legitimacy. New media want to become new artforms, and medium specificity claims provide an attractive means for this to happen. If a new medium can individuate itself, it shows its value versus the other arts, as it offers something new or different. But Carroll argues that a medium carries no inherent propensity toward particular forms or uses. Rather, “It is the use we find for the medium that determines what aspect of the medium deserves our attention. The medium is open to our purposes; the medium does not use us for its own agenda” (Carroll 1996: 13). This is an important point, since it reveals an assumed anthropomorphism that inhabits many claims for medium specificity. Carroll is careful to note that a medium does not want or do anything on its own account; instead, it is culture at large (and artists specifically) that determines how a medium is used. He writes, “The genre, style or artistic movement a work inhabits determines whether one’s choices are appropriate or not. What hitherto have been identified as mediumistic questions are in fact stylistic questions” (14). Therefore, there are no inherently ‘appropriate’ or ‘inappropriate’ uses for a medium. Instead, prevailing cultural attitudes toward stylistic choices will dictate these terms.

As Carroll would expect, the medium specificity arguments for videogames are often couched as claims for artistic legitimacy. Humble, Fox, Sharp, Gaynor, and a host of other designers and critics are all aiming for a way to differentiate games from other media, to see what’s unique or new in their expressions. However, as we have seen hinted in Gaynor’s article, those arguments may be more adequately expressed as differences in style. The Marriage and Tetris may be strong examples of ‘formal abstraction,’ while more cinematic or narrative-based games may take on other stylistic designations. The history of painting is filled with ever-accelerating stylistic change, so why can’t videogames follow a similar course?

Carroll argues that the undo emphasis on medium purity ultimately leads to a neglect of stylistic excellence. In practice, many of the best examples of form are ‘trans-art endeavors,’ rather than Greenberg-approved models of self-referential purity. Thus, any medium should be judged accordingly: “[I]f one wishes to defend a style , a genre or an artistic movement, the way to do that is to show the value or worth—aesthetic, intellectual, and moral—that derives from embracing the specific commitments involved in the practice of that style” (19). This criteria, I think, is a better gauge for the artistic ‘success’ or ‘failure’ of a particular videogame. Stylistically, does The Marriage succeed in its formal abstract aims? Is it expressive according to Humble’s own stipulations? Which videogames best characterize ‘invisibility’ according to Gaynor’s terms? Or, more broadly, which videogames convey aesthetic, intellectual, or moral worth?

Conclusion

As a theoretical model, Greenberg’s art historical narrative appears reductionist, simplistic, or worse, indicative of the ultimate exhaustion of the arts. Following Greenberg’s prescribed trajectory, artists pare away the elements deemed inessential to a given medium until there is nothing left to subtract. Abstract expressionism, freed from any Romantic reliance on literary subject matter, leads to ‘neutral’ explorations of the plasticity of paint and canvas. Minimalism divorces the work from any trace of the artist’s hand, replacing craft and artisanship with system and process. Conceptual art dispenses with objects altogether; instructions for a work’s execution can substitute for the work itself. At this point, what is left of painting—language alone? Would Greenberg claim that we have returned again to the imitation of poetry?

Questions of medium specificity have guided the history of art since the middle of the twentieth century. Though often dismissed or derided, Greenberg’s model is influential in ways that are not always clearly articulated. Reactionary counter-movements, attacks against rigid formalism, and even postmodern tendencies to plunder and appropriate art’s own history still engage with the narrative structure that Greenberg proposed. It resurfaces whenever any new media candidate arises, whether videogames, computers, or the Internet.

Despite its problematic nature, Greenberg’s framework is not without merit. The limitations of medium specificity led to many creative explorations of the flat painting surface, and later, a clear foil for its evolution beyond that endpoint. It is true that Greenberg championed a particular style of painting, but careful reading of his essays reveals his understanding of the social contexts within which the arts operate. In a later article titled ‘Abstract, Representational, and so forth,’ Greenberg writes:

To hold that one kind of art must invariably be superior or inferior to another kind means to judge before experiencing; and the whole history of art is there to demonstrate the futility of rules of preference laid down beforehand: the impossibility, that is, of anticipating the outcome of aesthetic experience. (Greenberg 1961: 579)

Greenberg was less often arguing for the primacy of abstract art than for its importance, and especially at that specific point in art’s history. Whether or not his narrative is true is secondary; abstract art did take precedence during the first half of the twentieth century (independent of Greenberg’s influence) and he was correct to argue that it could not simply be ignored or negated. Rather, “We can only dispose of abstract art by assimilating it, by fighting our way through it” (37).

As Carroll has shown, medium specificity is not the only way to think through the legitimacy of various media. Humble, Sharp, Fox, and Gaynor have all paid allegiance to Greenberg’s ghost, but that doesn’t make their work more or less valuable. Carroll would argue that they are all really working through questions of stylistic differences—namely, what are the prevailing characteristics of videogames that are aesthetically, intellectually, and morally worthwhile in our present cultural situation. Likewise, it is artists, programmers, scholars, and players that will shape the use and definition of the videogame, not the medium itself. Ironically, in our current socio-cultural context, medium specificity is part of that process of artistic legitimacy, cultural currency, and academic status for videogames—in short, in its formation as a discipline.

Citations

Carroll, Noel, “Medium Specificity Arguments and the Self-Consciously Invented Arts: Film, Video, Photography,” in Theorizing the Moving Image (Cambridge University Press, 1996), 3-25.

Fox, David and John Sharp, “Making Games Art: The Designers’ Manifesto,” Gamasutra, <http://www.gamasutra.com/view/feature/3974/ making_games_art_the_designers_.php>, March 31, 2009.

Gaynor, Steve, “On Invisibility,” <http://fullbright.blogspot.com/2008/09/on- invisibility.html>, September 28, 2008.

Greenberg, Clement, “Abstract, Representational, and so forth,” in Theories of Modern Art (University of California Press, 1968), 577-581.

Greenberg, Clement, “Towards a Newer Laocoon,” in The Collected Essays and Criticism (Chicago, 1986), Vol. 1: 23-28

Humble, Rod, “Game Rules as Art,” The Escapist, <http://www.escapistmagazine.com/articles/view/issues/issue_41/247-Game-Rules-as-Art>, April 18, 2006.

Lessing, Gotthold, Laocoon: An Essay on the Limits of Painting and Poetry (1766), trans. Ellen Frothingham (Roberts Brothers, 1890).

Return to the Top