O.C. ART REVIEWS : Beauty, in the Mind’s Eye of the Beholder

Six years ago, I saw a remarkable conceptual work by French artist Sophie Calle that has stayed vividly in mind ever since. Orange County viewers are fortunate that this photo-and-text work, “The Blind,” has been loaned to the Newport Harbor Art Museum (through Dec. 31) by Pasadena collectors Stuart and Judy Spence.

Calle’s brilliantly simple idea was to ask 23 French men, women and children who were born blind for “their image of beauty.” The piece consists of a head shot of each person, the text of their reply to the question, and utilitarian photos of the images they mention.

The contrast between the often humdrum object in the photograph and the high esteem in which the speaker holds it can be indescribably poignant.

Even the contrast between the black-and-white photographs of the subjects (whom sighted viewers might presume to live in a world without color) and the color photos of the objects invokes a cruel distinction between their world and ours.

As might be expected, several of the things specified are particularly accessible by senses other than sight. A men who cites the color blue says, “ Bleu . Just saying it is beautiful.”

The objects mentioned--human hair, a man’s body, a lynx fur, sheep, a sculpture of a woman by Rodin and a medieval bas relief of flames--all respond to touch.

“I didn’t know one could touch fire,” muses the woman who mentioned the bas relief, evoking the paradox of artistic representation, freezing in cold, schematic patterns the scorching dance of real flames.

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Initially, it seems odd that some of the people believe in a kind of “beauty by hearsay” in lieu of relying on firsthand experience.

A woman who believes blonds are beautiful says, “I’m told my husband is beautiful.” (The husband turns out to be a bespectacled dark-haired fellow.) A girl cites the actor Alain Delon--someone whose looks she would “know” only through descriptions.

Two people single out landscapes or representations of landscapes as beautiful. “They tell me [the sea] is blue and green,” says a young man who points to a mediocre seascape with a textured surface as an example of beauty. “And when sun reflects in it, it hurts your eyes. It must be painful to look at.”

It is as though the painting--apprehended only through the fingertips--eliminates what this man believes to be the unbearable aspect of looking at the sea. The notion of beauty as a translation of something painful or unavailable into pleasant and accessible terms is intriguing.

A young man whose long hair covers his eyes says, “I’m told white is beautiful so I think it’s beautiful. But even if it weren’t beautiful it would be the same thing.”

In fact, sighted people operate in precisely the same way. When we think something is beautiful, that belief derives not from something innate in the object but from a combination of cultural conditioning (what people have told us) and the sensory pleasure the thing gives us.

In the end, values such as beauty adhere to no objective standards. We may be touched that these blind people find beauty in such ordinary or unlikely things. But ultimately we begin to realize the arbitrariness of our own standards.

As in most of Calle’s other projects--inquiries into the habits and opinions of strangers ranging from hotel guests to a man she followed in the street--what appears to be a documentary approach actually involves a generous area of conjecture and fantasy on the part of the viewer.

Although Calle offers minimal information about her blind subjects (who are never named or otherwise described), the absence of details seems only to enhance the climate of trust.

The impulse to know what it is to be someone else is basic to our being--so basic that we become credulous voyeurs at the drop of a hat and use fantasy to fill in where facts leave off. In this way, we, too, are the blind.

* “Sophie Calle: The Blind,” through Dec. 31 at Newport Harbor Art Museum, 850 San Clemente Dr., Newport Beach. 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday (till 7 p.m. Fridays), noon to 5 p.m. Sunday. $4 adults, $2 students and seniors, free for children under 12; free for everyone on Tuesdays. (714) 759-1122 .