Damien Hirst
The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living

The last time I was at the Natural History Museum in London, strolling through the various halls, surrounded by hundreds of specimens (or specimina: choose the plural form you prefer), I came across a rather curious sign that made me reflect (and still does): it reminded me how the institution's "policy" in recent years has been to favor synthetic reconstructions of animals at the expense of taxidermy specimens and that the choice to leave the latter on display (many, in fact, and often with many signs of wear) was dictated by the "documentary" intent of providing a glimpse into the past of Biology, understood as a science, and comparing it with the present. A pedagogical purpose within another in the attempt to learn from our mistakes (and the British "19th" century was full of them, alongside many brilliant ideas, admirable insights, and discoveries, even in other fields) to improve or to make entirely new ones and exhibit them, perhaps, in a hundred years as sociological evidence.

In the disputes between Science and Art, I have always stayed out of the fray because I am convinced that the two things (if approached with discernment) are complementary, but the fact that such an important scientific institution felt compelled to justify its choice (even to make it acceptable to the ever-growing public that feels a rightful need to balance the relationship between humans and other living species) with solid cultural arguments made me think of certain contemporary artists and how outdated they seemed in front of the "freshness" of thought from an institution that was (and is) over 130 years old.

Now a small parenthesis is needed: I admit that I am never gentle with Contemporary Art and that it is unfair to compare artistic choices (which by definition do not need to be explained, much less by the artist) to scientific ones. Now I can continue.

"The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living" is a tiger shark, specifically captured and killed (or rather, they were killed: following the decay of the first specimen in 2006, it was necessary to replace it with a second one, so theoretically, the current one is a different work compared to the original) and placed in a formaldehyde-based solution inside a transparent glass and steel tank.

Let's forget for a moment the ethical questions (in fact, I don't want to talk about it at all, leaving you free to comment) and those tedious discussions about "what is worthy of being called Art." Let's even pretend that behind the explosion (as with 99% of those by other contemporary artists) of Hirst there wasn't "just" a skillful marketing campaign (in this case by Charles Saatchi: sorry if that's not much) but for once, let's break the rules and ask for explanations.

If the reason for such a fuss (tell it to the two sharks...) is a cutting-edge desire to experiment with "new paths to Damascus" and devote one's "philology" to the philosophical idea of "Death," to me, it seems quite banal and "overused" (shall we talk about Sacred Art and all those crucifixes?) and therefore doesn't hold up. One concept must be clear: even though those who typically disdain technique only do so because they lack it and those who are disturbed by artists who seek perfection do so because they are envious of the awareness that they themselves cannot even come close, the fact that, in this specific case, the artistic act itself is missing doesn't bother me. If Rembrandt were alive today, he would probably have depicted his oxquarters differently.

The same can be said for concepts like "Horror" and "Disgust," which, if we want to be honest, Hirst's dead fish also lacks one of the fundamental variables of what is artistic thought: ambiguity. Cruelly (if there wasn't the serious risk that it might be taken as a compliment), I could say that Hirst's highest conceptual vein lies in giving titles, and it would be intellectually dishonest to claim that, in the topic at hand, it isn't impactful. I want to say that I appreciate people like him: any person (artist or not) who finds a way (all things considered) honestly to make money without working has my unconditional esteem, so if you find envy in my words, it's only for the achievement of the goal, not for the means used.

Returning to the beginning, since it is not a matter of Ethics or Technique, it's not clear to me if contemporary expression in artistic form should be judged by its inherent daring (and when talking about Hirst, that's the only thing I grant him) or by what is grasped by critics, advertisers, patrons (if in the "21st" century we can still use the term) and various frills and jokes because more than the ultimate consumer of the artwork, it seems to me that, in reality, the anxiety of explanation grips precisely these individuals (and we all know when the artist retreats into "no comment," it's only because they simply don't know what to say) who so many times are not disinterested (thinking the worst...) from the social-economic aspect.

I admit that for once (actually, a second time) I am talking about something I have not seen directly but only through photographs and I don't know where it is now (it's privately owned if I'm not mistaken, but has also been on public display at least twice) but if you're eager to see specimens that serve as a reminder of how ephemeral life is, any Natural History Museum will do. In particular, it may not be a shark in formaldehyde, but "just" the Whale Skeleton (I know it's not a fish...) at the one in London, from my perspective, offers a more advisable experience in terms of primordial emotions. Then you make your choice.