Language of the Gods

There’s been this old clip circulating again recently of Dr. Ha-Joon Chang, a professor of Economics:

“Economics has become a bit like Catholic theology in medieval Europe. It has become the language of rulers. So, if you don’t speak economics, you cannot participate in any debate… 

But of course, they are not going to let you speak it — in the exact same way that the Vatican banned the translation of the Bible into local languages in medieval times…

Once you create this body of knowledge, which is not accessible to other people, you can basically bully other people into accepting your argument because other people cannot understand you.”

Latin used to be the official language of western-rite Catholicism, the “divine language,” kept inaccessible to the ordinary folks.

What I refer to as the Language of the Gods is slightly different but shares the same roots — language that is vague enough to seem plausible and confusing enough to seem unquestionable.

It’s always been interesting to see how deeply digital art has intertwined with its market, especially on Twitter. The state of the market dominates the narrative at times, and the survival of digital art is tied to its market’s viability and vitality. 

Collectors use it to justify the legitimacy of their collection, sometimes going as far as calling their collection a portfolio. Platforms market to artists by listing how well the floor prices of past projects have remained consistent since launch. Dealers offer works by touting eye-watering last-sale comp prices and how liquid the artist’s inventory is. 

Of course, money and art are intertwined. They have been for millennia. Accessibility of art should not conflict with artists being paid what they’re worth. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had hundreds, if not thousands, of conversations trying to determine the monetary value of a work. But the art and the artists must come first.

It has somehow become common and even acceptable to justify the importance of an artist or an artwork exclusively by contextualizing them financially: by throwing out numbers and economic terms like “floor prices,” “market cap,” and “trading volume.” The artist’s identity, the thesis of their work, its concept, technique, execution, presentation, and cultural and historical context are left out of the initial pitch. 

It’s one thing to analyze the market. It’s another to reduce the significance of artists and their work to numbers and dollar signs. 

Artists are compelled to create by their vision and passion. That’s what excites me. I’m animated by working with art, learning about art, speaking to artists, seeing exhibitions, and defining and curating collections that are emblematic of the collectors’ passion and interests. I want to know about you and your work. What is it? Why did it take this form? What inspired you to make it? How does it speak to me? How does it speak to others? 

Artists, don’t justify your prices before you’ve allowed yourself and your art to speak.

If a work is cheap, it is not necessarily inconsequential.

If a work is expensive, it is not certainly impactful.

Is the priceless unfailingly profound?

Is the worthless invariably banal?

When a work’s monetary value fluctuates, does its cultural, historical, or personal significance? 

Prices and numbers have become the Language of the Gods of Digital Art.

Not all prophets speak the Language of the Gods, and not all who do are divine.

The Codex Amiatinus is the earliest surviving complete Latin Vulgate Bible.