You might have read in the paper the other day that a row over plans to display large-scale works with Nazi images in Kilkenny during the city's arts festival has been resolved.
A former mayor of Kilkenny, Mr Paul Cuddihy, had objected to a proposal to display one of the images on the city hall, but he changed his mind after visiting the Austrian artist, Gottfried Helnwein, at his studio near Clonmel. The two men apparently got on like a house on fire (please do pardon the cliche, I am almost as tired as it is.)
Mr Helnwein said he was "very happy" that Mr Cuddihy, a Fine Gael councillor, had called to his studio; "it was good for both of us and we were able to exchange ideas." Everything is grand now. Not only that, but festival manager Maureen Kennelly praised Gottfried Helnwein as a "very moral" artist.
Isn't that great? A potentially embarrassing row defused, a new friendship made, a valuable exchange of ideas and official approval given to the artist and his work.
Well no, actually, it isn't great at all, indeed it is highly disturbing. In the first place, the idea of a public representative calling out to see an artist in his studio, in order to have a pleasant discussion about his work, is quite preposterous. Most artists I know, though admittedly they are all drunken, lecherous, unkempt wasters with only a modicum of talent, would no more open their studio doors to a public representative than they would to the Revenue Commissioners. If they thought their work was going to be discussed, the doors would be bolted even more securely.
I do know of one county councillor in Clare who actually gained admission a few years ago to a well-known artist's studio outside Ennistymon, but only because he was carrying a bottle of Jameson (and seen to be carrying it).
The subsequent discussion between the pair was entirely confined to the superiority of that particular whiskey over all others. This debate lasted precisely as long as the drink (a little over an hour) and the visitor was then thrown out on his ear, just as he was thought he was going to broach the subject of morality with the artist.
As for this ludicrous notion that Gottfried Helnwein, or any other talented artist, is "very moral", how many times do people have to be told that art has nothing to do with morality?
A fellow might go to daily Mass and beat himself with cato'-nine-tails every night of the week but devil the effect that will have on his art in terms of so-called morality. And do I have to be dragging out poor old Oscar Wilde yet again to tell you that books are neither moral nor immoral, merely well or badly written?
And what about James Joyce, drying the last page of his manuscript with blotting-paper, then standing aloof from the whole thing and (who could blame him) paring his fingernails, devil the care on him whether his work is corrupting us or not? His job is done and he cares no further.
An artist's work might well be misinterpreted, as apparently was the fear of Mr Cuddihy, but the notion of a work of art corrupting anyone is particularly comical.
In Ireland, corruption naturally means only sexual corruption, so that if one of our artists (A New Realist, perhaps) were to display a vibrant canvas showing a group of politicians alongside a happy bagman generously dispensing fat brown envelopes, well, that would have nothing to do with "corruption" at all and we would all have a good laugh at the notion of anyone tempted after seeing it to get involved in such ventures.
But if corruption works at all it must surely work both ways.
Say, for example, you wander out from the office during your lunch-break and manage to get a good long gawk at Renoir's Ball at the Moulin de la Galette (I think it is in a private collection but never mind): sure you would be transported entirely by this joyous and colourful scene of relaxed good-looking people chattering and drinking and dancing, under the glowing lights of the famous Parisian dance hall.
Back you go to your office in a haze of well-being and, for the entire afternoon, you are quite unable to concentrate. You are glowing with pleasure but you couldn't send a fax to save your life. Your mind keeps going back to that beautiful Parisian scene, you want to be right in the middle of it and you are no use at all to your boss.
You are in fierce good humour, the world is beautiful and you can't even answer the phone. Face it: you have been corrupted by art.
Times Square will resume on August 23rd
glacken@irish-times.ie