You know what? I went on a full Danto kick. Sticky notes. Coffee rings. I even stood in front of boxes and a urinal to see if his words matched life. Yeah, real boxes. Real shiny porcelain. Let me explain. I later wrote up the extended field notes over here if you’re after every coffee-stained margin.
What I actually used
- The Transfiguration of the Commonplace (Harvard University Press) — old library copy, stiff pages
- After the End of Art (Princeton University Press) — paperback, lots of dog-ears
- What Art Is (Yale University Press, 2013) — clean design, easy to carry
- His art columns in The Nation — crisp voice, punchy claims
I read on the train and at my kitchen table. I took these books to museums, too.
The test drive: art in the wild
I went to the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. I stood in front of stacks of Brillo Boxes. Wood. Paint. Real quiet room. I also saw a version of Duchamp’s Fountain at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It’s a urinal, sure, but it hits like a joke told with a straight face. Later, I walked past Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup Cans at MoMA. The labels look like the grocery shelf. But they sit apart. They feel like thought, not soup.
With Danto in my bag, I tried to read what I saw, not just feel it. Could I be wrong about what I thought the art meant? Danto says yes. And that’s key.
Pop art has always flirted with the commercial and the risqué—Warhol’s own Factory stories are proof. If you want to see how that same collision of everyday impulse and staged persona plays out online, take a quick dive into Fuckbook, a no-filter social platform where raw desire gets reframed into curated profiles and coded interactions. Scrolling through it is like watching Danto’s “artworld” thesis in real time: context turns plain acts into charged performances, giving you a live case study in how framing changes meaning.
While Fuckbook shows the digital side of things, you can catch a similar play of persona in face-to-face territory too. One example is the escort directory at AdultLook Mesa—browsing the listings reveals how titles, photos, and quick bios operate like ready-made mini artworks, letting you road-test Danto’s framing theory while also helping locals pinpoint exactly the kind of real-world experience they’re after.
So… what does “objectivist” mean here?
Not the Ayn Rand kind. Not a whole life creed. I mean this: did Danto think there are real, knowable facts about what makes something art and what it means? Facts you can get right or wrong?
Readers who want a deeper dive into art discussions from the Objectivist camp can browse the essays collected at Full Context, which map out how Rand-inspired thinkers handle questions of meaning and value. You can also check out my rundown of famous Objectivists in the arts for extra perspective on who else works this way. If the very term still feels fuzzy, my plain-language explainer breaks it down here.
He kind of did. And he kind of didn’t. I know, that sounds slippery. But stay with me.
Where Danto feels firm and factual
- The Brillo test: A store Brillo box and Warhol’s Brillo Box can look the same. One is art. One is not. Why? Because art sits in a world of ideas, history, and practice. Danto calls it the “artworld.” That’s not a mood. That’s a social fact. (For Danto’s definitive account, see his seminal 1964 essay “The Artworld”.)
- Titles matter: He uses look-alike works, called “indiscernibles.” A plain red square with the title Red Square is not the same as a red square titled Kierkegaard’s Mood. Same look, different meaning. The title and context change the work. That’s not just taste. That’s evidence.
- Meaning has guardrails: Danto says art is “embodied meaning.” (He unpacks this idea at length in “Embodied Meanings: Critical Essays and Aesthetic Meditations”.) Your take can be rich or thin. It can also be wrong if it ignores what the work is, when it was made, and how. That means there are better and worse reads. Not anything goes.
Standing in front of the Warhol boxes, this felt right. The grocery stack doesn’t ask me to think about art. The museum stack does. The facts around it do the heavy lift.
Where Danto stays loose and open
- Many true readings: He allows more than one good take on a work. You can read the soup cans as a riff on ads. Or as a mirror for American life. Or as a flat, cool look at mass print. Many trails can still be true.
- History leads: He says art’s meaning depends on when and where it lands. So truth in art talk is not a math proof. It’s more like a good map. You use landmarks: maker, time, style, scene.
- Taste is personal: He doesn’t tell you what to like. He tells you what it is. And how it means.
On the museum floor, this also felt right. I watched a teen laugh at Fountain and a docent frown. Both had a point. But one had facts, too.
My plain answer
Was Danto an objectivist? In the small “o” sense, yes—about art’s identity and about the boundaries of meaning. He thinks some claims can be checked. He thinks context is not fluff; it’s part of the work. But he’s not a one-truth-for-all guy. He’s an objectivity-friendly pluralist. Tough phrase, simple idea.
Real moments that sealed it for me
- Reading his Nation piece on shows at MoMA, I saw how he made clear, testable claims: what the show tried to do, what the art said, where it failed.
- In What Art Is, I underlined a line on “embodied meaning.” Then I looked at the soup cans. It clicked. The cans are not just cans. They carry thought you can point to, argue about, and support.
- In The Transfiguration of the Commonplace, his talk on indiscernibles matched my Warhol visit. Same look, different work. That’s a factual split, not just a vibe.
The good, the bad, the shrug
Pros
- Gives you tools. Not just feelings.
- Respects history. It matters who, when, and where.
- Keeps room for more than one smart read.
Cons
- Jargon pops up. “Artworld” sounds clubby till you get used to it.
- He can feel sure-footed, which some folks read as stiff.
- If you want pure taste talk, he’s not your person.
Who should read him
- Art students who need a sturdy frame
- Museum lovers who want better labels in their minds
- Teachers who want clean examples that land
- Anyone stuck on “my truth vs your truth” when talking about art
How I got the most out of it
- Read a chapter, then go see one work in person
- Say your read out loud, then check facts: title, date, maker, method
- Bring a friend and compare. Ask, “What would prove me wrong?”
Final word
I came in unsure. I left with a small, steady yes. Danto treats art as meaning you can track with reasons. You can still argue. You can still change your mind. But you don’t float. You stand on facts—titles, dates, contexts—and you build from there. Honestly, that felt good. Like walking out of a gallery with better shoes.