IN THE MOVIE My Fair Lady, based on the George Bernard Shaw novel, an upper class speech instructor teaches a young, lower class London woman to speak the Queen's English. The idea is that proper dialect makes one more acceptable in the more refined social classes.
This is also the topic that linguists study, and there may be some parallels to the "languages" of the art world, among painters in particular.
In one field of linguistics, called "isogloss," researchers have found that there are innumerable geographic regions, with their boundaries, where certain English dialects have developed, despite generations of mixing in the English language.
For example, people in England cannot tell the difference between the Canadian and American accents, while citizens in those countries can see myriad differences. Similarly, Americans can't distinguish the differences between a New Zealand and Australian accent, although people down under can point out dozens, if not hundreds.
What can the artist learn from the way linguistics affect social interactions? For one, the dialects indicate social class. There's the Queen's English (now used on the BBC and called "world English), and there's that of urban London, Wales or Ireland. The divergence from upper-class diction has made the British TV show, The East Enders, one of the most popular in history.
Similarly, in the United States there is the approved New England accent (think Harvard), though there are countless variations between regions, and even zip codes, such as the voice of South Boston. The Upper Midwest and South are distinctive. Americans have both what is called "broadcast English" for radio and TV training (identified with the dialect around Grosspoint, Michigan), and "NPR English," in which staff are trained to sound cosmopolitan and multi-cultural.
Perhaps only linguists can detect these variations, but they are definitely there. In adopting a langue, people seek solidarity with a particular audience or social rank. Linguists call this "coded speech." Someone may learn a coded language, but retain their original dialect. Think of the person from Alabama who, having studied at Harvard, can talk in both that "received pronunciation” and, back home, default to yu'all instead of you.
Linguists call this "code switching." Politicians do it all the time, seeking regional votes by speaking their dialect.
The art world is similar. For a start, like the branching tree of linguistics, art styles have been mapped as dominant styles and derivative styles. The language of art styles branches into new variations, coming and going, ending, or branching further. The tree of modern art, after Impressionists, Cubism, and Expressionism, has countless branches, twigs, and dead ends.
Observant artists, seeking the ability to communicate and obtain social acceptance, "code switch" all the time in their styles. Not a few art students, spurred on by their youthful ability to draw, go to art school and adopt the style of the day: “mark making” instead of drawing. If they value the original drawing skill, the artist can switch back and forth, navigating the door to success.
Success usually means finding a significant audience, all of which have their own art dialects. The art critics and jurors know the dialects they like—signaling that the artist is "one of us." Art markets, galleries, and art events, are built around such dialects.
Faced with this reality, the painter must decide: How much should I be "code switching"? The first inclination is that the painter must find an authentic voice. However, it soon becomes clear that one must speak—that is, paint—in the voice of a particular audience to create what linguists call "solidarity." Every painter, with exceptions, wants to be accepted.
Over the years, I've heard variations on this solidarity advice. One phrase is "paint smart." Paint in the dialect that is acceptable. In turn, one group of modern painters eschewed the Queen's English, so to speak, and adopted a style called "bad art" (like East Londoner dialect). Adopting this "low" form of painting breaks the rules of "good grammar"—and gets noticed.
Such intentional deviations often are types of social protest, just as some dialects express themselves defiantly in the face of conformity. But for a painter to succeed, you need a large enough group to which you can signal solidarity: the modern art collector, the juror who is a traditionalist or modernist, the gallery that only sells works in transparent watercolor.
Some dialects are more useful in climbing the social ladder, indeed, in being understood by most people. Still, painters begin with their authentic starting points—speaking in a South Boston lilt or Southern drawl—and will keep that as part of their identity and personality.
The take-home lesson? There are 6,000 living languages in the world, and perhaps as many idiosyncratic art styles. Still, English is dominant. So, learn what is dominant, and a handful of dialects, especially those geared to social success. And keep the native one, since that's who one is, whether born in the Queen's household or Appalachia.