Brilliant article from the recent issue of Wine Spectator written by Matt Kramer (winespectator.com):
Recently I found myself in one of those wine wrangles that, truth to tell, I usually try to avoid. (Check out any wine chat board on the Internet if you've got a taste? for this sort of thing.)
The wrangle was with, natch, a winemaker?, while at a social event. It involved the winemaker's assertion that "fine wine is art." I pointed out, as modestly as I could, that there's no denying that nature surely doesn't make wine on its own, let alone fine wine (vinegar? is more like it). I then went on to say that fine wine is, at best, a high craft both in the vineyard? and the cellar?.
Probably, if I had stopped there, the discussion would have proved amicable. But I took the matter one step further. (You're shocked, I know.) I submitted that saying that winemaking, and therefore its result, is "art" was self-aggrandizing. You can imagine how that was received.
Now, I admit that the self-aggrandizing bit was a low blow. Still, it's true. If winemakers can get you, me and, especially, their employers to see them as artists, you know what'll happen: Their salaries will rise, and producers, for their part, will start pricing wine as "art." And you know what that means.
So why isn't fine wine "art"? The answer is surprisingly simple. Art is creation; wine is amplification. The big? difference between an artist and a winemaker is that an artist starts with a blank sheet while a winemaker works with the exact opposite. A grape arrives at the winery? with all the parts included, a piñata stuffed with goodies, just waiting to be cracked open.
Is there a craft to doing that? You bet there is. But where an artist conceives of something out of the proverbial thin air, no winemaker anywhere in the world can do any such thing.
For example, when my wine heroine Lalou Bize-Leroy bought the former Domaine? Noëllat in Vosne-Romanée and transformed it into Domaine Leroy, she did not create her magnificent wines from scratch. It was all right there in the hallowed ground and old vines? of her newly acquired pieces of Richebourg and Romanée St.-Vivant. She didn't create something from nothing. Quite the opposite.
Fine wine is not creation. It is refinement. If it were otherwise, then everybody would be "creating" Lafite Rothschild or La Tâche or any other wine masterpiece of singular, irreproducible expression and high price. Counterfeiting aside, I don't see anybody doing that, do you?
They don't because they can't. That's precisely why fine wine is not art. It comes from all the forces that create a particularity of site. Great winemakers—which is to say, expert practitioners of winecraft—tease what they can from the sites that are available to them by planting the right grapevines, growing them astutely, harvesting the fruit at an ideal moment (a problematic issue today given some winemakers' and critics' preferences for ever greater ripeness) and handling the fermented juice? in the cellar with deft control.
This is no small charge, and I, for one, do not seek to diminish it in any way. But art? Not a chance. The poet E.E. Cummings put his finger on it better than anyone else: "A world of made is not a world of born." Wine is no more a blank canvas than the Grand Canyon.
Why does this distinction matter? Because abstract though it is, if winemakers and, yes, wine lovers, see wine as art, then the essential connection between what a grape expresses from its site and what we expect is severed. If a winemaker is an "artist," then he or she, by artistic right, can and should modify the result to suit a personal vision separate from a "mere" expression of place.
However, if the finest winemaking is seen as a high craft, rather than art, the expectation changes subtly yet substantively. Where art presumes a blank slate upon which a personal vision necessarily is writ large, the notion of craft is more deferential. Like great parenting, it's a guardianship of something already largely complete. The goal is refinement and amplification of what's inherent. Think of what happens when parents do otherwise.
So it is with wine. All sorts of technological deconstruction and reconstruction now occurs in many wineries today, especially ones creating high-end—or at least high-priced—wines. They see themselves as artists and would like to convince you of same. If they can, well, you know how distorted the results can be—and who pays.
Matt Kramer has contributed regularly to Wine Spectator since 1985.
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It seems obvious on reflection but it remains an important distinction to make, especially given the widespread labeling of wine making as an art form, particularly in wine marketing circles.
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