And this year’s winner is…

I’m writing this blog while watching the Turner Prize 2015 (the arty people are debating the nominees at the moment). I wrote about the nominees when the short list came out. At that time I thought that Assemble were the most deserved winners. I still hold by that. I love the idea of a group of people who are all about anonymity and bringing art to everyone getting recognition from the wider art world.

My second favourite for the prize is Bonnie Camplin for the piece’s blending of thought and words with art. Her art piece is a study centre where visitors can go to listen, read and think about conspiracy theories. It straddles a large number of disciplines and scholarly fields.

All of the nominees sit even further from traditional art than ever before (perhaps Nicole Werner’s coats and chairs is the most conventional art piece). Janice Kerbel’s work is sound based, playing on conventional ideas of narrative.

All four nominees are examples of the further blending of art, objects, and people that is happening at the moment. The idea that art is something the viewer is separate from and they passively experience is no longer relevant. Even the idea that art is something the viewer can actively experience is getting a little old hat. All of these art pieces are much more immersive than that. Art and humanity are now much more blended together. The art object is not a distant, separate thing.

And the winner is…

Assemble.

The winning work

The winning work

Hurrah!

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The paperclip

I have a favourite paperclip. It is this one:

My favourite paperclip

My favourite paperclip

This paperclip lives in Wolverhampton. It lives on the Seventh Floor of the Art School at the University of Wolverhampton to be exact. It lives just below the surface of the floor. I have no idea how long it has lived there for. It is stuck. It is too deeply embedded to be rescued, but not deeply embedded enough to be ignored. It is, to me, a thing of beauty. It is also very sad and lonely. It has no contact with the world except perhaps to see shadows of the people passing above it. It gets stood on occasionally, but I doubt it feels it.

It is stuck. It is in limbo. It is neither use nor rubbish. It is suspended in time. It cannot rot. It cannot age. It is there, just below the surface. What era did it come from? Paperclips have been around for a very long time but this one doesn’t look very old. Was it the 1970s? Or perhaps the 1980s? Or even later? Who dropped it? Was it dropped by one the people painting the floor? Or a passer by? Did it belong to an art student? Or a lecturer? Did it fall from a pile of papers or a pencil case? Was it a new paperclip when it fell? Or had it been doing its job for a while?

It seems to be waiting for the opportunity too be freed. Will it ever be freed? If it is freed, will it simply be binned or will it be returned to work as a paperclip? I suspect the former but I hope for the latter. I don’t like to think of this paperclip waiting to be rescued only to find itself moved from it’s temporary home of just under the floor to the nearest bin. I cannot rescue it. I cannot return it to paperclipdom. I cannot do anything except photograph it in the year 2015.

Perhaps it won’t be rescued for many years. It might remain in stasis for many decades to come.  How many generations of art students will tread over it? Will any future famous artists tread over it? Maybe it will die with the building when it is demolished, whenever that happens (not for a long time I hope as I think the Art School in Wolverhampton is a building with much yet to give).

Where the paperclip lives

Where the paperclip lives – do you think this building has beauty as well as the paperclip?

If the paperclip were able to feel, how would it feel about being under the floor? I imagine it is quite content, yet quite unsure of its future. I think on balance I hope it stays there. I don’t want the wrong person to find it and unearth it. I don’t want it to end up in the bin.

I will worry about its future.

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The chicken and the egg

What comes first, the madness or the artist? This is the question I asked myself today as I wondered the streets of Wolverhampton looking for burst balloons. I found one. It was a good one. I picked it up. A women walking past me, gave me a very odd look.

One of my specimens

One of my specimens

Two weeks ago, before I became interested in balloons, I wondered the streets of Wolverhampton taking photos of lost things. Then I was also on the receiving end of a few strange looks (and one comment from a homeless man) as I bent down with my digital camera to snap a photo of a plastic pen or a loaf of bread.

Random object found in Wolverhampton

Random object found in Wolverhampton

This has lead me to wonder: what comes first? Madness or art? It is quite a common (mis)conception that the artist must be touched by madness in some way. Most assume that the madness comes before the artist, the madness leads to the art.

The epitome of the 'mad' artist

The epitome of the ‘mad’ artist

I’ve even pondered that myself here before. However, now I am wondering, how about the reverse? Could the obsessions of the artist lead to a form of madness? In my case, at the moment, the quest to find burst balloons and find  beauty in them. My current fascination is with finding abandoned bits of balloon. I’ve found quite a few already. I’m collecting them together. I have quite a hoard now. It interests me that something of so little economic value, once inflated has a huge value to many and brings joy to people, but once the air has gone (something of no value as well), the remains are discarded. I’ve made a few drawings and paintings of burst remains to see if I can find beauty in them. Is this working? I’m not sure yet.

One of my drawings

One of my drawings

I’m worried, however, that I have become obsessed. I can’t go to town without looking at the ground. Even on my bike, my eyes are cast to the side looking for left-over balloons. I see a burst balloon, and I feel excitement in my stomach. I risk the strange looks. I must get that gem.

That is not normal.

In addition, I have also become obsessed with my new enemy. This is a picture of my nemesis. Can you see him?

This man takes away my goodies

This man takes away my goodies

 

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How much can I say about a burst balloon?

Two weeks’ ago, while wondering the streets of Wolverhampton with my digital camera, I took a photograph of a burst balloon.

A burst balloon in Wolverhampton

A burst balloon in Wolverhampton

Then I decided to draw it.

My half-finished drawing

My half-finished drawing

And then I decided to paint it.

My painting of a boring old balloon

My painting of a boring old balloon

What next? I’m not sure yet but looking at the photograph, I questioned my interest in a burst balloon.

When it first caught my eye, I knew that I had to photograph it (and risk the odd looks from passers by which I am used to). I love the texture of it and the colour. I like the way that the rubber sticks to itself. I love the creases. I like the contrast between the bright, orange cheerful colour and the cold, dark ground upon which it was left. I found it on a rainy day. I found it in the morning before the shops opened. It looked so sad. I knew I had to do something with it.

So I asked myself: Who left it there? Why did they abandon it? Did they discard it simply because it burst? Did they cry? Was its demise an accident or the result of boisterous play? Was it perhaps burst as a prank or in anger? Or did the owner squeeze it too hard or fall on it? Where are they now? Do they remember their orange balloon? Did t hey ask for a replacement? Did they get it from a shop or restaurant? Did they choose the colour or was it given to them? Perhaps they were on the way back from a party. Or perhaps it belonged to an adult on a hen night or birthday meal. I couldn’t see a logo on it, or any text at all. Perhaps the story of the balloon is more bizarre than I can conjure.

As I thought about all this. I began to question the balloon as an object. Why is a balloon so much more valuable to the owner when inflated than when deflated? The only difference is the presence of air and air has no economic or emotional value (except when absent of course). How can something so widespread and valueless make such a difference to an object’s value? The skin of the balloon remains after it has popped yet it is so treasured at one stage in its life and so readily cast aside in another. But the balloon cannot function without the skin. It cannot function without the air. Individually balloons and air are worthless to the owner, together they have value. We can’t keep the air, but we could keep the skin. What happens to all the discarded balloons in the world? It takes six months for a balloon to biodegrade. The streets of the world must be littered with similar abandoned skins, all equally colourful. Has anyone ever thought to collect discarded, burst balloon skins?

This image, in contrast to the photograph I took, fills me with anxiety

This image, in contrast to the photograph I took, fills me with anxiety

To me there is beauty in a burst balloon. It looks pathetic yet it has something compelling about it. But perhaps that is just me. Perhaps it is because of my ambivalent relationshi0p with balloons. Would I feel the same way about an abandoned crisp packet?

I fear balloons when inflated. They make me feel extremely anxious. But deflated they look so powerless and lonely. All I feel when I see a burst balloon is relief. I am relieved that it cannot burst twice. It is dead. Yet I feel guilty that I hate something that brings pleasure to most others. They are pretty and fun yet I hate them. I run away from them. I hide from them. Is it perverse to find happiness in a burst, abandoned balloon?

This leads me to ask: do other people create narratives around objects in the way that I do? Can I use such ordinary objects to provoke thought along these lines? Can I do something with a burst balloon to encourage others to pause and think about the object’s story and odd irony of value? Or would they just look at a painting, drawing, sculpture, print, or whatever of a burst balloon and think ‘that’s nice’.

To return to my original question of this blog: how much can I say about a burst balloon?

Answer: a lot.

 

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The best way to come up with good ideas…

…is to give them away. This is the conclusion I came to today after my first ever ‘group crit’ at the School of Art at the University of Wolverhampton.

I am coming to the end of Week 2 as an final year (or final two years for me) art student on the BA (Hons) Fine Art course at Wolverhampton and so far, I’ve loved every minute of it. The energy and enthusiasm of the staff and other students is a joy to be around and to feed off. It is a very different atmosphere to Shrewsbury College, which had far fewer students on a higher education course (in fact just two in my year on my particular course) so that sort of energy with two people is hard to maintain. So to be in a teaching environment with more than ten times that number, is refreshing. I love it.

The biggest and best

The biggest and best

This week, we’ve been engaged in a ‘marathon’ event which is basically a week of art and coffee. I haven’t been able to put as many hours in as I’d like due to work and children but the hours I have managed so far I’ve really enjoyed. The theme is ‘failure’ so I decided to look at the lost and disregarded items of Wolverhampton, those items that were they to have thoughts would feel that we’ve failed them by losing them. I didn’t have much time to consider this topic but during this week I have made a few sketches and small paintings, and taken photographs of those things that people lose or throw away, things that still have a use (for example, pens, staples, parcel tape and bread in a bag).

One of the lost and lonely items

One of the lost and lonely items

If I had to evaluate my work I’d have said it was not particularly ground-breaking (or path-breaking). It is interesting but certainly not astonishing. I’m not very confident at  the moment in my ability  to creating astonishing art. I need to push myself out of my comfort zone more and experiment with concepts and ideas. I know that a major barrier to doing that is confidence. Confidence, or lack thereof, is the artist’s worst enemy. As I’ve only just started at Wolverhampton, my confidence is teetering somewhat on the brink of a well. As a result, I’ve stuck to what I know. And I know this. I acknowledge this. I’m cross with myself for staying in my familiar safe place. I think I have produced something of worth, it is just not new worth.

A very 'me' drawing.

A very ‘me’ drawing.

Today, Day Three of the ‘marathon’, we had a ‘group crit’. Imagine a group of junior doctors and the senior consultant doing the morning rounds. That is just what it is like. The students are the junior doctors and the tutors are the senior consultants. However, in this scenario the junior doctors take it in turns to be the patient. The junior doctors and consultants are given free reign to comment, suggest, criticize, praise as they feel fit. For the patient, this is potentially a very stressful exercise, but also a very profitable one.

'Your broken leg would be better in oils than watercolours'.

‘Your broken leg would be better in oils than watercolours’.

I really enjoyed this experience, as both junior doctor and patient. I found that I actually really quite like giving (I hope) constructive criticism to others. Perhaps this was helped by the fact I don’t yet know my fellow Level Sixers well. Their styles and interests are coming at me as new. They all know each other really well. It was a positive experience for me.

I even enjoyed being the subject of scrutiny and I thought the comments were very useful for my practice. The message I got was the same as the one I am giving myself: think more deeply, consider the outcome, consider the perception of the viewer, consider being different. This is what I usually try to do and I think that for this mini-project I needed to show everyone what I do to give me the launching pad to push my art in a particular direction. I guess it is like the cat doing a wee on the sofa, marking their territory. (I’m not sure that’s a good analogy.)

I may look cute...

I’m an artist about to mark my territory

Back to my original point: the best way to come up with good ideas is to give them away. Today I found it very easy to give other people ideas. I found it much easier to offer ideas than I generally do to come up with my own.

This concept is similar to the idea of Marina Abramovich who said that artists should keep their ‘good’ ideas, throw their ‘bad’ ideas in the bin and then swap them over. The best ideas, she argues, are the ones we regard as rubbish, i.e. those needing courage and experimentation. Those that need us to push the boundaries.

Why is it easier to offer ideas? Is it a confidence issue? Is it the low-risk element of offering ideas to others? I don’t lose anything by giving someone a what might turn out to be a crap idea so I may as well say what is in my head. I might perhaps lose a second of credibility as bewilderment fills the room, but soon everyone will move on. If I use a crap idea on my own art, my long-term credibility is at risk. But I lose nothing offering an idea and perhaps it will be a good one, it may even break a few paths.

My aim over the next two years: to push the boundaries, consider the binned ideas and take more risks. I hope I can have the courage to do that. I think if I play it too safe I will risk becoming bland. I don’t want blandness.

 

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Why I miss stuffing, material and thread so much

As an artist, and a quasi-philosopher of life, I am interested in things and the importance of things to people. I believe that in some cases, we are as attached to inanimate objects as we are to animate objects. Therefor it didn’t surprise me at all at how suddenly saddened and then bereaved I felt last Saturday night on reading these lines on Instant Messenger from my husband:

I’ve got a bit of a problem. Josh isn’t going to be happy. Duckie’s not in my bag, and the last time I saw him was in the airport in Washington [frown emoticon] I can’t believe it, I’ve just emptied my bag looking for him.

Last week my husband went to Washington D.C. for work and he took our middle boy’s beloved soft ‘Duckie’ with him. Duckie had been given to Josh by my sister when he was born nearly ten years ago. Duckie is a rather floppy, soft, grubby duck and Josh has looked after him since he was tiny. He has slept with him. He has taken him on school trips and holidays. He has loved him. Duckie is one of his most prized possessions. My husband’s idea (a good one at the time) was to take photos of Duckie enjoying a trip to the U.S. Here are some of his photos.

Duckie at the airport

Duckie at the airport

Duckie enjoying the sights

Duckie enjoying the sights

Duckie at a museum

Duckie at a museum

Duckie on a plane

Duckie on a plane

All went very well. Josh loved seeing the photos as they arrived piecemeal to his email. However, the sweet idea went very sour when Duckie was accidentally left behind at Ronald Reagan Airport and my husband and the rest of his belongings boarded a United Airlines plane to Newark.

As soon as he realised what had happened, he logged a lost-item report with the airport and I began a mini-social networking campaign to find Duckie. I made a poster.

This poster has been traveling on Facebook and Twitter

This poster has been traveling on Facebook and Twitter

The next morning Josh made his own poster. We were both determined to get him back.

Josh's Duckie poster

Josh’s Duckie poster

We sent Josh’s poster across the internet with the help of many very kind friends (and the odd celebrity – thank you Boycie) on the heels of mine. However, Duckie has not come home. He hasn’t yet turned up in the Lost and Found of Ronald Reagan Airport. He has disappeared. We don’t know where he is. As a family, we are now bereaved. We can’t replace Duckie. Even if I could find an exact replica for Duckie, it would not be Duckie.

Boycie wants Duckie home

Boycie wants Duckie home

But Duckie is just a thing. It’s not even a he. It’s an it. It’s material. To anyone else, it is a tatty disposable old toy. It isn’t vital to life. All it does is bring some comfort to a child. Any old bit of cloth could fulfil that function.

Oddly, I feel disloyal just typing that description of Duckie. I feel very defensive and hurt that those words are the objective truth. To us, though, Duckie is not just material. He’s not an ‘it’. He’s Duckie. He has a personality. He’s my son’s best friend. He has a real purpose. The comfort he brings could not be replaced by anything else. He’s a member of our family. He’s as important as a pet. He cannot be replaced and we will always miss him.

Objectively, this does not make sense. Duckie is an object. We still have our health, each other and we are not in danger. Losing Duckie is a first world problem and a small one.

I know all of this, yet the pain is real and it hasn’t gone away yet. I’m not being dramatic. The feeling exists.

Duckie is an object but we love him and want him home. I am not ready to give up.

Come home, dear Duckie

Come home, dear Duckie

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The importance of the frame

Last week I was fortunate enough to be in New York, an artist’s paradise. While in New York I visited the Guggenheim (for the first time) and while wondering around the gallery rooms housing a selection from the Guggenheim’s collection of late 19th- and early 20th-century European paintings I was struck by the choice of frames for these famous, iconic works of art.

The mighty Guggenheim

The mighty Guggenheim

Some had detailed, guilted carved frames and others simple, plane ones. Once I noticed the frames, I stopped noticing the art. Even when I tried to forget the frames, I couldn’t. All I could see were the frames and all I could think about was the reasons behind the choice of frame and indeed the choice to frame at all. Why are these great works of art framed? Were they just framed because their original private owners had had them framed or were they framed for the gallery? Were we supposed to consider the styles of the frames as a separate exercise in art appreciation? There certainly was beauty in many of the frames (and I would argue, the opposite too).

A distracting  frame, but of itself a stunning sight

A distracting frame, but of itself a stunning piece of craftmanship

After returning home I felt the need to research the business of framing art.

From a practical point of view, paintings are often framed for protection. However, I have rarely framed any of my paintings (perhaps due to cost rather than as an active choice). The frame can act as a boundary between the painting and the background surface, it helps focus the attention of the viewer on the paintings (although this is debatable in my opinion).

Some might argue that the frame adds a level of value to the painting: it ‘finishes’ it off. It makes it more professional (and more sellable if that is the goal of the artist).

Often a framed painting includes a glass surface over the art work (but not always). As an artist, I find the presence of glass quite irritating as I like to examine the process and texture of the painter and painting. I also feel closer to the artwork and the artist if there isn’t a barrier between myself and the artwork.

Interestingly, many contemporary paintings tend to be unframed in the gallery, whereas more classic pieces (i.e. before the middle of the last century) are framed.

Is framing subject to fashion? Pre-Renaissance art pieces perhaps tended to have simple frames, if any. The Renaissance and the 18th century were the glory days of framing. The style toned down a little in the next century and disappeared in the last one, to be almost non-existent in this one.

Interestingly, there appears to be very little on the Internet on the philosophy of the frame. There is a lot of advice on how to choose a frame, how to frame, and what sorts of frames an artist can select from but nothing on why we frame, or in fact very little on this topic.

I have learnt through researching this subject that throughout most of the modern (that is, postmedieval) era, original frames were discarded whenever a painting changed hands. The new frame was then matched to the new surroundings. Frames originally were designed to match the style of the house: door frames, window frames, mantle pieces, other framed objects such as mirrors. It is for this reason that there are now very few genuine Renaissance-era frames. They were simply thrown away.

There were in fact different styles of frame used in the the post-medieval and Renaissance eras: the Tabernacle frame, the Cassetta frame, the Gallery frame. Framing was an art in itself.

So the frame was originally conceived as an interior design feature. Surely, then, art in art galleries in the 21st century does not need to be framed? Yet we frame so much and we retain the frames of previous centuries on the art of those centuries perhaps to maintain the sense of that era.

I would like to see an art gallery remove all the frames from its collection just to see what that would be like and how the viewer experience would alter.

I would suggest that in a separate gallery room, the museum mounts the frames on the walls without the paintings so visitors can get a feel for the glory of the styles and craftmanship of the frames without the distraction of the paintings. I think that at the moment I find it hard to appreciate the whole experience of a framed painting.

It is possible that I am unique in this though.

References

Italian Renaissance Frames, The Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Available from http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/fram/hd_fram.htm [last accessed 27 September 2015]

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An exhibition of the senses

I’m interested in the use of all of the senses to appreciate art (from Ernesto Neto and his smelly sculptures to Sissel Tolaas recreating the smells of Liverpool). My last art exhibition included an opportunity for people to sense through touch recreated clay objects of First World War things.

Corned Beef in clay

Corned Beef in clay

Art galleries in the past have almost exclusively been visual. But we are not exclusively visual creatures. Children illustrate this perfectly. Notice how they crave to touch, smell and taste new objects. They cannot control themselves. They are often reprimanded for trying (especially in art galleries). Adults can control themselves because we’ve been conditioned to. But it is part of our instinct to want to experience things by all of the senses, not just sight.

A new venture has opened recently at Tate Britain which explores the senses and aims to blend art appreciation with the senses. The venture is the brain child of London-based creative studio Flying Object.

The venture is called the ‘Tate Sensorium’. It is an immersive art gallery which includes four paintings from the Tate’s main collection. The visitor is able to experience sounds, smells, tastes and physical forms inspired by the four pieces of art. They can also record and review their physiological responses through contemporary measurement devices.

The idea is to encourages a new approach to interpreting art. In some cases, technology is used to stimulate the senses. The visitor is able to use memory and imagination to ‘feel’ the artworks.

The sense of touch is used using the technology of ultrasound. Speakers vibrate on the visitor’s hand. This creates a sensation of touch. This isn’t quite the real thing but it is believed that this technology can accurately replicate the real thing and convince the brain that the visitor is touching the real object.

The sense of hearing is utilized through directional audio which uses ultrasound waves to direct precise sound waves across distances in a very precise manner.

Eating chocolate to help with the art experience

Eating chocolate to help with the art experience

Smell is recreated with, smells. The technology doesn’t really need explaining here.

As for taste, a master chocolatier and food inventor has developed an edible product that stimulates a haptic taste experience in response to the textural, painterly qualities and possible meanings of a specific piece of art.

John Latham, Full Stop, 1961 - one of the artworks used in the senses experiment

John Latham, Full Stop, 1961 – one of the artworks used in the senses experiment

Again, I really wish I lived near London as I’d really like to ‘see’ and experience this first-hand. I would love to know what people think after visiting the exhibition. Does it enhance their ability to ‘feel’ the artworks? Does it give them an extra level of connection? Or is it just a clever gimmick?

The technology may be crude at the moment but I’m sure that this is something that will be explored with greater sophistication in the future.

 

 

References

‘Taste, Smell and feel artwork at Tate Sensorium’ BBC News Website. Available from: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-34049150 [last accessed 25 August 2015]

IK Prize 2015: TateSensorium Tate Website. Available from: http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/display/ik-prize-2015-tate-sensorium [last accessed 25 August 2015]

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Every artist is like Stephen Hawking

Stephen Hawking is not an artist, but he’s very much like one in my opinion. or artists are very much like him. He has one significant thing in common with the artist: he is on a quest to find an explanation for existence and he won’t rest until he finds it. He is seeking intellectual enlightenment.

Will he rest when he finds it?

Will he rest when he finds it?

I also think that being creative is akin to a search for spiritual enlightenment, or, tangible evidence of God. Artists want to find an explanation for what they see and experience, whether it be nature, colour, form, people, things, dreams, emotions or abstract concepts. Artists are seeking an answer to the human condition. Isn’t that what a person yearning for a religious explanation is looking for, albeit through evidence of a spiritual being?

A religion-seeking individual, an artist, and Stephen Hawking are all very passionate about their quest and very determined to get it. They believe that they will feel better when they have found it. The have faith that their anxieties will disappear, they expect to know more than others who haven’t reached that place, and they hope that they will feel able to rest.

Some of the earliest artists were also very religious people, or worked within a religious culture. The history of art is knitted tightly with the history of religions. Religion and enlightenment have, at least until most recently, provided much inspiration for generations of artists. The desire to depict God or God’s work remained strong for many centuries. It wasn’t just Christians who painted. Religion and art are married together in most religions, including those of the ancients and indigenous, and those of East and West.

Christianity in art

Christianity in art

Religious imagery may not be quite so evident in much contemporary art in this more secular age but the quest for an explanation and some form of enlightenment certainly is. Is that feeling of the sublime that so many artists thirst for the same as the feeling of spiritual awakening?

The epitome of sublime art: Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog

The epitome of sublime art: Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog

“I’m interested in expressing basic human emotions – tragedy, ecstasy, doom and so on,” Mark Rothko once observed. “And the fact that a lot of people break down and cry when confronted with my pictures shows that I can communicate these basic human emotions… The people who weep before my pictures are having the same religious experience as I had when I painted them.”

A painting to make you weep

A painting to make you weep

When he says ‘religious experience’ he means an attempt to find a meaning to the essence of humanity. If he has achieved that, and made people weep, has he found the answer? Can he rest?

A spiritual awakening is described as: an altered state of perception, a state of knowing beyond knowledge. Is this what the artist, and Stephen Hawking, are yearning for?

I acknowledge that a non-religious ‘spiritual awakening’ cannot ever be the same as a religious one but I think they are very close.

References

Malik, K 18 March 2014 ‘The sacred in art is about more than religion’ The Guardian. Available from: http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/belief/2014/mar/18/sacred-art-religion-humans [last accessed 12 August 2015]

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What’s the story? Does it matter?

Recently, I’ve been reading all about stories. Or, more accurately, how much we love and live for stories  and the extent to which we create stories using bits of information. I’m interested in what determines whether we appreciate a work of art and when we don’t. My theory is that it relates to whether we feel we can create a narrative about the work of art or not. If we don’t get it, we don’t like it. I’m particularly interested in the narratives of still life art.

And in my reading, I came across this short video from 1944.

The question is: what is happening here? I showed this video to my three children and this is what they said when prompted to describe the video:

‘The big triangle is trying to get the little triangle to go into the room and he’s being mean and also the circle doesn’t want to go in there.’

‘Yes, I agree, the big triangle, he’s a bully, the circle is scared of him. He tries to get them to go in the room but they don’t want to go. But in the end they conspire against him and trap him in there, I think. Then he chases them and breaks it all up because he is angry’.

‘I think the same. The big triangle is the mean one’.

Their answers were perfect (and interestingly, very different in terms of level of detail which didn’t correspond to their ages).

I also asked some grownups for their responses, which, in contrast to the children’s responses and in complement to them, are interesting.

‘I think this is to do with parenting. The triangles are parents and the circle is the child and the big triangle obviously has some serious anger issues’. (This person needed to watch the video twice – he wasn’t sure what sort of response I was expecting.)

‘Bullying.’

Domestic abuse? Sadness, anxiety -> courage and freedom.

It looked like the destruction of a family unit and their home. Mother and child flee leaving the father to smash up the home.’

Big grumpy triangle lives alone, along comes the happy friends little circle and little triangle. BGT gets annoyed by the happy joy outside its house, so comes out to give them what for! Little circle is frightened and hides behind the door….’

Larger of the two triangles is a bully, picking on the smaller triangle. The circle was initially scared of the large triangle but then gets the strength to go with its true friend the small triangle.’

The real answer to what is happening is: nothing much. It is just an animation of shapes and lines moving around.

This short animation was created by two psychologists, Fritz Heider and Marianne Simmel, over 70 years ago. The aim of their experiment was to demonstrate attributional processes in perception. Or, in other words, the extent to which viewers imagine causal events based on limited information. When asked to interpret the moving objects in the animation, subjects interpreted it, just as my three children and friends did, in terms of animated beings, attributing motives and personality traits to the different objects. The subjects then (and today) watch the video and create their own narrative to explain it. The extent to which people do this of course varies and this test has been used to determine autistic tenancies as well as other similar conditions. However, generally, people will turn the animation into a story. And doing so, they find comforting as the alternative is confusing and distressing.

We are born story tellers. We find comfort in explanation and narrative. We can’t cope with chaos and uncertainty. Why is that? Jonathan Gottschall has written an entire book on this subject.

That's a very small cat on his shoulder

That’s a very small cat on his shoulder

Could this explain the frequently asked question when confronted with abstract or conceptual artworks: but is it art? Yes, it is, even though you can’t narrate it. Embrace the chaos, I say.

What is art?

What is art?

 

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