Rant - Art Appreciation

 

In a recent post I recounted a few thoughts about art, photography and the id[i] as prompted by an experience with Ekphrasis 3.

That post referenced John Curtis and Mary Khosh’s contributions to an arts publication, and to Plato, all of which (who?) I wish to reference again in a different but related context.

While I was working at CBU(1995-2017), I welcomed the opportunity to be one of a dozen or so volunteers to adjudicate the local elementary school district’s annual heritage fair. Entries were shortlisted by teacher volunteers with the idea of fomenting interest in history and heritage. At the same time every year, the schools exhibited student art – again, as selected by their teachers. I still enjoy attending such exhibits whenever I can.

Over the years, I became aware of trends in the art exhibited. The first trend was in the sheer numbers of participants. Fully three walls of the art gallery were crammed with hundreds of works of art from the lower grades (maybe to 6^th grade or so).

On the lone remaining wall were contributions from students in grades 7-12, numbering in the dozens, not hundreds. Further, it was plain to see that the contributions in number were in inverse proportion to their grade. To illustrate (no pun intended) I’ll say the numbers were something like 40, 35, 30, 25, 20, 10 (this last representing grade 12.

What’s happening here?

Next, let’s consider colour. In the lower grades, the artwork was alive and joyful, if use of colour is any indication. But similar to the quantities illustrated above, use of colour diminished as the students progressed – as they got older, as it were. Youth equalled bright and joyful. The older they got, the darker. By grade twelve the images were less joyful, more brooding.

Now, with respect to “feeling,” I couldn’t help but notice that, like the colours chosen, the subjects shifted from cheerful and optimistic to sad and pessimistic. The younger grades showed the world full of sunlight, romping pets and playful friends and family. Conversely, the older grades depicted bloody noses, dead flowers and pessimism.

I am fully cognizant of the fact that there is more to explore here than meets the eye (pun intended), more than quantity and quality. But what is happening here?

How can it be that children appear to be less joyful as they “mature”? It almost appears that an inherent – a natural – creativity exhibited with youthful exuberance is slowly stripped from all but a few. And, dare I say, perhaps a few “chosen” children?

There is no doubt in my mind that the education system – use of the word “system” tells us something about intent – stifles creativity and imagination in the vast majority of every cohort of students. “Systems” prefer uniformity, yet social rhetoric supports competition. Social structures enculturate winners over losers. But public education should reflect and be focused on our raising healthy, happy and intelligent citizens. Instead, the “system” sponsors and rewards survival, not of the fittest, but of the most cunning, the most driven and the most selfish.

Curtis and Khosh write that creativity can be taught. I have my doubts. I think a better way to look at the matter – or as I illustrated elsewhere from the movie Patch Adams[ii] – look through it, look beneath it. They (Curtis and Khosh) do add that “creativity and imagination … can be nurtured,” but their approach is the teaching of creativity. Rather, I’d say, creativity can be released and nurtured (or should that be unleashed?).

Curtis and Khosh relate a practice of an unnamed economics professor at Eckerd College who encourages “radical noticing” of a world of “curiosity and experimentation,” of astonishment. In some circles the experience of enlightenment includes such radical noticing as a way to subvert our primordial selves – our id – to think beyond our “brain’s natural tendanc[ies] to be on the lookout for danger,” and the natural tendency to organize and categorize stimuli. It’s how we learn, but what is learned?

To a child with a hammer, everything is a nail, something to be reshaped, something to be reformed, to subdue. Our creative self doesn’t just consider threats and conformations. Our creative self, when freed of the fear of being different, considers new ways of seeing, of thinking. “Fear of making mistakes hinders creative thinking,” and forward thinking.

Apparently – thanks to fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging) – we know where in the brain creativity takes place. It sounds a bit clinical, but “our brain’s Default Mode Network (DMN) is the home of the wandering mind, of daydreams and dreams” (Curtis and Khosh). “The DMN is a filter for what you think is beautiful or not … memorable or not, meaningful or not, and it’s what helps to make the arts and aesthetics a very personal experience for each of us” (from Your Brain on Art, in Curtic and Khosh).

There’s more to their position – prefrontal cortex, medial prefrontal, etc. – but it all points me to that “marvelous state” of flow whither our creative self is allowed to free range, as it were. Curtis and Khosh talk about learning creativity, as in teaching it, but as much as I respect their praxis I wish to avoid that notion of “teaching” in favour of “unleashing.” I’ve seen what “teaching” does.

Creativity is known to lower blood pressure and, consequently, improve personal health. Consider those early grades’ art projects noted above. Seems like we could all use a daily dose of creativity.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll resume my freewriting exercises.

=30=

---

[i] the part of the psyche, residing in the unconscious, that is the source of instinctive impulses that seek satisfaction in accordance with the pleasure principle and are modified by the ego and the superego before they are given overt expression (Dictionary.com).

[ii] In the Robin Williams film, Patch Adams (Universal Pictures 1998), a physician (Williams) treats the whole patient by triggering their inner child, just by clowning around. There is a scene in which Adams is chastised for not seeing the whole picture. To illustrate, take a moment to hold out one hand in front of you and look at it. How many fingers do most people see? Four. Now, focus beyond those fingers. How many fingers to you see? Eight! This demonstrated way of seeing things differently, more imaginatively.

 

Rant - More Shame

 

A friend recently reposted (Facebook) a cartoon that depicted a reversal of male/female gender roles juxtaposing Valentines Day (Feb. 14, man chasing woman) with Nov. 14 (pregnant woman now chasing man). Ha, ha. Funny. No reflection on my correspondent, but funny in a sexist way.

For some reason that cartoon reminded me of Sadie Hawkins Day, which is, or was, roughly Nov. 14. I say ‘roughly’ because Sadie Hawkins Day was a fictional day in fictional Dogpatch, the setting of the L’il Abner comic strip. It was a day that gave permission to gendered role reversal. It was the one day each year on which girls were ‘permitted’ – encouraged, even – to ask boys out on a date or for a dance. I still remember that first dance – but that’s another story and perhaps best untold.

Anyway, when I was in school in the 1960s Sadie Hawkins Day was all the rage and promoted in school as a fun thing, complete with a Sadie Hawkins dance. In our innocence, like so many other things, we students accepted the idea as though it was a real thing despite it being a fiction. It’s curious how such things go sometimes.

Anyway, Sadie Hawkins Day isn’t my real mission with this post, but something else rooted in Al Capp’s L’il Abner, and in its portrayal of the world through the eyes of the uneducated but worldly milieu of Dogpatch.

That particular ‘something else’ was a frequent device in the comic strip: “Kickapoo Joy Juice”, representing what we know as moonshine, or just plain ‘shine in our local vernacular. ‘Hooch.’ In our father’s house it was more politely referred to as ‘home brew’.

We accepted Kickapoo Joy Juice as a comic referent, and no doubt used it in conversation. I can distinctly remember my parents use of the term, when teasingly referring to illicit alcohol, including their own ‘home brew’.

Four or five years ago (2018 or thereabouts) I was working for James Sa’ke’j Youngblood Henderson on his seminal manuscript: Elikewake Compact: The Mi’kmaw, Wolastoqey, and Passamaquoddy Nations’ Confederation with Great Britain, 1725-1779, vols. 1 & 2. The 2-volume book is a masterpiece of research (Henderson’s, not mine). It accounts for and examines the history behind all pertinent treaties, especially between the crowned heads of Europe and (what is now called) Eastern Canada.

While I was working on that publication, I was so surprised – flabbergasted, really – to note the existence of the Kickapoo nation (southwestern U.S. and Mexico). How can it be that we went along with and found humour in an association between moonshine (i.e., Kickapoo joy juice) and a population of Indigenous people. It exemplifies our enculturated stereotyping of and negativity toward, Indigenous people and alcohol. At the time many entrepreneurs even capitalized on the notion of such a potion, manufacturing and labelling soft drinks accordingly.

Naïve and unquestioning, we unthinkingly perpetuated these fabrications in the name of humour.

A couple of years ago I posted about a related shame, the existence of residential schools in our lifetime.

Looking back on those times, I wonder at society’s proclivity for personal harm toward others and wonder what’s to come. In a previous life, my family hosted Rotary International exchange students. I was fascinated to learn from them and from observation that many of those students did not know their home country’s national anthems, which of course was something drilled into us and our children in turn.

But the German and Japanese students, in particular, told us that their respective national anthems were not part of their daily schooling. They explained, I recall, and I imagined this absence was related to their respective nation’s roles in world affairs. Those youngsters had inherited a great national shame.

Now, I ask myself, what’s to be Canada’s great national shame in the eyes of future generations and of historians? The treatment of Indigenous peoples perhaps? Probably, and deservedly so.

January 1 to December 31 should be National Day(s) for Truthand Reconciliation, not just September 30.

=30=

True Lies

Note: The first part of this post is in addition to a gently edited version of my presentation at Ekphrasis[i] 3 (July 30, 2023), an art and literary joint project of Mulgrave Road Theatre and ArtWorksEast, in (primarily) Guysborough county. 

Coincidentally, I was recently made aware of a brief essay by my friend Dr. John Curtis who, along with his partner Mary Khosh, is a regular contributor to The Artisan in St. Petersburg, FL. Their article posits that “no matter what [the] creative process … [art is] about making meaningful emotional experiences….”

“Artists create fiction to tell the truth.” In turn, meaningful art causes “meaningful” experiences.

“Even in the womb we are trying to understand our environment … categorizing the world, differentially between words and music, for instance.”

I do not believe anyone proposes that the unborn child processes stimuli cognitively, but rather unconsciously or maybe ‘precognitively.’

“The artist lives in an imaginary land of concepts which are ‘in the head’, unlike categories which … are part of the real world [sic?]. Artists present auditory and visual concepts … which arouse within the recipient a range of feelings that must, above all, be sensed….”

In turn, we (viewers/consumers) create our own interpretations and evolving concepts. We experience a world of our own constructs. Sometimes our interpretations/conceptions are in sync with others – sometimes not. Even in the womb, writes Dr. Curtis, “we are trying to understand our environment … differentially….” Almost from the moment development begins, we are observing and processing information which contributes to further development.

Tennyson (1809-1892) opined “I am a part of all the I have met.” Scholars and other thinkers recognize Plato’s concept of our three persons, further explored and popularized by Freud as id, ego and superego. I often wonder whether the Christian trinity (father, son and holy ghost) is a representation of the Platonist (and Freudian) trinity. (I don’t like the term Platonic because that related concept of Plato’s philosophy has come to mean something else.)

So, we each respond to our worlds on several levels – perhaps more but certainly three – and that response can depend on how we know the world, and how that world has known us or how it has treated us.

If we take Marshall McLuhan’s famous but somewhat obtuse invective “the medium is the message” at face value, and if we apply it to our contemporary, highly mediated world, we can see that we are not given enough time for our ego to contemplate our superego (and I suppose vice versa), let alone our id. We are interacting with and reacting to a world dominated by the need for speed – and for speedy responses. An example is when a politician hesitates; hesitation is a sign of weakness unworthy of our respect. We want answers immediately, and "he who hesitates" loses (malaprop intended).

So, how does this relate to my contribution to Ekphrasis 3 in Guysborough? Read on.

The Crack (by Kas Stone)

Presented at Ekphrasis 3, ArtWorks East, Guysborough, NS, July 2023

(and including some afterthoughts)

Mike R. Hunter

A lifetime ago I earned a living in photography – retail photofinishing and film, etc. My shop displayed a few lucky images of mine to catch the attention of passers-by, and people naturally assumed I was more than just someone who understood the physics and principles of exposure and the chemistry of processing. I went along with expectations and assumed the role of local photographer.

Photographs were my business. When I looked through the lens, I mentally processed what my eyes were seeing as something, or someone, having monetary value.

Those images were an assemblage according to basic principles and objectives. With lenses, flashes, tripods, etc., images had potential return on investment. Planning, composition, lighting and of course timing are involved in making photographs, whereas I was taking pictures.

After some years – some successful, most not – as cameras became more automatic, and those more affordable, it became easier for everyone else to take their own pictures. Copious digital memories trumped film processing, photo albums and picture frames. Photography became even more about taking pictures than making them. It also became more and more difficult to make a living. I moved on.

While the principles and physics of light and aesthetics of composition stayed with me, I found that digital photography made me lazy. The effort required to craft pleasing and meaningful images gave way to grabbing as many as possible. Automatic cameras mean I don’t have to work at images anymore. It’s all done for me – not necessarily for the better.

In truth, I couldn’t make the newfangled cameras produce what I could see with the naked eye. Reality is infinitely more interesting and pleasing. My brain and imagination translate, or at least reflect upon, the world, but not the new-fangled cameras.

Cameras are tools, instruments. Like many things, though, in the right hands and with the right eye, imagination and talent, the tool can bring some things to life. Some people still make photographs.

What delights me about Kas Stone’s digital images is that they give me pause. I really have to look at and study them. Some are more or less obviously digital – well-crafted, but obviously digital – but even those require a prolonged gaze. They require one to stop, to take the time to look. To stop and truly see them as the artist intended. And to take pleasure in that.

Artists call upon us to consider the world through the eyes of another, especially to pause and consider it alongside our own visions and understandings. Without contemplation, what we most often confront is superficial.

To illustrate, take a moment to hold out one hand in front of you and look at it. How many fingers do most people see? Four. Now, focus beyond those fingers. How many fingers to you see? Eight![ii]

Without contemplation, without true or deep vision, we tend to accept things as presented. There is no need or time to consider them. Our gaze doesn’t penetrate. We see, we move on, and when we look back, we don’t question.

It took a little while for me to affirm that some of Kas’s images are clever, remarkably detailed, photographs as opposed to paintings. And, I must mention, well printed and nicely presented.

The Crack evokes in us something special. And I do mean in us, as it speaks to the id – as any work of art should – not just for us or our walls and wallets.

The title Kas assigned confirmed and then reinforced my attraction, because it immediately evoked for me a song by the late great Leonard Cohen (1934-2016), who wrote in his “Anthem” (The Future 1992): “There’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”

Sometimes you have to squint to make sense of it – sometimes it’s obvious only after contemplation.

In Kas’s image, darkness almost overwhelms. The cliffhanging tree awaits an inevitable death-plunge into the abyss. As The Crack suggests to me, in the present precarious state of humanity, as we sense then watch for the seemingly inevitable “end of days,” there are rays of light, enlightenment and hope within reach.

The tree, bent under the burden of cones which, having reached the end of the growth cycle, have clustered at the treetop and closer to the light. Perhaps it senses that its days are numbered. It must produce an exaggerated number of potential offspring to ensure continuation of the species before it lets go.

That tree is surely going to fall, but just as surely the sky is going to clear – even if there’s no one around to see or hear.

Kas displays many intriguing images that give pause and, like The Crack, they remind us to open our eyes and minds to possibilities. That’s how the light gets in.

~~

I want to expand on the underlying theme of art and creativity, but in a forthcoming post. In the meantime, and in conclusion to the above rant around Ekphrasis 3, consider the following.

Here in Cape Breton (in 2023) we are enjoying an unprecedented growing season. Garden plants, lawns (unfortunately) and trees are visibly responding to unseen forces – climate change among them. At the same time we stand in wonder at unprecedented natural disasters: hurricanes, floods, wildfires, etc. Further still, we sit and wonder whence comes the rampant conservativism that is trying to turn back the clock: pointless soviet aggression, desperate and futile attempts to reverse gains in human rights so recently won – you get the idea.

As ardently as leaders, oligarchs, preachers and potentates parade in the name of righteousness, they are in fact exploiting and expanding society’s weaknesses. The more they (we) try to close up the cracks – seen as gaps – the more they in fact call attention to them and the more they are exposed.

But – that’s how the light gets in.

=30=

---

[i] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ekphrasis

[ii] In the Robin Williams film, Patch Adams (Universal Pictures 1998), a physician (Williams) treats the whole patient by triggering their inner child, just by clowning around. There is a scene in which Adams is chastised for not seeing the whole picture, and it demonstrated this four-vs-eight-finger way of seeing.