Where does the Art start?

Andy Ilachinski wrote a post titled “Yves Klein, Arbitrary Labels, and the “Meta” Art of Displaying Art” which struck a chord with me. Within his so-called “rambling blog entry” Andy asks a number of questions which have also occurred to me albeit from a slightly different angle. To explain I will need to ramble on a little myself as I have yet to fully crystallise these ideas into a clear, structured concept; unfortunately I will not do so as succinctly or eloquently as Andy.

When I’m out making images there is a thought that invariably arises either just before or just after I click the shutter. It is not the only thought that emerges but it is the most consistent. Actually it’s not a single thought as such but it’s along the lines of “where does the Art start?”. Afterall my image no matter how well taken and processed, is possible because the subject I captured existed in the first place and I had nothing to do with that. Sure, I could take credit for seeing it but within the entire process of making an image the simple act of seeing seems woefully insignificant. As far as the existence of the subject goes I had no input into it whatsoever. Not the light, not the colours or tones, not the textures, none of it. And then there’s the camera which was designed and built by others. The software, the sensor or film, I had nothing to do with any of those things. Then, later, if I decide to get it printed and framed there will be other elements that will add (positively or negatively) to the final effect of the image on its audience. So I guess what I’m experiencing while making images is a microcosm of what Andy is writing about in his post.

Where does the Art start? Where does it end? Who is the artist? Is Art a collaboration? And if it is a collaboration how is it choreographed? By whom? To paraphrase Dr. Carl Sagan, if I want to make an apple pie from scratch and by myself, don’t I need to first recreate the entire Universe?

The difficulty in answering my questions and Andy’s questions, may be because they stem from a false assumption, an erroneous thought if you will. It’s “the chicken and the egg” causality dilemma except that in this case it’s more “the artist and the Art”, which comes first? Logic, of course, tells us that the artist creates the art, having perhaps been inspired by something first but regardless of where and when the inspiration comes, it would be insanity to suggest anything other than the artist needs to exist before the Art can be created. Even the inspiration still needs an artist to perceive it, to grasp it. Right? I mean, unlike the chicken and the egg, until we had artists there was no Art. Right?

Now you are probably seeing where I’m going with this already. What if this is all wrong? What if the Art comes first? What if the Art creates the artist?

Allow me to take a step back.

It is sometimes said that Art is a pointer to some deeper truth, an expression of that which cannot be easily expressed in words. Art tends to act on a whole other level of comprehension, maybe even within a dimension that is beyond the known dimensions. Well, maybe, maybe not, but let’s just go with these notions for now, that within Art lies endless possibilities, even the answers that we, each one of us, seek. Teachings such as Taoism and Zen tell us that what we seek, truth, happiness, answers to who we are and why we’re here and for what purpose or whatever else, those answers are all right here right now. And yet for most of us we are none the wiser. We remain blind to it all.

There’s no denying, at least from my perspective, that Art can and in my case, does, reveal many insights. These insights have changed the way I perceive the world and even the way I live my life. Perhaps more to the point Art has revealed a lot about my self to me. Perhaps then, Art, in its primordial state as inspiration, seeks out and choreographs a group of people, artists, curators, camera engineers, computer programmers, canvas makers, designers, architects and so on, who then collaborate unwittingly to manifest the inspiration into a work of Art. All the time believing it is their idea, their doing and that they are working alone.

Crazy, right? Well I don’t think I’ve ever laid claim to being sane.

I imagine that the idea of Art being the creator in this equation would not be popular with many people. After all, I am suggesting that we are obsequious to Art, instead of us creating Art, we do Art’s bidding. But this is not so far fetched is it? Many artists have admitted to merely being an instrument to some greater force and since no one has ever been able to point directly to this… whatever it is, or for that matter, find out its name, all I am doing here is giving it a name and calling it simply, Art.

Tao by any other name…?

But what of Andy’s second postscript about “an example of ‘bad’ – or ‘misrepresentational’ – curatorship”? If Art is the choreographer how does it get it wrong? Let me ask this, should Art only ever express beauty, love, peace, wonder, spirituality? Art has always depicted the human condition, our environment, the esoteric, the metaphysical, the myriad aspects that make up our existence without preference or prejudice for the good or the bad as far as I can tell. So why would it not express frustration or even irony by putting itself in a box and out of touch as in “the display of one of Klein’s ‘participatory sculptures’ at the Hirshhorn exhibit”? I cannot imagine Art, as I am depicting it in this writing, having any opinion about its manifestations or for that matter about my opinions of it. Of course there is good Art and there is bad Art but such judgement calls will always be just opinions and in my experience, opinions help create illusions. For me, Art is telling me to stop cherishing my opinions and experience its gift by simply watching its impact on my thoughts, my memories and my beliefs. Art in all its various forms is itself illusionary but within the mirage lies the possibility that all the forms are of the same source.

In reality the answer to which came first, the artist or the Art, does not really matter. In the great scheme of things it is of no consequence, whichever way we answer, it will be nothing more than a belief, a concept, unprovable like any other such concept. But for now, for the sake of and in the name of Art, I will suggest that Art came first. In fact I will go as far as to say that Art always has been and always will be and it is the artist, with the collaborative efforts of so many other people, all of them unknowingly acting under its influence, who separates it from the whole so that we may see through the illusion a little more clearly.

Am I insane? Undoubtedly… but for my insanity, I blame Art.

The fine art of appreciation – Part 2

Part one on the fine art of appreciation.

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There’s a growing expectancy these days, at least in the western world, that many things should be free or at the very least, easily and cheaply available; a mere click of a button and our wish is fulfilled. Free software, free music, free videos and images, legally acquired or not, it’s all available with little effort. My hardest task as a parent is instilling a sense of value and appreciation in my children for those things that they take at times, all too casually. Value, not just in the sense of monetary worth but in terms of significance to one’s life and appreciation, not simply in terms of being grateful but in terms of awareness or mindfulness.

When given a sonnet by Shakespeare, my son can “get the gist” with a quick search on the Internet. There is no need for him to appreciate Shakespeare’s work when someone else has already worked it out. Trying to explain to him the value in arriving at his own understanding through his own effort is difficult. It’s possible that Shakespeare is no longer relevant to today’s generation or perhaps he no longer speaks to the youth but my son’s attitude, common among his peers as far as I can tell, is the same even with contemporary artists and poets. It’s all taken at face value and quickly judged as either cool or boring. Of course it’s not to say that everything must have meaning deeper than the superficial. I do not doubt that some people create works only for entertainment; pure and simple and for that I am grateful.  But I’m digressing, best I return to the topic on hand.

Appreciation of art does not come from someone else. I can not acquire an appreciation for art from the Internet. I seriously doubt I can acquire it from a course where I can learn all sorts of fancy words that will allow me to form an opinion and sound ever so clever next time I visit a gallery. As far as I can tell an appreciation of art is achieved by cultivating right practice and right mindfulness, in the same way as the artist goes about creating his work. So just as the artist must know how to impart the message, I must know how to cultivate the right attitude to receive it.

In a previous comment, Paul Lester suggested that “Art is the finger” using the Zen analogy that the finger-pointing at the moon is not the moon. Art is there pointing at something which the artist experienced and wishes to share. Simply looking at the art though is like looking at the finger when I’m wanting to see the moon. To see where the finger is pointing takes effort, albeit no great effort but effort nonetheless as I must turn my attention from the finger to the object it points at. For some reason however I often remain transfixed with the finger, perhaps in forming an opinion so quickly as the mind tends to do, I close myself off from the actual beauty that I hunger for.

We are fortunate, at least in the Western world, to live at a time where access to seemingly unlimited talent and creativity is but a few clicks away and yet I hear people talk about being bored or say they are unmoved by anything they see. Some almost demand to be awed. Interestingly enough, if I suggest that perhaps the problem lies with them I get a reaction similar to the one that arose in me when my Sifu made a similar statement. And so I usually refrain from suggesting any such thing. Instead I work on developing an equanimity which will prevent me from swinging wildly between indifference and resentment. An equanimity which will allow me to look beyond the opinions that form so readily in the mind so that I may be drawn into the masterpiece, letting it become a living reality that I may see it’s soul rather than the technique. In so doing, the art, the artist and I become one. Across space and time a sympathetic communion of spirits takes place. It is, I feel, the least I can do for the artist who wants nothing more than to take me into his confidence and share that which he can only express through his craft. The true master does not seek accolades or opinions, he does not seek ”hits” on his art nor does he hope it will go “viral”, he does not try for fame and fortune. He creates because it is beyond his ability to do otherwise. He creates art because he has something to share and he knows the limitations language imposes on our understanding, limitations which art does not recognise. As Diego Rivera exclaims to Frida Kahlo when she asks him for his “serious opinion” on her art, “What do you care about my opinion? If you’re a real painter, you’ll paint because you can’t live without painting. You’ll paint till you die.” (from the film, Frida 2002)

It is regretful to some extent, that so much of the enthusiasm for art today is devoid of any real feeling. By my reckoning, and I accept that my perception may be flawed, it appears that there is more desire for the costly than for the refined, more passion for technical perfection than for introspection. And maybe, just maybe, the ghastly works which are paraded as art in so many galleries of modern art owe their existence simply to the deafening absence of genuine appreciation.

Silence is, after all, the context for the deepest appreciation of art: the only important evaluations are finally, personal, interior ones. - Robert Adams -”Beauty in Photography” 1996

I mentioned earlier that we have access to more art than ever before in the history of the world and yet I have an uncomfortable feeling that our art may become barren as it goes unappreciated, adorned only with mundane opinions and perfunctory judgements. And should this happen, should we lose the ability to commune with the masters of art, we will surely find ourselves starved of beauty.

The fine art of appreciation

This post is about a subject of great interest to me, the subject of  art appreciation. I started writing this post while I was still writing “By all definitions“. I wrote them in conjunction because in what feels like a life-long search for a definition of art it became apparent to me that art has two facets. For some work to be deemed art it must not only be created as art but it must also be appreciated as art. So this post can be thought of as part two in my attempt to find a definition for art.

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There is a lot of talk and debate around the question “what is art?” and much of it often ends in cynicism or confusion. The confusion is understandable because while art is generally easily identified it is not readily defined. The cynicism however is unfortunate but equally understandable. As a regular frequenter of galleries, both virtual and real, I do come across some art works that leaves me wondering what on earth the curator was thinking when choosing to display them as art. It doesn’t help when such questionable pieces of art come with a hefty price tag. And therein lies part of the problem. Money, specially large amounts of it, clouds judgement. People intuitively know this and so when an art work comes with a price tag but fails to “speak” to us we are left with two options, either we conclude that we are stupid when it comes to art or that we are being taken for a ride. Either option may leave a bad taste in our mouths. Speaking for myself I don’t feel stupid though I accept that there are many things I am ignorant about and art may be one of them. As for being taken for a ride, well that can happen anywhere, any time.

Then there are people who argue that everything is art specially when it’s been made with an old Holga or some recycled rubbish but that is no different to calling all children special. All children may well be special but no sooner do you say so that the word “special” loses all meaning. While it may sound idyllic, living in a world where art is all around created with the simple construction of a stick figure on a restaurant napkin the reality is that if everything is art then nothing is art or at least none of it is special.

Anyway, my interest in art appreciation started many years ago in a rather circuitous manner. As a student of Tong Long Kung Fu, a martial-art in the style of the praying mantis I attended a class which met in an old church hall. I used to do two classes in a row, three hours all up of hard physical training. Keeping to tradition our teacher did not allow us to use protective clothing so much of the practice, which was often performed against an opponent, was done with full body contact. After three hours we were usually bruised and swollen but there was a Chinese herbalist who spent the lesson preparing creams and lotions for us to apply to our battered bodies at the end of the practice. We never paid much attention to him though we were always grateful for his potions as they worked wonders. One day our teacher had us spend the first hour of our training sitting in front of our resident herbalist and told us to pay attention to everything he did so we could learn something. The herbalist never said a word. He never looked at us. He simply went about his business of sorting and measuring ingredients, using his mortar and pestle, mixing and stirring. After an hour our teacher told us to start training and everyone was relieved to get off the floor and into some action. Fortunately I wasn’t so easily distracted and decided to ask the teacher why he’d made us watch the herbalist who had taught us nothing. His response was “Are you so sure that he taught you nothing? Have you considered the possibility that it is you who learned nothing?”. At this point the ego-mind riled up, “What are you talking about? He didn’t say a word! How am I suppose to learn anything when he didn’t utter a single word?!” Of course I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t stupid and knew better than to talk back to Sifu.

Over the following weeks I found myself watching the herbalist in-between routines. Every week he followed the same steps, measuring, mixing, stirring. What had I missed? Eventually I gave up. After one particular lesson I went up to the herbalist and said to him “Sifu once told me that I could learn something from you but try as I may I have no clue as to what it is I am supposed to learn.” His answer was the infuriating kind that we so often got from our Sifu, “Until you appreciate what you see you will continue to be clueless.” And, as if anticipating my response, he continued, “Unfortunately, appreciation cannot be taught.”

Appreciation, or more specifically, Art appreciation, is somewhat of a mystery. At least to me though apparently not to About.com where it states “No big mystery here: Art Appreciation simply means being able to look at works and form your own opinions.” Perhaps I am overcomplicating things but I know that as soon as  I see something, anything, an opinion is formed. As soon as I consciously look at an art work, thoughts enter the mind and depending on which memories are evoked, which biases are triggered an opinion arises. It may be expanded upon at a later stage but the basic premise is locked in. So if art appreciation is the ability to form an opinion, well then, it’s true, everything is art because I can’t help but have an opinion on everything I see, even if it’s one of indifference. I’m being facetious. In their definition About.com are most likely making the assumption that the “works” have already been identified as art. This, as you might suspect, does not sit well with me as it does not bring me any closer to understanding art.

As I see it, an art work comprises of three elements. The art work itself of course, the artist and the audience. In art, true art, Art with a capital ‘A’ if you will, mind speaks to mind. It does so because the artist, master of his craft, created his work with “right practice” and “right mindfulness”. Right practice is about the technicalities of the chosen craft, it is about achieving full competency with technique and with one’s tools of trade, be it a paintbrush, a camera, a musical instrument or even one’s own body. This competency needs to be honed in to the point that it can be completely forgotten about in the process of creation. By ‘forgotten’ I mean no longer done consciously but at some deeper level where the artist becomes one with the technique. It is usually at this point that right mindfulness comes into the process. Right mindfulness is not about thinking the right thoughts and it’s not about focusing or concentrating. It’s about flow, it’s about allowing the art work to evolve out of nothingness, it’s about being aware.

But what of the audience? Does the responsibility of giving meaning to art fall solely with the artist? Art may well speak the unspoken, reveal the unseen, stir up long-forgotten memories, bring forth yearnings and return hope that once may have been smothered by fear but how much of this comes through if I fail to listen or if I am incapable of looking deeper than the most superficial layers? Did the herbalist fail to impart some wisdom or did I fail to open myself up to it?

Part 2…

By all definitions

Once upon a time I had aspirations to become an artist. I fancied myself as the next Minor White or Henry Cartier-Bresson and in my reveries it dawned on me that it would be helpful if I had a definition for “art”; after all, how would I create something if I did not know what I was creating?

That was many years ago and I have since then, lost the desire to become an artist. As for defining “art”, well that never happened either.

I was reminded of this search for definition when I came across Seth’s definition of art. I do not wish to discuss his definition as I am sure it works for him but upon reading it I thought it might be of interest to share my own, non-definition of art.

When I was younger and seeking an understanding of what art was it became clear that definitions for art were as many as the ways one could create art. Definitions tend to fall into two camps, conventional and aesthetic. Conventional definitions of which Seth’s is an example, tend to work well for contemporary or modern art but fail to be universal and thus leave out a swag of art work that is of a different culture or potentially from a different species (again referring back to Seth’s definition). Aesthetics definitions are more universal but will generally miss out on including anything that is modern or radical. The obvious answer here is to join a conventional definition with an aesthetic one but that would merely raise the difficult question of the unity or disunity of the class of artworks. What is interesting though is that artists are generally not the ones who have tried to define art. My own experience has shown me that artists are often the last people who care about defining art. Philosophers however, are very much interested as are people who want to appreciate art without wanting to create it, like art critics.

Ever since Plato stated in the Republic that art was representational or mimetic (imitative) and that artworks were dependent on and inferior to physical objects which in turn are dependent on and inferior to what is most real, that is, the non-physical forms; man has debated not only how art should be defined but whether it should be defined in the first place and whether art could in fact be defined at all.

In my early search for definition the first thing that struck me was that there was no consensus on what art is. The second thing that struck me was that the obsession with this topic seemed to reside mostly among philosophers. Artists rarely bother to define art other than to explain their own particular class of creativity, for the most part they seem unconcerned with the definition of art. As one artist friend once said, “I know art when I see it and that is all I care to know”.

In recent times there seems to be a general consensus in the art world that just about anything can be art. I know that when I go to the Gallery of Modern Art and stand in front of two besser blocks with a coke can sitting on top that consensus is hard to argue with. Roberta Smith, a New York Times art critic has been quoted as saying that “if an artist says it’s art, it’s art.” Of course Smith’s definition begs the question: “in that case, what is an artist?” and we are right back where we started. Another New York Times critic, Grace Glueck, stipulated that something is an artwork if it is “intended as art, presented as such, and … judged to be art by those qualified in such matters.”

It is almost as if our modern-day philosophers have given up trying to define art. Ayn Rand certainly felt that way back in 1971, when in her essay on the philosophy of art, “Art and Cognition”, she wrote an acrimonious indictment of contemporary philosophers for having forsaken the search for an objective definition of art.

One thing about asking the question, “What is art?”, is that it eventually leads to the question, “Who decides?” I think it was when I connected these two questions that I started to lose my desire to come up with a definition. Like my friend and possibly like many others, if I am the one who decides what art is and if I know art when I see it then do I need to wrap a definition around it? After all, within a definition lies the seeds of limitation and where art is concerned limitation is the anti-thesis of creativity. Perhaps that is why artists do not concern themselves with defining art and perhaps this is also the reason philosophers cannot define something which is potentially limitless.

There are a number of texts that I know of on this topic and quite likely hundreds I do not know about. For those interested in following up on this I list a few of the writings I know about:

Art and Cognition by Ayn Rand

But Is It Art? by Benjamin Tilghman

Definition of Art by Stephen Davies

The Aesthetic Function of Art by Gary Iseminger,

The Metaphysics of Beauty by Nick Zangwill

For now I will leave the philosophers behind. I have to say I am not sure I understand their obsession for this topic any more, assuming I ever did. Instead I will continue with my own non-definition of art. I say “non-definition” because I would not be so presumptuous to suggest that I could achieve what greater minds have yet to achieve and also because I do not wish to limit art within a prison of words. However I feel that leaving this topic with such light-minded statements as “art is beyond definition” or “it’s all art” or even “it’s art if the artists says it is”, is a cop-out. It is a non-definition because it is likely to only make sense from my perspective; a perspective formed by my own memories, biases and prejudices. If you are familiar with my writings you know what I mean.

So here goes, what I see art being without really saying anything useful — something that tends to be a habit of mine.

I see art as being totally intertwined with life; with art expressing life and life expressing art. Just as mind seeks to separate, art seeks to unite. Life conceals beauty that we may discover it and then through art, express it. Similarly, art conceals truth that we may recognise it and through life, live it fully.

It has been said that Taoism is the “art of being in the world” because Taoism concerns itself with the present. The present is us, right here, right now and it is in us that creativity meets nature, it is in us that yesterday parts from tomorrow, it is in us that there relates to here. It has also been said that it is the present through which the Tao moves encompassing all that is dualistic. This dualism requires constant adjustment and this adjustment, for me, is art.

Art, by its very nature, reveals something about ourselves, as creators or as observers, and when done with rectitude art offers an opportunity to take ourselves less seriously, offering us an opportunity to laugh at ourselves and in so doing art becomes the humour itself. The humour of the Tao perhaps.

If it is true that man’s purpose is to reconcile Heaven and Earth. I ask you now, what better way is there to do this than through art?

An occassion for doubt

I live near a park that is about seven kilometres long and maybe one and a half kilometres wide at its widest point. Throughout its entire length runs a tidal creek brown in colour due to its high silt content and lined with all sorts of plants and  gum trees. There are some large electricity pylons which give off an ominous static sound whenever the air becomes dry as it tends to do in winter. Throughout the park there are picnic tables, play forts, skate-boarding ramps, sports fields and bike paths. At one end of the park there is a large man-made lake which has become a bird sanctuary of sorts with its two small islands and its grassy surrounds. The birds consist mostly of a variety of ducks, black-tailed native hens, cormorants and sandpipers.

Every now and then in the summers this park becomes a small inland sea as this park is for all intents and purposes, a flood plain. From our house, after torrential rains, we can see the park turn into a long body of water. It’s quite a sight. Unfortunately this hasn’t happened for many years as it’s been a long time since we’ve had decent rain to match our sub-tropical climate. The creek will break its banks every summer but these past few years most of the park has remained uncovered by flood waters.

There is one thing about this park that few people know about. Even the locals who have lived here all their lives are unaware of the elusive residents that make this park their home. Within this extensive flood plain lives a herd of wild deers. Deers are not native to Australia so these deers were obviously introduced for a purpose long forgotten though I suspect that it may have been for hunting. I don’t know how long they have been around but I have found a reference that mentions the herd being in the vicinity over 60 years ago. In any case, in the last fifteen years of frequenting this park I have only seen these deers on two occasions, each time while out on a run just prior to dawn.

If you are wondering what is the point of all this, I am getting to it, I promise, I only ask that you indulge me a little longer.

A few months ago I was out running in the early hours of the morning. I was doing a loop around the lake when I was stopped in my tracks by the sudden appearance of a young buck a short distance from me just beyond a small clump of bushes and short trees. Standing perfectly still I watched the young buck with its beautiful antlers who in turn appeared to be looking back at me. It seemed that neither of us dared move, both of us fully captivated by the moment. I didn’t have a camera with me but that did not matter, I was happy enough to be in the presence of this beautiful beast.

After a short while I made a deliberate, unhurried move towards him but no sooner had I taken a step forward that the deer vanished. He disappeared, instantly, as if conjured away by a skilled magician. For an instance I was left wondering what had happened. How could he move so fast? I had not taken my eyes off him, not even daring to blink. For a moment my mind was filled with doubt and confusion. And then it hit me. I took a step back and instantly realised what had happened. The young buck had been nothing more than a play of shadows and light, branches and leaves. An illusion, a trick played by the mind and while I could make out the leaves I had taken to be ears and the branches which only moments ago had been majestic antlers I could no longer see the deer, I could only see what had appeared to be a deer. The illusion was broken. All I could do was laugh at the joke my mind had played with me. With a simple optical illusion I had been left doubting my own sanity, I had been given a new perspective.

This experience reminded me of the story used in Hinduism to explain the concept of Maya. In this story a farmer walks into a barn late one night and spots a snake on the floor. Scared, he runs away only to return with his son who carries a torch. Upon re-entering the barn the snake is seen to be what it really is. A length of coiled rope.

In art, photography in particular, there is much discussion about capturing the “real”, about images needing to reflect reality. People like to debate the pros and cons of altering photographs. What some people call enhancing others call self-serving deception. There are some photographers who pride themselves in rendering their world accurately and truthfully keeping tones and colours within what they deem to be a normal range. But there are other photographers who will push the saturation and contrast levels to new highs creating images that punch out and scream “look at me!”. And then there are abstracts and fantasy montages and textured images and high dynamic range (HDR) photos. The list goes on.

At various times during my journey in photography I have been on one side of the fence or the other. Now I don’t care so much. I am not a fence sitter, I just don’t see the point, in much the same way that many don’t see the point in the things I write about and that is fine with me.

What people do with their art, with their creativity will always make sense when taken in the context of their own story. Within the context of my story, photography gives me a framed window through which I can explore my world beyond arguments, beyond points of view, beyond context and into the very realm of doubt. Photography and art in general gives me an occassion for doubt. It may seem absurd and counter-intuitive but reality is somehow seen more clearly once we start to doubt our long-held beliefs and start to question those concepts that we have always accepted by default. Art in all its forms and guises gives me an opportunity to question particular beliefs often only to find that they are built on other beliefs. I have long ago concluded that assumptions and beliefs are the building blocks of my reality. I could let them be for it affords me nothing to question them but that is not in my nature.

Whether a photograph is an exact rendition of the subject matter or a manipulated interpretation matters not to me. Since, more often than not I do not know the story of the artist I can only appreciate what I see from the context of my own story. But in that context, that paradigm of an individual existence that stands apart from the artwork, doubt is raised which questions the essence of that existence that I take myself to be. The doubt is raised because sometimes as I interact with the artwork, I am, even if only for a short while, consumed by it and the separation that had been there but a moment ago between the artwork and me, has vanished without so much as a thought of bewilderment, without so much as a sense of wonder. It could be said that there is awareness but even that seems to be saying too much. It is only later once back within the context of my story that the experience is analysed and once put into words sounds much like new-agey hippy talk or at best, paradoxical Zen nonsense.

Over a lifetime the mind has built up mental abstractions that I have come to accept as my reality. Art on the other hand, with its own abstractions of that reality leaves me wondering if what I am seeing is really what I think it is. That may not make any sense within the context of your story but it makes a lot of sense from where I’m standing. The thing is that while the mind makes reality seem complicated and convoluted, art makes reality seem utterly simple. When I lose myself in art I stop trying to figure out life, the universe and everything, the mental noise is seen to be nothing at all and my own story is seen as not being anything personal.

The mind is full of mental abstractions. Some dissolve away merely by taking a step towards a clump of bushes or shining a torch upon the ground but others are more persistent. Art is a wonderful way to shake the very foundations of those beliefs. It serves no purpose but I find it fun in a new-age, hippy, one-hand-clapping kind of way.

This photo "minnippi stag fight" was taken by Misteriddles (aka Iain Clacher) who, unlike me, always had a camera with him.

The pursuit of artiness

In the text of the second section of the United States of America’s Declaration of Independence can be found the words:

We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

I find it interesting to note the wording in this statement. It stipulates that everyone has certain “unalienable rights” including life and liberty. But not happiness. People are only entitled to the pursuit of happiness. A subtle difference. One that shows at least to me that the Father’s of the American Constitution knew a thing or two about human nature. Life and liberty are quite definable. I can’t imagine huge variations even among disparate cultures, in the definitions attributed to life and liberty. Defining happiness on the other hand is much like defining art. The lines are blurred, the boundaries are loose and definitions can be as numerous as the number of people in this world. In any case, happiness, however it is defined, is something that apparently needs to be pursued because once reached, usually with the acquisition of a goal or the fulfillment of a desire, it seems to disappear as soon as the next desire makes itself known.

The pursuit of happiness is not too dissimilar to the artist pursuing that elusive artwork which will define her like no other artwork has done before. That masterpiece that will enrich the world with its message and rich beauty and perhaps even enrich, financially, the long-suffering artist as a bonus. Okay, so maybe the goal may not always be so grand but whatever it is that the artist is trying to achieve I suspect that the pursuit of art is entangled, at some level, with the pursuit of happiness.

It surprised me to learn some years back that professional artists can feel just as unhappy about their “job” as anyone else may feel about their own profession. I was surprised because at the time I viewed art as something that was done for fun and in no way to be conceived of as a real job. I saw it as a great excuse to do what you want when you want but of course my view on the subject of art and for that matter, happiness, was somewhat ignorant. I must point out that much has been written about the whys and wherefores of happiness and I would do well to leave it up to more knowledgeable people than myself to discuss the intricacies of happiness. Instead I will share a less academic but more personal observation about that elusive thing that is “artiness” and hopefully along the way, elaborate a bit more on what I see as the often overlooked connection between art and happiness.

Art is not something that is easily defined. It comes in many forms and while I can say that most times I know art when I see it there are times when the subtleties elude me and I am simply left wondering. But the artwork whatever it may be, is merely the final product, it is the end of a process, it is in itself, final. Whatever message the artwork has for me it was defined in the journey that led to its creation. I might add that my own journey that has brought me to the time and place where I can view/hear the artwork has also gone some way  to ascertaining the message it holds. In any case, as the artist pursued her vision she imbibed the piece with feelings and emotions and the question I often ask myself is, did the artwork fulfill the expectation that led to the pursuit in the first place?

During the process of making a photograph or the pursuit if you will, from the shooting to the post-processing I am guided by a vision which is in turn molded from memories and thoughts. When the final image emerges it always fails in varying degrees to meet the expectation, the vision from which is was born. It may sometimes get close but it is never close enough and so the pursuit continues for the next image driven perhaps by the same vision or a modified one. As I get older though, I have come to realise that all along I have been missing the obvious. As I’ve already mentioned the definition of the artwork lies in the journey taken to create it (or to view it). Its essence, its artiness lies in the pursuit itself. There’s probably nothing new in all this. The notion that the journey is more important than the destination is basic philosophy 101 but for me the pursuit of artiness is akin to the pursuit of happiness.

When talking about the broad concept of happiness I tend to see it as something that is born in desire and which dies in desire. By that I mean that it is desire that gives rise to the potential for happiness which is achieved once the desire is fulfilled but which also immediately dies once a new desire arises. This type of happiness has its opposite in suffering and as humans we spend our lives trying to avoid suffering and gain happiness. But suffering and happiness are two driving forces of creativity, both can inspire us to be creative. Suffering, in all its variances can lead to quite exquisite art despite the fact that suffering is often seen as an obstacle, something to be overcome at any cost if we are to have lasting happiness. But it is here that I have to question the perception of this suffering. I am not sure that suffering is an obstacle to happiness, not when it can be such a source of inspiration.

In martial-art (please forgive me for always returning to these lessons) I was once told to perceive the enemy as being within rather than outside of myself. In doing so the strength of the enemy I face would no longer be disproportionate to my own strength. The enemy is still there but I can now meet him on my terms. This notion took me some time to fully understand (you could say it was literally beaten into me) but when applied to the current topic it means that if I see the suffering, the obstacles to my happiness, as not being outside of me but rather seeing it as something within, I am no longer helpless since the obstacles are no longer seen as being greater than my own strength. In other words, the problems can never be bigger than my ability to cope with them. This is not to say that the suffering disappears, it simply means that I do not need to build up more resolve in order to cope. However to remain balanced it is equally useful that I see happiness as being within rather than without. As long as I see happiness as being outside of myself I will continue to struggle in my pursuit for it but when I see it as being inside of me then the need to pursue it ceases. So happiness is not in the getting but rather in the letting go.

As I have come to realise this I have extended this notion to art. The pursuit of artiness can only take place while I continue to see art as being outside of myself but maybe art is inside, maybe it is already a part of me. Maybe it always was and always will be. Maybe being creative is nothing more than materializing the art that has always been there, and so it would no longer be a pursuit but a journey and it is with these thoughts that I have come to see being creative as a synonym for being happy. As such, the pursuit of happiness is also a journey and that journey is what we call life. All of life, every aspect, the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful.

To reveal the art that lies within I let go of expectations, I let go of desire, I even let go of self. Even if only for a moment.

What remains is not happiness perse but a kind of bliss or contentment that defies description or explanation. It is like a knowing that everything is as it should be despite appearances.

It matters not if it’s my art or if it’s someone else’s art, either way, its source is within. And that is true for all of us.

~§~

If my disjointed musings into the concept of art being within has struck a chord, you  may like to read an insightful post by Andy Ilachinski called Blurred Distinctions.

About the photo accompanying this post: I called it “Squared Off Circles”. It is a collage of nine images each with its own name – Left to right, Row 1: Intersection, Life Guard, Drop. Row 2: Etc, Flora Fireworks, Corona. Row 3: Uri Nals, Drop Off Zone, 10.

A light influence

In my previous post Andreas Manessinger made a comment and asked a question that I thought was worth sharing in a separate post .

Andreas’ comment and question:

…evidence suggests that people do NOT experience the same things, or if they do, they at least neither believe it nor act according to it.

I read Goldhagen’s “Hitler’s Willing Executioners” at the moment. This is a post-Auschwitz thing. It progresses slowly, but the more I read of it, the more I see parallels between the Nazi view of Jews and our view of foreigners. And ultimately both are utterly absurd. We should know that as they should have known it, the only problem is, as a society we don’t. Reality has only so much of a chance to influence our view of it. How much more chance could a picture have?

He is right. In life people do not experience the same things and when they do they will perceive them differently depending on their past, their culture, their circumstances. After all, we are, each of us, products of our own upbringing. But this was not the context to which I was referring to when I wrote about seeing the true nature of things. The context I was alluding to is beyond experience and perception, it is beyond the concept of self, beyond any concept at all.

But what I wrote about serves no practical purpose.

What I was suggesting was that when two people “hear the light” and there is seeing into the nature of things then without so much as a word spoken between them they know they have the same understanding of THAT which is.

And it serves no practical purpose.

Because with that understanding everything remains the same, there is love and there is hate, there is tolerance and there is discrimination, there is beauty and there is ugliness. To paraphrase D. T. Suzuki, “Before seeing, men are men and mountains are mountains. While on the path to seeing, things become confused: one doesn’t know exactly what is what and which is which. After seeing, men are men and mountains are mountains only somewhat as though your feet are a little off the ground”.

As I said, serving no practical purpose.

So let us look at it with a more practical mind set and explore Andreas’ question on whether a photo can have any influence. Allow me to start from the viewpoint that is the story of me as this is one viewpoint with which I am most familiar. For me, there is no doubt that the making or viewing of a photograph can influence my view of the world. Some photographs have brought tears to my eyes while others have made me laugh. Some images have made me aware to the plights of others and in the process heightened feelings of gratefulness for the life I have. The photographs of Minor White, Ansel Adams and Henri Cartier-Bresson had a direct influence on my desire to pursue photography. I can also safely say that photographs have had a direct influence in my becoming a “greener” person, more so than any statistical tables and charts or for that matter reality itself since in my part of the world humanity’s impact on the environment is much less obvious. And then there were those simple travel images that drove me to great adventures in lands far from home and far from my comfort zone. So on that personal and practical level some photographs have had a significant influence on my perception of the world.

Andreas’ point though, goes beyond mere personal influence. His question is whether a photo can have any influence on humanity as a whole and how we as a whole, view the world. I would suggest that the answer is yes, it’s possible. At least if history is anything to go by. I would even venture to say that photographs have a greater chance to influence our view than reality itself because while reality is subjective, photographs are often perceived as being objective and for whatever reason, it seems to me that humanity puts more weight behind objectivity. Or maybe not, I may be wrong. It’s possible that people have become more cynical, more skeptical and less trusting. These days people know that photographs can be staged or manipulated and so they may be more inert, more immune to any influence an image might exert.

In any case it has been suggested that the following images have influenced and changed the way we view the world. For better or for worse.

Earthrise 1968 - William Anders NASA

1972 Kim Phuc in a napalm attack in South Vietnam by Nick Ut

1989 Tiananmen Square protest by Jeff Widener

World Trade Center Attack 9/11

Here are more pictures presented as a YouTube slide show.

Should art come with emoticons?

I hadn’t planned on writing this post until a post by Paul Lester inspired me to do so. So for what it’s worth here are some thoughts.

A phone conversation with my wife some time back kicked off this whole exploration into the connection between photographers and their images. Or perhaps more to the point, what information about the photographer could an image reveal. The conversation with my wife went something like this:

Wife: I just got an email from Sam and I think he’s really angry with me.
Me: Oh really? What did he say?
At this point my wife proceeds to read the email in a somewhat angry voice.
Me: Whoa, hold up. Read it to me in a regular voice.

Which she did. And of course with a regular voice it was not possible to tell whether Sam was in fact angry.

Later that same day I was having a conversation with a friend about a photography blog I like to follow. When I mentioned the blog’s author my friend exclaimed “Oh that guy. He is such an arrogant asshole”. Surprised, I asked “Oh, so have you met him?”. “No but you just have to read some of his posts to know the type of guy he is. Even his photographs are full of arrogance”, and to prove his point, he whips out his iphone and promptly brings up a post by this allegedly arrogant photographer and with tones of indignation and contempt begins to read the words of a post which I recognised immediately as one I had quite enjoyed. When he finished I took his iphone and read it back to him using tones of amusement and hilarity and a touch of well meaning sarcasm. He looked at me, somewhat bewildered and taking his phone back, simply said, “you read that post all wrong”.

In these days of quick emails and 140 character tweets and SMS messages there is a real risk that our words will be wrongly interpreted.  And with this misinterpretation there is a risk that we will be misrepresented when people relay our words to a third party. Where these messages are concerned though, we can use combinations of characters, usually involving colons, semi-colons and brackets to help the recipient of our messages get an inkling of our emotional state at the time of writing thereby reducing the risk of misinterpretation. These character combinations are known as emoticons. So if I was to write “you’re such a dufus :)” then there is no mistaking that this is just a friendly jibe. Hopefully.

But this clarification of our mood or emotional state becomes a little more difficult when it comes to art. Especially visual arts. Going back to the conversation about the allegedly arrogant photographer, I questioned my friend how he had come to the conclusion that this particular photographer’s images were supposedly arrogant. His answer, “Well he supposedly lives in one of the most beautiful places on earth and then he takes a shot of some crap on the ground and calls it art!”. However it was difficult to gauge if my friends sentiments stemmed just from the pictures or if he’d made up his mind from reading the blog.

At this point I decided to carry out a totally unscientific experiment the results of which have absolutely no merit whatsoever. I put together a bunch of images into a little slide show and then showed them to people whom I felt certain would not have seen the images before and would not know who the photographer of each image was. Some of the photos were mine and some were taken by people I knew. I also included the shots of “crap on the ground” just for good measure. My questions to my subjects were “What does this photo mean to you?” and “What does this photo tell you about the photographer?”. Now as I said this experiment was totally unscientific, I didn’t even take notes but the results had me wondering if anyone had done a proper study on this matter and if someone has I would love to know about it. For what it’s worth though, here is the outcome of my own little case study.

As I had expected, the first question was easily answered by most people and what was interesting was that there was a certain amount of similarity between many of the answers. For example a photo of graffiti resulted in words like urban decay, misspent youth, hopelessness, visual pollution and so on. A photo of a mountain view was related to calm, natural beauty, peace, hope and strength. The results to the second question however left me a little perplexed. Prior to doing this little study I had asked a different bunch of people if they thought it was possible to know something about an artist solely from their artwork, specifically where the artwork was of a visual nature. Most answered along the lines that they thought it would be difficult to do so. It was generally agreed that some guesses could be made but only from an entire collection rather than just from one or two pieces. For that reason, in my little slide show I had included a few images from each photographer though for obvious reasons, not entire collections.

It turned out that none of my subjects hesitated in giving an opinion when asked “What does this photo tell you about the photographer?”. This lack of hesitation surprised me but what surprised me more was the variety of answers given. No two people gave the same answer for the same photographer. The photographer previously described as arrogant was described as sensitive, mindful, boring even lonely (arrogant never came up). One other photographer, a female but whose gender I did not reveal, was described as someone who was out of touch with femininity. My own photos had me as lonely, crass, without direction and rigid. One person described me, purely from my photos, as someone desperately trying to find beauty where there was none. A few nice things were said but I did find the whole thing quite amusing. Just for the record, when I told my subjects that I had taken those particular photographs it was usually met with blank or embarrassed stares followed by “Oh… well… then that’s not you” or “Well why on earth do you take photos like these?”. As I said, quite amusing.

I am not qualified to draw any conclusions that could be deemed academically worthwhile and my sample size was too small to have any significance but there was one thing I noticed which I found most interesting. The conclusions people drew about the photographers from the images seemed to me more about themselves than the photographers. They seemed to be describing their own traits at least as I perceive them to be, which is of course tainted by my own traits. After all it is so difficult to judge others without fully knowing what filters we view them through.

Perhaps, in the end, art tells us more about ourselves than about the artist and our own art holds a pointer to a truth that is just ours to see ;) :) <3

This is one image which had some people scratching their heads as to why someone like me would even consider making such a picture ;)

An image with no name

This photo came about last winter (southern hemisphere) while on an outing with my kids to a city park. There’s a story to this photo which I thought I would share.

This photo, like others on this blog, was made in one of those timeless, thoughtless moments that last an eternity and are over in the click of a shutter. Quite in keeping with the paradox that is life.

Before I continue, allow me to re-iterate something. I do not try to do anything specific when I make photographs. I’m not out to make art or even so much as a statement. There’s nothing to ‘get’, though viewers are welcome to perceive whatever they desire. I take full responsibility for all that I do but only because there is a social expectation to and adhering to this expectation makes life easier. However, and people can take this anyway they wish, I don’t know that I have a choice in anything I do and I daresay that I doubt anyone else has much say in the path they lead either. When it comes to photography these images make themselves. I just happen to be there in order to press the shutter. I am not alone with this view.

Sometimes I do get to places just when God’s ready to have somebody click the shutter.
Ansel Adams

I don’t know much about god but I do only see myself as an instrument perhaps, in the creation of these images and I do not see that credit should go to ‘me’. Taking credit just seems illogical. For the sake of communication and ease of writing however, I will continue to refer to these images and to these writings as mine, as ridiculous as that concept may be.

I’ve digressed. Back to this image. If a photo ‘succeeds’ for a photographer or for a viewer, it is probably due to the feelings one associates with it. I am talking about feelings that go beyond the “ooh… pretty picture” reaction. I am talking about feelings that are deep and borne of memories perhaps even forgotten ones. If we are truly lucky then we may even experience feelings that are pure and fresh. By this I mean new and previously unexplored. Those pure feelings are the ones that can teach us something about ourselves. If we are paying attention and if we are not scared off by the sudden revelation.

The moment that this image captured evoked just that kind of feeling and the reaction was all too natural. The mind ignored it as if it had never happened. The image of course, begged to differ but for months it stayed on my hard-drive, mostly disregarded without so much as a title. An image with no name. The problem was not so much that I could not face the feelings, more to the point, I could not conceptualise them. I could not verbalise what I felt. For the mind, such a situation is… well, unthinkable.

It was months after this image was made that I came across three words. I do not remember where I saw them but that is not important. Having never seen these words in that particular combination and being ignorant to the fact that they were Japanese, the mind did the only thing it knew how to do. It made something up. And so, “mono no aware” got translated (in the mind) as “non awareness of one”. Quite amusing in hindsight. Interestingly, that image I had taken all those months before on that cloudy winter’s day while sitting on that park bench came to mind when I saw those words. It came quietly and without fuss. I could not see the connection though. My so-called translation did not match up with the image or the feelings it evoked. But I liked those three words and every time I thought of them the image popped into my head. At this point I looked it up on the web. Amazingly those three words had their own Wikipedia entry and with the reminder that Wikipedia has almost no credibility whatsoever here is the definition I found:

Mono no aware (物の哀れ, mono no aware^?, lit. “the pathos of things”), also translated as “an empathy toward things,” or “a sensitivity of ephemera,” is a Japanese term used to describe the awareness of mujo or the transience of things and a bittersweet sadness at their passing.

The Wikipedia entry goes on to say:

The word is derived from the Japanese word mono, which means “things” and aware, which was a Heian period expression of measured surprise (similar to “ah” or “oh”), translating roughly as “pathos,” “poignancy,” “deep feeling,” or “sensitivity.” Thus, mono no aware has frequently been translated as “the ‘ahh-ness’ of things.” In his criticism of The Tale of Genji, Motoori noted that mono no aware is the crucial emotion that moves readers. Its scope was not limited to Japanese literature, and became associated with Japanese cultural tradition (see also sakura).^[1]

Ok so I wasn’t even close with the initial translation but when I read the proper meaning the image popped back into my head with a fanfare as if it was trying to say “that’s my name, that’s what I’m about”. At this moment I realised what had just happened. I had conceptualised the feeling. I had put it into words and with the birth of this concept some of the magic was gone. Because that is what happens when I name things. I name something so that I can lock it away into memory. I put it in memory so I can recall it at will to try and regain the feeling I once had but of course it’s never the same, somehow it’s diluted, a mere shadow of the original. But that’s life; chasing memories rather than living the moments.

Anyway, there was certainly a feeling of ‘ahh-ness’ when this photo was made and it had a lot to do with the transience of things. When I ‘saw’ the scene pictured above I thought about how everything I take as being real, all the things that my senses tells me exists are transient, ever-changing, non-lasting. Every thing ages, decays and dies. There isn’t a cell in my body that existed seven years ago. People come and go, events come and go. The trees lose their leaves in autumn and these leaves eventually break down. They change not just in colour but in texture as well. They lose their moisture, they dry up, they get crushed under foot and their energy, their life returns to the ground and is transferred to the insects, the grass, the original tree itself. And  in spring new leaves appear. And on seeing that every thing changes, including that which I care about, I realise that there’s nothing to cling to and it may just be the desperate holding onto things that brings on suffering. I cling to the comfortable life I have for fear of losing it, I look at my children playing in the park and prefer not to think about how they too are changing, how one day I will not be part of their lives, or worse, that they may no longer be part of mine.

These thoughts come and I cannot stop them. I do not know how. But I can watch them pass by, I can stop grasping at them, holding on to them. I can let them go and in doing that I recognise each new moment as they materialise because I don’t need to cling to them anymore. I sense the bittersweet sadness at the passing of things but that too is let go… eventually. Each new moment means the death of the previous one and it in turn, gives way to the birth of the next one. I can try to hang on and suffer the consequences or I can die to each moment and discover something beautiful.

I don’t know if I have done justice to the feelings this image created. That’s the problem when you conceptualise that which cannot be named. You lose something. But the experience wanted to be shared and I have no way other than words to do so.

So this is what this image brought to me. A quiet acceptance of life and what life offers. Life is the ever-changing constant.

Are we clear?

There’s a movie called “A Few Good Men “. It’s not a great movie but I do like Jack Nicholson’s performance in it. Who hasn’t heard the line: “You can’t handle the truth!” delivered so brilliantly and forcefully by Nicholson as Colonel Nathan R. Jessep . Anyway I’ll get back to that, for now I’ll write about some insights that I’ve had from practicing the so-called art of photography. In my case it’s probably more like trials and tribulations of photography. Anyway, moving on… oh and be warned, this may make no sense whatsoever.

The appearance of all things happens due to what we normally refer to as perception. Perception of objects comes to us generally via the senses, which we trust to be properly calibrated (trust based on faith maybe), and the objects are then conceptualised by the mind and by conceptualised I mean the objects are named or labelled, identified using words. We can say that conceptualisation happens with thoughts and yet the thoughts have nothing to do with the objects. Without thought the objects would not cease to appear. Thoughts come and go but simple awareness remains. When I manage to see some object without a thought in my head I cannot deny that there is awareness of the object’s existence. And yet I identify with the objects or even with the thoughts. The objects, the thoughts are always contemplated in terms of their relationship to “me”. It doesn’t seem to occur to me to identify with the one constant, the awareness. Why would that be? Then again, why should I?

To answer the second question first. As my son once said, “What would be the point? Why would I want to be anything else but the ‘me’ I think I am?”. While he doesn’t always understand what I’m on about (who can blame him?) he quickly grasped that this constant awareness that cannot be denied would be incapable of discerning between good and bad or pleasure and pain without the attachment to the “me”. The belief in “me” is needed in order for a relationship to exist between the object and the subject (me). But awareness is just… awareness and my son quite rightly understands (at least at some level) that that is not the point to life. The opposites, the yin and the yang, the pleasure and the pain, each allows us to experience the other. The point to life is after all, to live. For better or for worse. At least as I see it. And to live is to experience and it’s in the experiences we find the joy and the peace and the unusual. Somewhere amongst the sorrow and the turmoil and the mundane. So why do I seek an answer to “who am I”? Why am I not happy with the apparently obvious answer. Who am I?… I’m the idiot sitting on the sofa typing this crap that’s who. Well perhaps I’m an idiot, maybe I’m a mega-pixel short of a full sensor, a sandwich short of a picnic or maybe I don’t have a choice. If awareness is our true nature and awareness can’t know itself directly, maybe it simply loses itself (through an attachment to “me”) just to find itself through a process of re-cognition. Ok so once again I don’t know the answer. I’m just speculating because these are the thoughts that come to me when I’m out photographing. When I’m out and about with a camera in my hand I can say that I become aware of my surroundings. I am not saying that I am one with my surroundings or anything like that. Simply that I sense being aware. And it seems natural. Until some jerk steps in front of my camera just as I press the shutter then I’m right back in the “me” and my little drama called “my life”.

That brings me to the first question, why do I more readily identify with this “me” than with the awareness which I know is constant and never changing? It feels like that is where the truth lies. Not in the words, right? Let me be clear (if that’s even possible for me), when I use the word “awareness” or “truth” they’re just concepts. So don’t get stuck on words, ok?. What I ask myself is am I simply attached to this “me” out of habit? Is it a comfort-zone thing? Is it a fear of the unknown? Will I forget who I am, who my family are? And it’s when I’m asking myself these seemingly senseless questions that I can hear Colonel Nathan R. Jessep in my head…

Col. Jessep: You want answers?
Me: I think I’m entitled.
Col. Jessep: *You want answers?*
Me: *I want the truth!*
Col. Jessep: *You can’t handle the truth!*

And maybe that is the reason. I can’t handle the truth. Not because truth is too complicated but maybe because truth is too ordinary (relative to my expectations at least). Because with the re-cognition of my true nature the personal drama I’ve come to call my life would cease to be and “I” would die along with it. And dying is not easy to handle. Or so it would seem.

Oh… and in case you are wondering, this entire post came about as I took the above picture. The way it went was: I saw the wall and thought “Aah… let’s make art from the mundane”, I took the shot and noticed the words “keep lane clear” which translated in my head to “keep clear” which in turn made me think of the quote “Are we clear?” uttered by Colonel Nathan R. Jessep from the movie “A Few Good Men” which led to everything you’ve just read. Weird huh? Imagine being in my head… lol.

So are we? Are we clear? Clear as mud sir!

And since I am quite sure the universe has a sense of humour here's a prank call 
by someone using the audio from "A Few Good Men".