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.

A random observation

Reality was beginning to blur and things were not as they appeared.

She was quite sure that the fabric of space/time had been torn.

And she only had her insatiable introspection to blame for that.

In all seriousness, lighten up

I recently received an email which suggested that I am much too serious about art and Zen and Taoism etc. It suggested other things but that was the main gist, I think. Sure, I have a passion for art and philosophy but I can assure you that there is very little in life which I would consider taking seriously. I have stated before that I am not an artist or a photographer and now I will add that I am not a philosopher.  I just live life one moment at a time and try to see the world rather than just look at it. Seriously, don’t take anything I write on this blog in earnest. Actually, you know what, do what ever you like, take it seriously or not, it probably doesn’t matter though it is my experience that the Universe has a tendency to mock those who take on life without a sense of humour. Just saying.

So just for fun here are some images with captions that will hopefully show a lighter side of me. Enjoy the fun wherever you find it.

~§~

No one had told her the open air Art Exhibition had been cancelled
and so she sat, perplexed, wondering what this particular work was trying to tell her.

~§~

He was quietly confident in his ability to recognise art
and yet he walked straight past the wooden-egg-sculpture-thingy
as if it wasn’t there.

A moment in Life

On this day, the first day of Autumn,

I sit and ponder without melancholy or regret,

the life which I call my own.

As I approach the autumn of my life,

to borrow a metaphor from the ever insightful Shakespeare,

it becomes increasingly clear how short one’s life truly is.

Life itself, however, is eternal

and there is much comfort to be gained from that knowing.

That which I take to be my life

resonates as but a moment

in that which remains timeless.

It’s art for fate’s sake

Before starting on this post I would like to say a quick word of thanks to the people who have kindly sent me email. Especially those who have shared their insights or questioned my ideas and my photographic work. It is always appreciated.

~§~

Not too long ago I received an email from a reader who questioned my choice of subjects in my photographs relative to my philosophical outlook of life which she assumed to be either Buddhist or Taoist. She wanted to know how I saw a connection between my usual images of urban grunge and decay and the ethereal beauty of Taoist or Zen teachings. Her expectations envisaged images of pebbles and meandering brooks, Japanese gardens and orderly patterns, of proverbial frogs jumping into ponds.

Firstly I need to point out that I am neither Buddhist or Taoist. I find it best to hold no beliefs or concepts which tends to be how I perceive all philosophies and religions. It is true that I favor quotes from Zen and Taoist scriptures but only because they are the least distorted interpretations of pointers that have been given by teachers throughout the ages. At least as far as I can tell. These teachings, or pointers, are common to many religions but in some, such as Christianity and Islam, the interpretations of the parables/pointers seems to be done in such a way as to benefit the few in order that they may control the many. Again this is just my view on the matter. In any case, as I’ve already mentioned, I prefer not to hold onto concepts and see no benefits in being dogmatic about unprovable principles. Beliefs, after all, are just thoughts. Totally intangible.

Now having said this there is no denying that I still philosophise about life and such as the posts in this blog will testify. But I do so with the understanding that it is all quite useless and conceptual and that it is best not to put a label on it (even though the need to communicate does require the use of such labels). I tend to philosophise purely for entertainment value. I do not mean to be flippant but I have no other way of expressing it.

So how do my photographs relate to my philosophising? Well in short, they don’t. At least not in any mystical or esoteric way. The photographs have little to do with anything. In fact I have never as yet printed one and only began keeping them when other people started to express interest in them. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy my images. Quite the contrary. I get a lot of pleasure and joy from my images. There’s excitement when I finish processing an image and blow it up to the full size of my 17″ screen. I love immersing myself in them and being subtly aware of the myriad thoughts they evoke, the good, the bad and the ugly. And of course I get a kick when others appreciate them and bring to them their own feelings and interpretations. That, in part, is what art is about, the sharing of joy and fun, feelings and emotions, memories and imaginings. That’s how I see it though it surprises me how many artists don’t see it this way. Perhaps that is a sign that I am simply not an artist, merely an hobbyist. In any case that is a whole other topic.

Getting back to the topic at hand, while I thoroughly enjoy my images I am not attached to them and from a philosophical point of view they are almost illusory in nature. It’s not the image that is important to me or the subject, it is the imaging, the process of making the photograph and the most important part to that process is the initial seeing. The subject matter is not part of the process, it is, for all intensive purposes, inconsequential. The subject is illusory while the seeing is real. In other words it is unimportant whether the subject is a grungy alleyway or cherry blossoms in full bloom. What is all important is the clear seeing and the detached acceptance of what is seen. There is a strength, a power, an awareness that comes at that moment of seeing and accepting. I do not shoot the alleyway because I choose to, I shoot it because it is inevitable that I do. At the moment of seeing there is a sense that everything this present moment has to offer is a fated consequence of the past. Life has unfolded itself to this very moment just as it is, despite any apparent desires on my part for it to be otherwise. So if there is to be a connection between my photography and my philosophising than it is between seeing and amor fati, the love of one’s fate. Fate is life and life is truth and art connects it all together in a boundless embrace of beauty and clarity.

There is a possibility at this point that I will be labeled a fatalist or a determinist. That is fine, I don’t mind but those labels may carry with them an implication of capitulation, of not having control. There may even be an assumption that I am forced to like all that happens, all that I see but that is not what amor fati points to. It points to not fighting against what is, choosing instead, to accept it, as it is. Paradoxically, as so often happens in life, out of this simple acceptance comes freedom and independence. And thus the very limitations that fate appears to beset on me are transmuted into beauty and creativity.

So in photographic terms, my success in creating a photograph that I will like, comes from accepting fully that which is presented to me. When I allow the mind to relax its grip on the world perceived, through the simple act of acceptance, creative energy is released and transformed into… well… art, or in my case, a photograph. A photograph that brings me bliss.

In search of meaning

I have mentioned before that my appreciation of photographs lies in the story or the feeling that I can gleam from an image. It could be said that an image has to mean something to me in order that I might appreciate its value. The search for meaning seems to me to be a fairly common human trait. I don’t think I am alone in this but having never carried out any formal study on this matter I will only talk for myself.

The kind of meaning I am talking about is not so much what I would call academic meaning, the kind of meaning that can be found by doing a search on the Internet such as “what is the meaning of the Internet?”. I am referring to another kind of meaning, perhaps more esoteric in nature. For example when I made the photograph above I was completely taken with it. The photo came as a surprise to me. I have a recollection of taking it but it was only after I finished processing it that I actually saw it. And upon seeing it I interpreted it, a story and feelings borne of memories emerged and so I immediately liked this picture. I liked it because it offered meaning. It meant something. To me.

And that’s the thing about meaning, it can only ever be in reference to the self. Well duh! Yes it is stating the obvious but it is the implication of this statement that I find intriguing.

In the art world, of which photography is but a small subset, artists strive to express themselves with their art. They seek to impart some sort of meaning through their œuvres. At least I imagine this to be the case for some artists if not most. Afterall, art is often said to speak all languages, a means of communicating across all cultures. Now once again, having never thoroughly studied the matter I only imagine, rather than suggest, that it is fair to say that the meaning artists imparts via their artwork is relevant to themselves and if a viewer of this artwork perceives the same meaning then it is only because the meaning is relevant to the viewer. If the meaning perceived is different than that which was intended by the artist then that is ok too because at least something was communicated even if the original meaning was lost in translation. And this leads me to the implication of meaning being only relevant to the self. Because in accepting this statement as true than the question arises (for me at least), to what is the meaning attached?

Throughout my life I have perceived a meaning in everything. Not just artwork or photographs but in all manner of things, objects and actions, feelings and emotions, even words and events. Again, I am not talking about academic meaning. For example the aroma of baking bread might take me back to where I grew up when we lived near a bakery. This gives the aroma a certain meaning to me which of course is different to the meaning of “aroma of baking bread”. So I, or more precisely, the mind attaches a meaning to the aroma of baking bread which does not belong to it. The meaning exists only in the mind, it is not an attribute of the aroma.

And this now leads to my last question, if the meanings I perceive are of the mind, does anything, including artwork, have any meaning? Does anything mean anything? Or as Fernando Pessoa so eloquently wrote via his heteronym Alberto Caeiro in his poem XXXIX:

where is it, this mystery of things?
where is it, and why doesn’t it at least
appear, and prove that it’s a mystery?
what does a river know of this, what does a tree know,
and what do I know, who is no more than they?
whenever I look at things and think
of men’s thoughts about them
I laugh like a cool brook babbling over stones.
for the only hidden meaning of things
is that they have no hidden meaning at all.
it’s stranger than strangeness itself,
stranger than the dreams of all poets
and the thoughts of all philosophers,
that things really are what they seem,
so that there’s nothing to understand.

there! that’s what my senses learned unaided:-
things have no meaning: they have being.
things are the only hidden meaning of things.

“Things have no meaning: they have being”… precisely what I was beginning to suspect. Everything just is. Simply. Nothing more. And with that my search for meaning… ends.

A portrait of self

The self-portrait is an interesting photographic concept. One with which I struggle a little. Not out of shyness or self-consciousness or anything ego-centric. My struggle lies with the definition of “self-portrait” and with it’s purpose.

I should state at this point that I regard portrait photography as the single most difficult type of photography I’ve tried my hand at. I say this because there’s a lot of emotional baggage attached to most people, baggage that makes up a persons nature, baggage that filters their perception of the world they see. There’s also strong attachment to the belief that this body-mind mechanism is who we are, that it is all we are. When making a portrait I feel the need to bring all this out. If I take someones photo I want it to be about their perceived nature or my own perception of their nature, ultimately I’d like it to be about their true nature. I don’t want it to be just about their physical appearance. The physical may well be what draws me in but I do think that it’s how well a portrait captures the person’s inner essence, that which lies beneath the outer, that gets me hooked. It is this skill that I would like to develop.

Anyway, back to the self-portrait. A self-portrait is defined as:

self-por·trait (sělf’pôr’trĭt, -trāt’, -pōr’-)
n.   A pictorial or literary portrait of oneself, created by oneself.

Ok. It’s a definition. It tells us what it is. So my self-portrait is a portrait of myself, created by myself. But since I have trouble defining my self I’m still at a loss as to what a self-portrait should be. If I can’t define where I start and where I end, of what exactly, will the portrait be? Who or what exactly, will be creating it? But I suspect those questions are unimportant to anyone but me so let’s accept that definition and explore the possible purpose of self-portraiture.

Supposedly Albrecht Dürer was the first artist to regularly do self-portraits. Cézanne painted or drew at least 60 of them. Frida Kahlo painted 55 of them, Rembrant painted, drew or etched close to a hundred and Vincent van Goth painted 25 of them, most of them in the last two years of his life. Even Andy Warhol did his fair share of them. I don’t recall reading anywhere if any of them ever defined what a self-portrait was. I don’t know if they ever so much as explained why they felt the need to do portraits of themselves. The reason of course could be simply a case of not having a model on hand and resorting to working with their own image. Considering the calibre of the afore mentioned artists I feel that the reason why may not be so simple and that the definition may be as varied as the personalities involved.

Jacob Rosenberg, in a 1948 monograph on Rembrandt, describes the artist’s self-portraits as showing “a gradual change from outward description and characterisation to the most penetrating self-analysis and self-contemplation. … Rembrandt seems to have felt that he had to know himself if he wished to penetrate the problem of man’s inner life.”

With over 90 self-portraits starting from the outset of his career in the 1620s to the year of his death in 1669, it is said that Rembrandt created “an autobiography in art that is the equal of the finest ever produced in literature even of the intimately analytical Confessions of St. Augustine.” So again (as mentioned in my previous post) we have images, paintings and drawings in this case, that tell a story, a story of one man. A story that Rembrandt may have created for his own sake, to understand his own “inner life”. That is a reason for self-portraiture that I can work with. While I cannot deny my existence I can, and do, question my perception of my existence. And a portrait of self when done with the right mind set, with what I call no-mind, that is without pre-conceived ideas, without ego, may well reveal the “inner life”, the “one” self. I say “may” because I don’t know but for me, it is worth the exploration.

Some famous portraits of self.

Self Portrait with Cropped Hair - by Frida Kahlo

Self Portrait - by Vincent van Gogh

Self-Portrait with Camouflage - by Andy Warhol

Self Portrait - by Pablo Picasso

Self-portrait - by Vincent Van Gogh

Albrecht Dürer's last self-portrait, unmistakably Christ-like.

Self-portrait - by El Lissitsky

Self-portrait - by Lucas Samaras