Nothing left undone

 

Occasionally I get asked what draws me to photography and I give my usual answer: it’s fun and depending on who is doing the asking I might add that it offers me a means to look inward while looking outward. This blog’s purpose, if it’s had one at all, has been in part to explore these two aspects of photography, fun and introspection (mostly the introspection part).

Self-knowledge through introspection is not particularly important to me though it may well have been once upon a time. These days I see it more as something that is useful, interesting and, well, fun. Being able to combine this with photography has simply been a bonus and I must say that the two complement each other nicely. The fun part of photography isn’t hard to explain or understand but how it helps me learn something about myself is not always apparent. Perhaps because it is not simply that photography helps me in self-understanding so much as it helps me perceive the relationship between self and life.

There is no denying that I have all too often been caught up in this little drama I call my life. It’s a compelling story to be sure even if it’s the epitome of mediocrity as far as life stories go but the reality is that for the vast majority of it my life is hardly what one would describe as dramatic. And yet all too often, I have, with the encouragement of the voices in my head, gotten myself ensnared in the perceived drama, riding the emotional roller-coaster as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. And yet, to me, it’s always been a ride that has held a hint of insanity.

Fortunately the older I get the less often I find myself on the roller-coaster. Now it could be a coming-of-age thing or a case of I’ve-seen-it-all-before but without wanting to sound esoteric I cannot help feeling that photography, or the practice of it, has played a part in getting me off the turbulent ride.

Photography has had an undeniable impact on how I view life. A craft that depends so much on seeing — regardless of what senses you use to see — has inevitably changed my perception of the world around me. If you practice a craft long enough it seems unavoidable that some of the lessons will spill over into everyday life. Take composition for example. Composing a scene within a frame is one of the most important aspect of making a photograph (along with getting the exposure right though these days the technology takes care of that most of the time). Composition requires moving around, left, right, up, down, forward, back, seeing the theme from all angles. It needs correct alignment of the subject matter and correct framing, understanding the relationships between all the elements including empty space and whatever elements are kept outside of the frame. It needs a decision to go with or to disregard the rules of composition, knowing that the rules, the beliefs one might say, are fabrications that can be held onto or ignored. In my early days of photography I did all these things, consciously, but now there is no thinking about it. It just happens. When a photo comes my way the voices in my head hush up, thoughts stop momentarily, and there is an insight… a wordless… insight. It’s wordless because the insight comes through in the doing and the seeing not in the thinking and the talking.

When composing a photograph, there arises an awareness of the bigger picture, a realisation that what I am seeing within the frame is but a minuscule fragment of something much too large for the feeble mind to grasp and so the mind stops. In the quietness of composing a photograph I grasp, at some level, my connection to the whole and rather than being overwhelmed with a feeling of insignificance, I rest in blissful silence and emptiness, I rest in doing and seeing. No thoughts, no words.

And so I have found it useful to apply this in life. There is little (if anything) in life that falls under my control. I say this matter-of-factly and not in a defeated or submissive way. It’s just how I see it even if it appears otherwise. I can make plans full of good intentions, I can have projects, I can choose a career path, I can set goals, I can even believe that these plans, these choices, these goals, are mine and not products of biases, filters and memories brought on by life itself but there is no getting away from the fact that life can throw a curve ball at any time and often does. But that curve ball is not separate from this life I call my own. I see it as a fragment of the larger picture and with the right composition I understand how it fits in the whole. Shit happens, joy happens, whatever comes, it will pass. Like a tide. I work through it, I’m grateful for it, I might even make a photograph of it, but I don’t dwell on the thought of it.

No need for the roller-coaster ride.

I just rest in the doing and nothing is left undone.

~§~

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” – Shakespeare from Hamlet (Act 2, Scene 2)

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.

Between sea and sky

On occasion an image comes along that is steeped in meaning and memories; the meaning and the memories intertwined like a DNA double helix. There is the memories of when the image was made, the memories of post-processing and the memories of memories. Endless waves of thoughts breaking on the shore of my consciousness.

When this particular image first appeared I was sitting on the beach alone, the impending storm keeping people away. I was looking at this scene without a thought, in perfect contentment. The mind, for whatever reason, was not trying to tell me how the light could be better or that a windsurfer in the foreground would make a great focal point or that lightning on the horizon would improve the dynamics. The mind was quiet and contentment reigned allowing the scene to be seen and accepted as it truly was. Had I watched this scene thinking how beautifully divine it looked and how happy it made me feel then I would simply have been seeing the scene from within my own frame of reference with all its biases and prejudices. Instead, for a moment, there was freedom from the all-engulfing grasp of the mind and in the simple quietude of being there was liberation. But this can’t be noticed or appreciated while in this state of apparent perfection. It may be worth noting that this “perfection” can only be realised or appreciated within the grasp of the all-engulfing mind.

Anyway, back to the photograph. A simple scene, a calm sea beneath a dramatic sky. A single bird flying to somewhere or nowhere. And between the sea and the sky lies the source of both. To explain this I need to share the memories this scene evoked but I offer no guarantee that any of it will make much sense.

Many years ago my Kung Fu teacher suggested I learn Tai Chi Chuan. His reason was simple; he thought my technique was good but my Chi, my energy flow, was blocked. Tai Chi, he claimed, would help me unblock it. At the time I had little idea what he was talking about. I got the gist of this concept he referred to as Chi but I had no idea where this Chi was to be found, or for that matter, how I was blocking it. When I questioned my teacher he simply said, “You think yourself to be the source of Chi but you are not and so, you get tired and weak over time.” As if to clarify his comment but only adding to my confusion, he added, “You see yourself as some fighter that exists in your mind and so you fail to be the fighter that you really are.”

In time it became clear that his first comment was a clue as to where Chi could be found and the second was a hint as to how I was blocking it. Unfortunately it took some years for me to even reach a point where I could begin to understand either comment. The understanding eventually came from a combination of practising Tai Chi and photography. A weird combination perhaps but I find that every art form has a natural connection to every other art form which I exploit to enrich my creativity and my understanding of life. Before I get to the photography side of the equation I need to explain a few things about Tai Chi Chuan. I will point out that what follows is my view and may not always follow the more general consensus about this art.

Tai Chi Chuan is a martial-art often associated with Taoism. It is often regarded as a form of exercise, usually for the elderly and rarely if ever, thought of as a fighting art. The reason for this might be that Tai Chi is a defensive rather than aggressive form of fighting. The fact that only old people are ever seen doing it probably doesn’t help either. Tai Chi is about yielding, softness, slowness, balance and suppleness, it’s about breath and it’s about philosophy. Some of these principles are found in the Tao Te Ching

Yield and overcome;
Bend and be straight.

– Tao Te Ching (22)

The hard and strong will fall.
The soft and weak will overcome.

– Tao Te Ching (76)

And in the writings of Chuan Tzu

The pure man draws breaths from the depths of his heels, the multitude only from their throats.

–Talisman of the Jade Lady

My teacher convinced me to do Tai Chi by telling me that it was the ultimate art of self-defence. And it is but it is also about understanding the nature of self and the nature of life. The practised moves that are familiar to many are not just practical means of defence but they are also a means of creating inner fluidity which in turns allows Chi to flow unhindered. Chi as I understand it is energy, a life force and often when people talk about Chi they talk about all the benefits one can gain once one learns to harness this powerful force. I have heard people sell Tai Chi as a method of building personal Chi or of controlling Chi, I even read an advert promising weight loss solely through the harnessing of Chi but I would suggest that this may not be the best way to look at this concept of Chi. Making it personal may be a good way to sell a concept but it’s been my experience that making anything personal is a recipe for suffering.

When I obsessed with the mental image of what I thought a Kung Fu fighter should be I was making it personal. This mental map of how I wanted to be was keeping me from being what I truly was. I saw Chi as the means of being this mental image and I wanted to make it mine. Chi, however, is not ours to own, it cannot be controlled or harnessed, it cannot be made to bend to our will.

I went through a similar experience with photography. As I became more interested in Art I often came across artists who had me in sheer awe of their creative prowess. I marvelled at their ability to manifest such beautiful works and wondered if I would ever be able to produce works of equal worth. I created a mental image of how I wanted to make photographs and how my photographs would look. Once again I was making it personal and as I’ve already mentioned this only leads to suffering. In this case I would get depressed or angry when my efforts failed to produce results that matched the mental images I had created. Where Tai Chi was concerned I felt, foolish and embarrassed every time I failed to live up to the image of the martial artist I imagined.

One day I attended a Kung Fu/Tai Chi camp which happened to be on the coast. While practising moves on the beach the Sifu came up to me and another student and pointing out to sea asked us what we saw. “The sea,” I said. “The sky,” the other student offered. “What else?” asked the Sifu. We weren’t sure what to say so we stayed silent. “What do you see between the sea and the sky?” he questioned. “Nothing,” said the other student and I nodded in agreement. “Close enough,” he smiled. “Between the sea and the sky is emptiness which is the source of both. It is the source of all things and all things eventually return to it. Including Chi. Stop thinking that you create Chi and let Chi flow from emptiness, through you and back to emptiness. Just remember that its source is also your source.” He went on to explain that we should let go of whatever mental image we had of ourselves and simply be who we’re meant to be.

Eventually it occurred to me to apply this to my photography. I noticed how I spent much of my time forcing a mental image into reality, an image I had made personal which never had a chance to ever be since it wasn’t me, it was just a construct in the mind. But being set in my way, being hard and unyielding made it a struggle to create anything I would ever be happy with. Once I noticed this pattern I made an effort to soften my approach, to yield to the creative energy that seeks us out so that it can express the true beauty of life. Like Chi, I couldn’t force creativity, I couldn’t create it, I couldn’t harness it or store it up. I was trying to make it mine, to make it personal and it was making me miserable. But then I started to understand that like Chi, creative energy does not ever run out, it’s not limited and it’s not something I should be looking for, it looks for me. It looks for each of us and it comes gently and surely, the way the morning comes, each and every day. I can spend my time speculating on the quality of my photography or I can ask how my photography is changing me. I can make it personal or I can open myself up to emptiness and be filled with creativity. I can seek to make photographs to gain recognition or I can simply recognise the creative wonder that is all around me.

Within the simple quietude of being there is liberation. But this state is only realised or appreciated within the grasp of the all-engulfing mind. As Takuin once said, liberation has no memory.

And therein lies a lesson. Liberation, nirvana, enlightenment, heaven, whatever we call the conceptual state sought by so many, that is not the goal. There may not even be a goal, life is life whether I appreciate it or reject it, nothing to get right, nothing to get wrong, nothing to get, except perhaps the simple appreciation of life itself. This simple photograph reminds me of this.

The fine art of appreciation – Part 2

Part one on the fine art of appreciation.

~§~

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.

~§~

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?

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.

No yesterday, no tomorrow, no today

As an amateur photographer who has much to learn about the technicalities of photography but little desire to do so, I can offer little on the topic of photography. As for the enquiry into the nature of self it is quite apparent that the answer cannot lie in mind or in words, which, as I’ve tried to point out on a few occasions, makes this blog quite useless.

I’ve added a new page on the right hand side which I’ve called “Seeing beyond appearance and emptiness“. It is a copy of the HSIN HSIN MING – Verses on the Faith Mind by The 3rd Zen Patriarch, Sengstau. It has nothing to do with photography but it points to that which may help to “know thyself“, as suggested by a Greek sage in the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo in Delphi and perhaps in turn, answer the question asked in the first post of this blog.

All the best…

The fullness of emptiness

I wasn’t sure how to approach this subject until I was reminded of a quote by the English author Aldous Huxley,

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

This particular quote is an incisive and penetrating pointer to truth. In the realm of photography I could substitute ‘space’ for ‘silence’ and ‘photographs’ or ‘visual arts’ for ‘music’ and still be pointing in the same direction.

Granted, not just any photograph or visual art would do but there have been a number of images which for me, have expressed the inexpressible.

Before I get into the images in question it may be worthwhile to explain what I understand to be the inexpressible though for obvious reasons this is not a straight-forward undertaking. It is likely that my conceptualisation will not make much sense and in all certainty it will fall short of the mark though I suspect anyone who either through visual arts or music has had a taste of what Huxley was referring to will have no need for my poor attempt at doing the impossible.

The inexpressible is that which is right here right now. That onto which all things appear. That which never was, never will be but eternally is. That which is so obvious it is often overlooked. That from which awareness seems to arise and into which awareness seems to return. The inexpressible is not something you know when you hear it or see it because it is the actual knowing, the actual hearing, the actual seeing. And this may raise a question: what is my relationship to that which is inexpressible?

I cannot say “I am not” without begging the response, “Then who said that?”. I cannot deny that I exist but this sense that I am, is it not simply identification with sensations and perceptions? After all, isn’t everything I know based on sensations and perceptions. The knowledge that I exist is dependent on senses and percepts but the presence of senses is an abstraction since I have no direct experience of these senses. It is simply knowledge that comes to me in the form of thoughts or beliefs. I don’t know anything, I only think I do. Thoughts come about simply to explain the input. And yet here I am, hearing, feeling, seeing, sensations flowing ceaselessly conceptualised by mind so that I may make sense of them. And even the thoughts are nothing more than sensations. They come to “me”, that which I perceive myself to be but what is actually aware of this cosmic dance of senses? I do not see the seeing or hear the hearing. That which is inexpressible is the hearing and the seeing. It is the actual being and all things, including the sensation of “me”, appear on it and are of it. The inexpressible conceals itself by being just that… inexpressible, nameless… like the Tao. So the world and the person that I take myself to be is nothing more than a story created by mind within the inexpressible. A dream no less. And if I may stretch your tolerance for my mystical musings, I will add that these sensations and perceptions have no duration or depth, they all appear right here, right now.

When I “see” a beach and make an image of it, the beach, the photograph of the beach and the thought of the beach all register on that which is inexpressible. The appearances are made of that inexpressible consciousness in which they appear. The fullness of emptiness. The play of Lila.

The photographs below are but a small sample of images which for me, express the inexpressible. Some will be familiar, others less so. How and why these particular images and not others is not important. In any case I could not put it into words other than to repeat what I have already written which was inadequate to start with. The Tao is forever undefined (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 32, Lao Tzu)… as are my reasons.

The sea, the boat and the black desk Sihanoukville, 2006 by Ciro Totku

City of Shadows - Alexi Titakenko

“The Kiss by the Hôtel de Ville,” taken in Paris in 1950. (Photo: Robert Doisneau)

Behind Saint Lazare Station - Paris France, 1932 by Henri Cartier-Bresson

Wall, Santa Fe, New Mexico 1966, Minor White

"We live our field of vision. We don't see the space of the world" by Osvaldo Zoom

And then there are some of my own images…

Some moments last an eternity

The Bay was One with the Sky

Sunset in a rear-view mirror

Have you ever noticed the way opposites in nature seem to yield to each other without effort, without conflict. Day and night, high tide and low tide, winter and summer. There is no regret on the part of one or gloating from the other. No resistance, no forcing. It simply happens. Taoists have an expression for this which they call 無爲, wúwéi. This is sometimes translated as “natural action” in the way that our planet spins on its axis giving us our sunsets and sunrises or in the way a tree grows or a cloud releases rain. The planet, the tree, the cloud all do what they do but without actually doing.

A more usual translation of wúwéi is “non-action” or “without action”. The extended term wéiwúwéi is also often used and translates to “action without action” or “effortless doing”, a paradox to be sure but one I am especially interested in. For many years I practiced Tong Long (praying mantis kung-fu) and Tai-Chi. I can’t speak for other martial arts but in both of these the concept of wúwéi is clearly evident, well, depending on your teacher perhaps. The true art in both these arts was achieved when fighting took no effort, when it was done with no-mind and when it was done with no ego, no wish to appear stronger than your opponent, no desire to be the best, no desire to win and no fear of losing. No emotions. Effortless fighting meant that you could block your opponent before you could even think about it and furthermore you could fight without feeling pain or even harm your opponent. I can safely say that I never achieved such a state while practicing either form of martial arts. I must say though, that such a state is not some fanciful myth or something that only happens in movies. People achieve this state in all walks of life. I’ve met a number of runners who talk about getting into a zone where there is no effort being expended but they only know that they have entered such a state in hindsight, after the fact. It happens to martial artists, athletes, swimmers and even photographers.

The concept of wúwéi is often misunderstood though. Some tend to think that “non-action” is akin to apathy, doing nothing, being lazy but this is not what wúwéi is about. It is more about acting according to one’s true nature. Whatever that might be. It’s about being perfectly in tune with one’s environment. About doing exactly what is needed, no more no less. Acting without any mental noise, without question, without judgement, without guilt, without emotions. In photography it’s also about seeing beyond seeing.

The photograph above was taken while I was sitting in my car waiting for my son to finish an acting class. As I was sitting there I found myself subconsciously reaching for my camera which was in my bag. I took off the lens cap, turned it on, checked the settings and found myself pointing it at the scene depicted in the image (through the windscreen) just in time to catch the setting sun hit the rear-view mirror of the parked car. The moment lasted seconds and had I only reached for my camera after seeing the sun hit the mirror, I would have missed it.

Now I admit this is not a masterpiece or an example of exquisite art but it’s an image that I like a lot and I like it because of the way it happened to come into existence. It came about through what I like to call wúwéi photography. Effortless photography. The beauty of wúwéi is that anything “done” this way will always yield perfect results. “Perfect by whose standard?” you may ask. Well probably not by our ego’s standard. I was not involved mentally in the actual process of making the image. It was only after the fact that the “I” that I take myself to be took ownership and said “I took this” followed some time later by some critical assessment on technical and aesthetic merit of the image. But that’s not the point of it. That is simply the ego doing its job. The point of effortless creativity, of wúwéi is to create without motive or striving. There is no particular goal in mind, you’re not shooting to make a sale or impress people or get your image into a gallery. And so perhaps the standard by which a result can be deemed perfect is simply that it was done with no ulterior motive other than for the joy of it. Or as Brett Weston once observed:

When I photograph, I don’t have anything in mind except the photograph. I don’t think in terms of magazines, books, or promotions. I photograph for the love and excitement.

So how does one shoot in this state? What techniques, what process, what method can one follow to shoot effortlessly, to shoot for “the love and excitement” of photography?

Superiors must adopt inaction and make the world work for them; inferiors must adopt action and work for the world. – Chuang-tzu

As far as I know there is no text that tells you the “how-to” for wúwéi. Laozi, Lie Yulou, Chuang-tzu and various other Taoist authors offer no suggestions. If you do come across any advice that suggests some particular step-by-step method to get you there I would suggest that the person making the suggestions has not fully grasped the concept of wúwéi. I could be wrong but the simple notion that wúwéi implies no conscious effort points to the likelihood that wúwéi is not achieved by conscious choice or effort. Any conscious effort to act in such a manner would be in contradiction to what was being sought. However having said this I do see a link with conscious effort leading at some point to unconscious creativity. For example, with photography, many years of learning and studying the art, getting to understand one’s camera, the technicalities of f-stops, focal lengths and lenses, the nuances of light, contrast and balance, all of this after much trial and error would quite likely allow one to be open to wúwéi. There’s no guarantee but it stands to reason that a person with years of learning and practice would enter a state of effortless creativity more easily than someone who has no idea how to work a camera. Maybe. I don’t know. Of course not everyone refers to this as wúwéi. Some photographers have referred to it in more generic terms.

I never look for a photograph. The photograph finds me an says “I’m here!” and I say, “Yes I see you, I hear you.” – Ruth Bernhard

Throughout my life I’ve never pursued anything. I just let things pursue me… they just show up… This is the way I’ve led my life, not just in photography, but in life. – Manuel Alvarez Bravo

I’m not responsible for my photographs. Photography is not documentary, but intuition, a poetic experience. It’s drowning yourself, dissolving yourself, and then sniff, sniff, sniff – being sensitive to coincidence. You can’t go looking for it; you can’t want it, or you wont get it. First you must lose your self. Then it happens.  – Henri Cartier-Bresson – September/October 1997, American Photo, Page: 96

I will finish with an excerpt from The Tao of Photography: Seeing Beyond Seeing:

Wu-wei should certainly not be construed as indolence; on the contrary, it is a very effective, fluent way to get things done. To act in accord with the principle of wu-wei, one must remain in a state of receptivity – not passive or torpid but relaxed and alert, continuously attuned to the ceaseless transformations of life. This state of inward and outward harmonization with the flow of life allows both the sage and the creative photographer to act naturally and spontaneously.