Art & Perception

Sunil’s post Art, life: Separate or unified? raised the issue of whether an artist should try to be an artist all of the time. I commented that doing art requires intense observation and sensitivity — which is obvious. What is less obvious is that observation coupled with sensitivity are another way of saying “emotional reactivity.” That is, an insignificant input — the curve of a leaf — can cause a disproportionately large emotional output (that looks beautiful!!!!!) which, coupled with the act of painting, allows the artist to make the brushstroke that the moment requires.

Emotional reactivity is essential for making art, but out of the art-making process, it can be annoying, disruptive, counter-productive. The soldier and the policeman are trained not to have emotional reactivity, but the artist needs to develop it, harness it. The challenge for the artist it to be able to switch it on and off at the right moments.

There are the simply structural solutions for getting out of the art mode: don’t go to the studio on off-days, turn the pictures to the wall. The psychological solutions are more subtle: don’t think about that difficult painting or series at the wrong moments.

What do you do to take a break from art? Is it easier to get into “art mode” or to get out of it?

This photo of the train station in Haarlem has always caught my attention. In trying to figure out why, I noticed that the images contains blur in three flavors: blur because of movement, in the case of the passing train; blur in the case of an area out of focus, as with the distant cityscape; blur because of a translucent surface, as with the station windows.

Each of these elements of blur contributes to the impact of the image. The passing train is captured but transformed to something beyond our reach in the still reference frame. The sense of being inside the station is heightened by both the way the windows diffuse the light, and by the blur of the exterior space. The combination intensifies the feeling of being in a particular place at a particular moment, separated from the rest of the world by distance, glass, and velocity.

All of these elements of blur were unintentional. Their joint effect I only realized months after making the image, but the insight of the power of blur is something I can compose with in the future.

Do you have an example of blur in a photo which contributes to the impact of the image?

The design of web-pages for displaying art is a matter of great practical as well as aesthetic importance. One design that I find striking, because of its boldness, is Jannie Regnerus’ web-page. This page (detail below) is minimal to the extreme. It is so unlike what one is used to in a web-page that at first it seems confusing. But it is precisely this unusual quality that makes the layout a successful frame for Regnerus’ photography. One has the feeling of having left the noisy bustle of the internet and having arrived in a quiet place.

I say the design is bold is because, by departing from expectations, Regnerus takes a risk that visitors may be confused and leave the site before they see anything. For those visitors who do look more closely, the simplicity of the layout serves the intended role of providing a quiet context for the artwork.

Is minimalism inherently good for the internet?

Is Regnerus’ site a model for other internet sites?

First posted April ‘06 [note some interesting comments there by Arthur].

The minimal approach, Regnerus’ model in particular, has influenced my thinking about website design; the Art & Perception layout reflects this. Could we use more eye-candy? My thinking is that the minimal layout allows the latest post define the site visually — ideal for an art site, as I see it.

Mark Hobson: Art-making . . . I ‘think’ about nothing when I am in the moment of picturing. . . Don’t think about it now, just picture it ‘intuitively’.

Birgit posted this from Cezanne: “…if I think while painting, if I intervene, why then everything is gone.”

Hobson and Cezanne are both essentially saying: verbal thought, stay out of the art.

The surprise to me is that highly distracting stimuli — the guys working in the café kitchen next door, the book on tape, can disturb me and leave me un-distracted at the same time. My impression from my own experience and what I have read in the comments of the previous posts is that the non-verbal artist “within” for the most part doesn’t care what kind of distracting words are passing through the mind, as long as they don’t interfere with the art-making.

Cogito ergo sum

When we ask the question, “What do you think about when making art?” the real question is: “When we say ‘you’, to whom are we referring?” They guy/gal inside with all the words thinks he or she is in charge, but the real action goes on separately despite the jabbering.

A bit spooky, no? Because, if you think about it, all that art-making doesn’t just happen. There must be a huge amount of judgement, information processing — thought in essence — without words or access to words. The only way to appreciate consciously/verbally what is going on is, as Hobson says, to ‘listen’, listen to the feelings the work evokes. Not that that’s either easy (with all that distraction) or necessary. Better to stay out of it, Cezanne seems to say.

How to make use of that unnecessary verbal thought while working?

What to think about when making art? Last week’s post brought some valuable insights. First, Jay helped to refine the question. “Depends upon where in the project you are,” he wrote. “If you’re making aesthetic and structural decisions, then you will concentrate on the task at hand.” Steve agreed that there are different stages of work, adding that he finds satisfaction “in consciously working out ‘problems’” in making art. more… »

This painting from 1999 is made with oil colors on a chalk ground on a wood panel. There are interesting aspects to this picture that make me want to take another look at it.

I like the mood that the colors and rhythms of the landscape give in contrast to the pale woman.

The rhythms of the grass and the receding landscape, the whites of the clouds, each sets up its own system. The woman in contrast has a simple rhythm of points — her nipples mirror her eyes. She is still and silent, but the landscape seems to reflect the texture of her thoughts and feelings — this is how I see it. The sharp edges and mellow forms are part of this texture.

All the oddness of the painting holds together because of its “internal coherence”, to borrow Arthur’s expression.

I think that taking a careful look at older work is important because along the way I sometimes loose site of the things I did before, perhaps because I didn’t appreciate them earlier. Have you ever “rediscovered” an older work of your own, finding something in it you never saw before?

Art can take a lot of time to make. What should one occupy one’s mind with during that time? Does an artist need to think about each brush stroke? Or does the creation of art become intuitive?

If art making becomes intuitive rather than thought-based — and to me that sounds appealing — what should become of word-based thought when one is working? Is it better to think about something else, to distract oneself with music, a book on CD?

This is something I’ve been thinking about while painting. What do you think about?