Form to no Form
The Buddhist believe that no art can be created without the
experience of experience itself, for art is the closest way to represent the
inner truth and practicing of these experiences. Yet, no one can simply begin
without the practice of self realization of experiences the self has gone
through. I heard this idea from a
close friend of mine, and it stayed with me because if three clear, sharp
words: experience, self, and truth.
If I am to say that art should aspire in the realm of experience,
self, and truth, then I have to question what these terms mean. Each
interpretation will depend on the subjective belief of the person who questions
these ideas; therefore, I encourage the thought to express itself within the
person on his or her own account. Each individual is unique because of the
experience he or she has flowed through, and his or her genetic make up that
allow these experiences to evolve. As an individual grows, other aspects of
life find their paws into the person’s experience. I refer this to one’s
environment; the environment determines the influence of the experience on the
self.
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Last night I attended a concert that asked of me one thing,
and that was to let go. Letting go is not an easy task to experience because it
demands a lot from the inner self. It asks you to stop, point blank, and awaken
your senses. The place that I went was a sort of wear house facility created in
the 1870s for Aesthetic movements to have a place to exhibit various works of
art. That is what the brochure sates. As we (I went with a friend) entered the
building, someone asked me to show our tickets and said to progress forward
into a large hall split in half by a projection screen. We were to sit on the
floor, which was covered by a few old carpets, on these black sort of lounge
chairs that rested on the floor, and were extremely comfortable, which I hoped
since it would be a 5 hour concert. In front of me would be where the eight
musicians would sit, and behind me was a stadium like seating, except nicer.
I’ve been to other classical concerts before, but never so open as this one.
Everyone huddled together, shoes off, chatting, waiting patiently for what was
about to happen in this enormous building. And just like that the eight musicians
entered and my entire self disappeared. For about 30 min, I think because I
have no idea, I was in a trance. In front of me, close enough for me to stand
up and walk a few steps was Philip Glass and Michael Reidman, and the rest of
Philip Glass Ensemble. My trance was not due to being awe struck, but simply by
letting go of my inner self to listen, and through listening became closer to
something not understandable to me, but that I could feel through the inner
self I had let go of to connect to what I was experiencing.
Passion, vulnerability, fear, happiness, joy. My emotions
trying to find their way out, but unable to because they had nowhere to go. All
was fine until this morning when I sat down, and asked myself what I would
right as I flipped through chapter 3. Nothing came. All that I experienced only
10 or so hours before rushed backed, and I think – connection.
So I referred back to Arnheim on this thought.
Before I came to the concert, I was reading Arnheim and he
brought up a few times the significance of a concept in both the artist and the
viewer. How the percept must be associated to the viewer’s conscious within
their experience, and that with out this, an artwork will be meaningless. This
is how I interpreted his idea. August Macke said, “Man expression has life in
forms. Each form of art is an expression of his inner life.” (Fineberg 49) In
this sense, man must connect to form because through a visual representation of
form he can begin to understand the work shown to him. Yet, Kindinsky took a
form that one would normally be accustomed to seeing or have some previous
reference to, and break its narrative by exploiting its recognizable shape. The
viewer has to confront not the form, but the idea of the form buried in the
unconscious of the viewer. In his own word he states:
“Skillful use of a word (according to poetic feelings) – an
internally necessary repetition of the same word twice, three times, many times
– can lead not only to the growth of the inner sound, but also bring light
still other, unrealized spiritual qualities of the word. Eventually, manifold
repetition of a word (a favorite
childhood game, later forgotten) makes it lose its external sense of the
name. in this way, even the sense of the word as an abstract indication of the
object is forgotten, and only the pure sound of the word remains. We may also,
perhaps unconsciously, hear this ‘pure’ sound at the same time as we perceive
the real, or subsequently, the abstract object. In the latter case, however,
this pure sound comes to the fore and exercises a direct influence upon the
soul.” (Finebery 62)
I purposely did not listen to Music in Twelve Parts because
I was curious to feel the sensation of what I was to experience without having
experienced it before hand by listening the piece on a cd or internet. I was
curious to see if I could transport myself without having to have a previous
experience of the sensation due to familiarity. Here I would agree, to a point,
with Arnheim that if I did have some previous association with the piece it
would have been a more powerful connection because at times I found myself
confused to what I was listening to. Yet, this was not a necessity that I
needed to have. All I needed was myself. My own experience (which I could say
is the association he is stating) and the trust to say “here, here is me, I,
your audience, am willing to take the journey you ask of me.” I can tie this
train of thought to Rothko, which happen to be the anniversary of his death
(suicide) the night of the concert, and the similar connections that Glass and
Rothko have. I am not saying that Rothko was a minimalist, but more that his
most honest works had no form. He did have you, the viewer. He did have
balance, and yes color, but that was his biggest trick on the viewer, to be
able to capture you through color, not form, and the rest he had to weal you in
just enough so you would let go and transport yourself. I am left questioning
as to whether I need percept to do this, to run away into the world the artists
wants me to feel? A world that might be closer to my own then realized by
simply letting go of my on percept.
Experience, truth, self
Can you only be true to the self once it is willing to let
go in order to have an experience? And if this is so, does form apply anymore
if the artist wishes to take you beyond the very elements he or she uses as the
medium to transport you?
Art is truth when the experience of the artist is true to
him/ herself, and that happens through experience, and that experience happens
through the practice of simply living, of being within the environment our
culture surrounds us with. It is not an excuse to say that because one wishes
the viewer to experience the raw emotion, whatever it is, can be nothing more
that. This is the problem I have with a lot of art I see. I have to battle with
deciding what of it is the truth versus the thought without the truth of the
artist. Or as Arnheim stated,
“When the contact with a full range of human experience is lost, there results
no art, but formalistic play with shapes or empty concepts.” (p. 148) He is
right.
I try to find myself disagreeing with Arnheim but in doing
so I start to understand more of what I think he is telling me. Arnheim makes
it clear that there a two concepts that the visual artist has to take into
account; that being what kind of projection will lead to what kind of percept,
and what principles operate the mechanisms to do so. The striving idea or
percept the artist is conveying has to be there and the medium the artist uses
to develop it. Without the
relationship between these two concepts, connection becomes extremely difficult
to discover.
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I feel more lost then before because I felt. I saw before me
more then musicians playing but sounds of curiosity of being, of living. To
connect in this world of ours, we have to learn how to be honest with ourselves
if we are to be honest with another self being. What is it we are searching
for? Connection is all around us but even then, to connect is foreign. I mean to
truly connect. What does each letter of that word transform itself into? I
think all of us would be able to agree on a definition and understanding of the
word connect. Take it apart – c o n n e
c t – each letter slightly loses it hold. Separate it even further – c o n n e c t - and I see letters. I am still able to put the
letters together and form the word, but it feels foreign. What I am trying to
say is that words used, pictures drawn, music created have to go beyond the definition
of the concept it prevails to us. Is has to be disembodied and re-put together,
and it has to be repeated so many times that in that very instinct, a connected
flashes pulses into an unconscious that is tender to the self, and the inner
sound of the person is left bare. I think out of all this, this is what Arnheim
might be trying to help us understanding when reading detailed chapters on each
aspect of visual perception of art. To take each concept for what it is
engrained in us, and trust the artist just enough to experience that
connection.
If so, then art is the most powerful tool man has created
for he cannot even understand his own creation
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