December 18, 2016
You bet I was pumped, the Mona Lisa is the most famous painting on Earth. I practically skated down the hallways of La Lourve, ignoring millions of dollars of art along the way to glimpse this fabled masterpiece. And she looked lovely – if you were one of the lucky ones at the front of the scrum, the rest of us schmoes elbowed each other for air space, raising our cellphones or cameras as high as our arms and toes would allow. “It’s a fake, you idiots,” I yelled to those at the front, “the original has been stolen so often they hang a repro.” They pretended not to hear me, or perhaps I did not say it out loud. Regardless, they continued to click away. Walking slowly back I took my time contemplating the B-pictures I had rushed past in my haste toward the star attraction. Each painting was more brilliant than the next, some by artists I knew nothing about. The Mona Lisa is the most expensive painting in the world, it is also the most Clipart’d, Snapchat’d, Facebook “Liked” and Youtube-shared painting in the world, but is it the best? Is it even Leonardo Da Vinci’s best? It made me question; is popularity ever a measure of quality?
In this age of instant celebrity it should be obvious that popularity can be bought and sold in the time it takes to post a Tweet. Haven’t seen the latest in the Star Wars franchise yet? What’s wrong with you, it is so cleverly marketed that everyone you know has, so what are you waiting for? Popularity is now so cheap they are calling this the “post-fact era,” meaning you can make up any absurd fiction and if any people click your link then it is the truth. Just as Mary Poppins once predicted, “If you sing it loud enough you’ll always sound precocious.”
Despite all this obviousness, in my daily life I still struggle to divorce popularity from quality. Its not my fault, humans are hard wired for approval and affirmation, it is oxygen for the ego. How I salivate upon seeing the “like” stars on my blog posts. Somehow, more stars substitutes for better writing in some deep, dark recess of my brain. Yet the posts I have struggled with the most to write got very few, if any, ‘likes’, though strangely those were the posts which brought for me the most clarity on their respective topics. Popularity is intoxicating, it has a knack for waylaying wisdom, making me forget the real purpose for writing this blog; this blog is about sorting out the muddle of ideas in my head. If my musings occasionally help others to do the same, bonus.
Presently I am trying to maintain that same clarity about a modest showing of my art, a series of oils at a local art supply store. Artist friends from my drawing sessions took the time to go view the pieces, then showered me with praise. I admit, their generosity was intoxicating, a psychological boost up the wazoo, but I must remain guarded. They are more accomplished artists than I am, I see the evidence weekly in their work. I will not let their well meaning flattery carry me away from looking for flaws in my technique. There is no “best”, there is only striving for better. One benefit of being raised in a household where praise was meagre is that you learn to self-evalute very early on in life. You give more weight to your own goals and strive to please your inner ideals rather than feed off compliments from others. I wonder, could clarity of purpose be the definition of humility? Does being humble mean you don’t confuse your own popularity for quality?
January 14, 2014
My ten-year-old grand-nephew was gifted a sketchpad and pencils. He was so perplexed about what to do with them that I sat him down and gave him a few pointers on the fundamentals of drawing. Is art even still taught in schools? Perhaps to his generation it is about as useful as penmanship or the art of letter-writing. Doesn’t every kid have a cellphone with which to snap pictures of anything remotely interesting (thereafter to be Instagramed). So why should they bother mastering the skill of drawing or painting?
In my day (yes, I know I sound like an old fogey) we learned to draw before we could write. It taught us to hold the pencil correctly, to discovers shapes and curves, all of which I think made reading and writing that much easier. As soon as that first pencil was placed in my hand I fell in love with drawing. It was a way of making sense of the chaos of colors and shapes in a world which was still new to me. It is a hobby I have since cherished throughout my lifetime and as I matured, it has gifted to me new skills at each step of the way.
In my youth I sat through many life drawing classes, and yes, we drew nude models. “Is it very sexy to draw someone naked?” was a question I used to get asked repeatedly. “No,” I’d say. “We are taught to see shapes, textures, tones. We don’t have time to think of sex.” People rarely believed me. But it is true. Life drawing is training ourselves to deconstruct what we see. It is a skill that stays with you outside the life drawing workshop. Sexy magazine covers and advertising cease to hold sway in our minds. We learned not just to see, but to observe critically.
Whenever I travel I like to spend time in art museums. I am always amused by the young who do not know the art of observation. In Paris there is the Musee de l’ Orangerie which houses wall panels painted by Claude Monet of his garden at Givenry. The panels are curved such that if you sit in the correct spot you are as though transported into the garden itself. As I was sitting, a young tourist walked into the room with that typically bored stance of a put-upon teenager. Camera in hand, she snapped about a dozen images in the thirty seconds between her entrance and exit from the room. She had not been taught to put herself in the skin of the artist who painted the Les Nympheas. She did not have the faculty to experience, she could not share his feelings and his moods as he was composing this masterpiece. She is not alone in this; the camera serves to prevent tourists from observing or experiencing the very places and people they have come to see.
I am tempted to remind tourists that people literally died to preserve these art treasures. During the Second World War, one of many atrocities the Germans committed was the plunder of European art. During the 900-day Siege of Leningrad, or St Petersburg as it is now known, the German army surrounded the city for nearly three years and yet the residents put up a noble fight. They were cut off from all food supplies and electricity, yet they were determined the Germans should not get their hands on the art housed at the Hermitage Museum. The curators removed the canvases from their frames and hid the art in between walls in local homes or buried them in farmers’ fields. The curators hoped that when the city did inevitably fall, these works might be spared. They survived doing this work inside the museum by eating the glue that had held the canvases to their frames. The same happened in Paris. The French too risked their lives to save their treasures because to them it was much more than beautiful pictures they were saving, it was the very soul of Europe.
Of course the billions of digital images we now take so frivolously are destined for that invisible delete bin in cyberspace. We may have a laugh taking a selfie on the cellphone, but the masters delved deep into themselves to retrieve the images they painted. Learning to draw and paint teaches you the path to the unconscious mind. Drawing and painting requires the simultaneous consideration of so many skills (dexterity, tonal understanding, color, perspective, mood and atmosphere) that waking consciousness is not enough. It can only give attention to one thing at a time. However, the sub-conscious is where the fruits of practice and habit reside. The sub-conscious can juggle many things if the conscious has given attention to them in the past. The more you practice art, the better you understand the sub-conscious. So if anyone wants to seriously change her habits, the good and the ugly, she must work at them in the sub-conscious level. (No, Virginia, New Year’s resolutions do not work).
Of course no spiritual introspection is ever possible without understanding these deeper levels. That may be why all religions use art so freely.
I find myself now rediscovering my love for painting. This time round I am not so much concerned with the technique, but art as language. The unconscious mind speaks to itself in images, as anyone who has given attention to dreams can attest. I still love words but I also recognize that words are specific to a time and place, whereas art is universal. Art speaks the language of the collective sub-conscious, the underlying unity of all humanity.
I was very pleased to hear that my grand-nephew has now began drawing lessons after school. He asked his father (my nephew) if he could swap hockey practice for art in the New Year. If I played any small part in that then that is my gift to him.