Can We Learn to See How Artists See?

We all dream of mastering a skill like a pro—to skate like an Olympian, sing like an Idol, or go to the hoop “like Mike.” What if we could learn to see how an artist sees? “It’s so important to move through the world with this kind of wonder,” artist Bo Bartlett says of putting on an artist’s eyes in SEE: An Art Road Trip. “It all passes so fast.” Directed by Bartlett with his wife and fellow artist Betsy Eby and filmmaker Glenn Holsten, SEE challenges and inspires us to see the world through an artist’s eyes not necessarily in hopes of making art but, more importantly, in hopes of our appreciating the beauty that rushes past us and our high-speed everyday lives. Part road trip, part art history lesson, and part existential drama, SEE at all times conveys a vision of a more aware, more visually activated life that most of us only dream of but can finally experience, if only fleetingly, through these pros’ eyes. Please come over to Picture This at Big Think to read more of "Can We Learn to See How Artists See?"

Is Lucian Freud’s Death the End of Figurative Painting?

Marching through the Met a few weeks ago, my family found ourselves suddenly in a room full of works by Francis Bacon, Frank Auerbach, and Lucian Freud. I motioned to my wife that we should shuffle through quickly to avoid troubling our 17-month-old son Jamie and 5-year-old son Alex, who just wanted to see some more of his favorite artist, Picasso. I remember thinking that, of the three, only Bacon was gone. Now, only Auerbach remains. Lucian Freud’s death a few days ago after a short illness at the age of 88 still is only sinking into the consciousness of those who think about art. Freud literally changed the face (and body) of portraiture in ways that even Bacon didn’t. Now that Freud is gone, some are asking if his end somehow marks the end of figurative painting itself. Please come over to Picture This at Big Think to read more of "Is Lucian Freud’s Death the End of Figurative Painting?"

[Image: Lucian Freud. Reflection (self portrait) (detail), 1985.]

Forwarding Address: David Livewell’s Woven Light and the Art of Andrew Wyeth

Sadly, the memorials to the art of Andrew Wyeth since his death early last year have been few. I personally find it difficult to understand the lack of response to the passing of such an important figure in American art. Wyeth’s own wish to be left alone has been respected, perhaps overrespected, by his family, adding to the deafening silence. David Livewell’s Woven Light: Poems and Photographs from Andrew Wyeth’s Pennsylvania breaks that silence through words and images that recall Wyeth’s art but also make us ponder its significance not only to him, but also to us. In his introduction, Bo Bartlett, one of the few young artists Wyeth allowed into his inner circle, writes that Woven Light “reveals the deeper layers of Andrew Wyeth’s art. These words will be a joy to those familiar with the specifics of Wyeth’s subjects and will bring a new awareness of the paintings to a broader audience.” Through these intimate poems and photographs, Livewell looks to bring this private man’s art to the public. Please come over to Picture This at Big Think to read more of "Forwarding Address."

[Image: The interior of the Kuerner Farmhouse in which Andrew Wyeth painted. This table scene inspired Wyeth’s painting Groundhog Day.]

[Many thanks to Mr. Livewell for the image above and a review copy of Woven Light: Poems and Photographs from Andrew Wyeth’s Pennsylvania]

Reenchanting

In one of those serendipitous chains of events, my friend Dave pointed me towards artist Bo Bartlett’s Spring 2007 message, which mentioned a book by Suzi Gablik called The Reenchantment of Art. Gablik’s book is from 1991, but its “sustained meditation” on restoring “to our culture its sense of aliveness, possibility and magic” remains as relevant today as ever.

Gablik sees the postmodern “endgame” position of deconstruction as backing the art world into a corner. A true avant-garde art movement cannot exist because the industrialization of culture blocks any true revolution, permitting only the illusion of change as long as the status quo remains intact. Modernism has “exalted the complete autonomy of art, and the gesture of severing bonds with society,” resulting in an atomized society of isolated individuals. “The art industry has become not only a very effective protector of the status quo,” Gablik believes, “but also an active contributor to the deforming effects of a whole cultural pathology. The mechanism doesn’t require that art do much, just reproduce the economic will-to-power of the dominator system.”

Back when I was pursuing an MA in English Literature, I felt this same frustration with deconstructive philosophies for approaching art, literature, and culture. On one hand, breaking apart old texts and finding the lost traces of other narratives than the main narrative of the “dominator system” was fascinating. Everything old could be new again. Unfortunately, the deconstructing never seemed to stop. Every time I hoped to build something anew, a new meaning, the conventional wisdom of the academy was that meaning was passé, so premodern. Call me old fashioned, but I wondered what the point of all of it was if not to have some meaning, some relevance to life right here and right now? Why ask questions and never want answers?

Gablik calls for “reconstructive postmodern practice” that implements “an aesthetics of interconnectedness, social responsibility, and ecological attunement.” At this point, she may get a little too New Age-y for some, but I think her overcorrection is necessary for the overabundance of wrongs modern society has inflicted on humanity and the ecology. Quoting Jungian psychologist Robert A. Johnson on the human need for reverence, Gablik tries to restore that sense of reverence, if not in God than in nature or perhaps even art. As someone who bows before the altar of art (believing it to be just one of the altars of God), I heartily agree.

One of the interesting artists Gablik posits as an example of “reconstructive postmodern practice” is Andy Goldsworthy. Goldsworthy goes out in nature and creates artwork with found natural objects such as twigs, leaves, icicles, etc., and then photographs them before the wind, rain, sun, etc., reclaim them. (A beautiful arrangement by Goldsworthy of found leaves is above.)

“Although it may seem as if the individual in today’s world has little power,” Gablik finally offers, “the truth is that only we have the power to transform our situation: there is no one else” [emphasis in original]. And with that statement, on art and on so much else, I also heartily agree.

[BTW, there is a great documentary on Andy Goldsworthy titled Rivers and Tides that shows his beautiful, ephemeral art in action.]