IN RETROSPECT

In completion of Visual Studies 280 with Tony Dubovsky, I have learned about art in a myriad of new forms.  We were often confronted with the questions: what is art? is this considered art?  what makes this a piece of art? etc.

Art has been found to be an extremely personal medium in this class; one that allows us to express who we are, what we are doing, and where we are going in life.  Art itself is a journey that we pursue in the larger journey of life.

Art is in all things, if only we look closely enough.  Upon completion of this microscopic journey, we have found pieces of ourselves in the art we and our classmates have created.  It was truly a visual study of the self by finding connections between words and images and their multiple meanings to multiple people.  I think what I learned is there is no one way to go about our personal journeys nor to make art.  Everyone can pursue it and create it.  Our own art has a particular meaning to us, but it also has a multitude of meanings to different people that view it.

Upon completion of this small journey in visual studies, I also discovered how much I love to make connections between word and image; the artistic capacity that both a word and an image have, particularly when combined together.

That's all for now, but I will continue to practice my own creative visual studies through my journey of life.

Thanks Tony and classmates for an enlightening semester.

BEHOLD

ink and watercolor on watercolor paper

The word behold is an archaic term, meaning "to see or observe (a thing or person, especially a remarkable or impressive one)."  I think of behold as similar to a previous word, revere, in the sense that one reveres something through the act of looking with depth.  The first thing that came to mind when give the word behold, was the phrase "beauty in the eye of the beholder" which springs from a statement made by Plato, "Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder."

The perception of beauty is not objective but rather subjective.  Each and every person has a different opinion of what constitutes beauty.  Another quote in relation to this idea comes from Henry David Thoreau, who states "It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."  Essentially, each of us can look at the same object, but only some of us will see it's beauty, or only some of us will find particular aspects of the object or place beautiful.

The choice is completely ours to behold beauty in our life.  Part of taking a journey is saying "yes" to finding beauty in all that you see.  Many would argue that we live in harsh world.  But choosing to find beauty through suffering, pain, and all of our experiences, is choosing to live a life full of rich complexity and meaning.  When we choose to behold all the beauty before us, we are choosing to live a life that is beautiful in itself.  We are choosing to be appreciative, positive rather than negative, and to in turn create a positive impact on our personal worlds.  Choosing to take time to behold and appreciate the beauty in our lives is essential to truly experience and enjoy our personal journeys; I choose to behold the beauty in my life, to appreciate it, and to create it in hopes of fulfilling my own journey.

TRUST (REVERE)

digital photograph, double exposure (Nikon D3000)

watercolor on watercolor paper

To trust is defined as "to believe in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of," or "to have faith or confidence in (something or someone)."  To revere is defined as "to feel deep respect or admiration for something," and is synonymous with "to honor."  When put together, I think of trusting as a way of revering someone by having the utmost faith in this person to carry out a particular deed.  We entrust others with our feelings, our hearts, and our thoughts, and how they treat us these things are crucial as to how we see the person and how important they are to us.  Trust is the foundation of any relationship, whether it be friendship, family, or romantic love.  Thus, trusting someone allows us to grow in reverence for others.

What is often forgotten, however, is that we must first trust in ourselves and revere our personal being before we may trust and revere others.  Personal flaws can often keep us from recognizing our beauty and our importance.  Often, we throw much of our decisions to the wind, relying almost exclusively on fate to guide us.  But we forget that there is a crucial choice as to who and what we choose to trust in.  When we choose to trust our intuition and our inner being, we learn to revere our own inner beauty and light, which in turn shines from within, without.  Learning to love ourselves is a huge step on the way to trusting where our feet are leading us.  This takes time.  We must come to a deep respect of and honor ourselves in order to proceed in the right directions and to live a meaningful life; one where our own person is just as meaningful as other persons, so that we may recognize the worth of ourselves and of others.  We cannot forget that we, as individuals, are sacred.  We must trust the timing of our lives, but revere who we are and the choices that we make in this life.

An excerpt from E.E. Cumming's poem, "Dive for Dreams," serves as inspiration:

trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)
honor the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at the wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for good likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
in spite of everything
which breaths and moves, since Doom
(with white longest hands
neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
-before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.

ANCHOR (SEARCH)

watercolor on watercolor paper

To anchor is defined as "to secure firmly in position," "to provide with a firm basis or foundation," or, more specifically, "to moor a ship to the sea bottom."  To search means "to try to find something by looking or otherwise seeking carefully and thoroughly," or "to examine thoroughly in order to find something or someone."

When given the word anchor, of course, the first thing that sprang to mind was the physical word anchor, which is a noun, describing a heavy piece of metal capable of holding ships in one place, keeping them from drifting. A powerful word.  But the verb to anchor is equally powerful.  When a person is anchored, one is firmly stationed in a physical place or figurative situation; one can be said to have solid ground under his or her feet.  When combined with the verb search, I thought of the desire to search for answers while in a certain situation that seems permanent.  Along with this came the word roots.  Roots of trees and vegetation essentially anchor plants to the ground, keeping them firmly rooted to a spot.  Often, we may feel like trees.  Are minds, hearts, and even our physical bodies can seem to be anchored to a certain place.  We feel more at home in some places than others, with some people more than others.  When we are searching for answers, our personal roots anchor us to the ground, and we can often find the answers that we seek merely by being who we are and remembering how we got there.

"All things must come to the soul from its roots, from where it is planted."
Saint Teresa of Avila

MEND (RENEW)

watercolor, ink, and thread on watercolor paper

clay and Kalanchoe sp.

To mend means "to repair something that is broken or damaged," "to heal or cure," or "to free from faults or defects."  To renew means "to make something new, fresh, or strong again."  When put together, I think of mending and renewing as fixing or healing something to make it whole again, in order to make it better, often diminishing faults or pain.  We do this in our own ways, for our own reasons, however foolish or temporary.  Mending and renewing hold a special place in my heart.

There is almost always something about ourselves that we are not happy with.  Something we wish we could fix, make better, improve.  This could be something physical, like our complexion or our noses.  Something mental like our thoughts about our bodies or others' bodies.  Something spiritual like the way we wear our hearts on sleeves every time we fall for someone.  We learn to mend our faults in any way we can to make ourselves feel better.  We put makeup on our faces, we cover our scars.  We mend broken hearts by sewing them back together again, stitch by painful stitch.  For me, my weakness is found in my ears; growing up with a hearing disability has made me question my worth my whole life.  I have worn machines in my ears since age eight and have never felt natural, have never felt 100% whole.  I have covered these machines with my hair time and again, to hide what I feel is ugly.  But I have grown to learn to live with my personal "fault" and have fixed it in the ways that I have know how.  I have mended and renewed my image of my ears into something somewhat beautiful.  When they start to feel ugly or I start to feel ashamed about them, I simply imagine one of my favorite things - beautiful flowers - sprouting out of them instead of my hearing aids, and all is well again.

In the healing words of Kurt Vonnegut:

“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.” 

BRIDGE

To bridge is defined as "a structure carrying a road, path, railroad, or canal across a river, ravine, railroad, or other obstacle," or "something that is intended to reconcile or form a connection between to things."  Although bridge as a noun is a physical piece of civic engineering, when I hear the word bridge, I think of it as an act of bridging or connecting and closing a gap between two things and thus connecting or joining them together.

Bridging, either physically or metaphorically, is an act of bringing ideas, things, places, and people together.  Without bridges, we wouldn't be able to get to the other side of many places or things.  Building bridges between ourselves and other people are what allow us to create long-lasting, fulfilling relationships.  The figure of speech "burn(ing) the bridge" has come to mean the act of cutting off all ties to someone or something, often completely ending a relationship.  We often must make choices whether to build or burn a bridge, to cross them or to leave them uncrossed, with people we care about in our lives; these personal bridges either grow us or stifle us.  These bridges may be very delicate unlike their literal steel-framed brethren and can topple at the softest breech, like petals.

A poem came to mind by Shel Silverstein, "This Bridge."

This bridge will only take you halfway there
To those mysterious lands you long to see:
Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fairs
And moonlit woods where unicorns run free.
So come and walk awhile with me and share
The twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known.
But this bridge will only take you halfway there--
The last few steps you'll have to take alone.

SHARE

pencil and watercolor on watercolor paper

To share is often defined as "to have or give a portion of something to another or others."  Synonyms include to split, to divide, to ration, to give.  When I think of share, the latter synonym, give, comes to mind.  For me, to share means to give parts of what is yours to another person, and they in turn give you parts of what is theirs to share with you.  Often, these parts can be things that we really love and cherish; things that are meaningful and show that you care for that person through the act of sharing.

Sharing can often result in giving parts of yourself that are very meaningful.  Often these things are a large part of who you are as a person, and the way in which you share them can illustrate the kind of person that you are.  Those things which you share are often parts of yourself that you have cultivated and essentially have grown a surplus of, which are free to be given to others (figuratively and literally).  Milk and honey have long been considered luxuries and literary symbols (i.e.- the Bible), making them very meaningful gifts when shared as well as beautiful when paired.  Sharing something beautiful, meaningful, and symbolic often makes sharing in itself a type of ritual or sacred act between two or more people.  Sharing can be an act of love, an act of kindness, an act of forgiveness.  Thus, sharing, brings people together by erasing the boundaries between us by giving each other parts of what makes us different and similar to one another.

Something to note is illustrated perfectly in the words of David Hockney, as art itself is a true act of sharing:

"What an artist is trying to do for people is bring them closer to something, because of course art is about sharing: you wouldn't be an artist unless you wanted to share an experience, a thought.  I am constantly preoccupied with how to remove distance so that we can all come closer together, so that we can all begin to sense that we are the same, we are one."

CARRY

watercolor on coldpress watercolor paper

Carry is defined as "to move someone or something from one place to another" or "to carry the weight of."  We carry physical pain, we carry burdens, we carry thoughts and feelings, we carry joy, we carry children, we carry physical loads, we carry loss, we carry love and hate.  Often, I have found, that carrying feelings and emotions for people can bring about a sense of fulfillment or deep loss.  Carrying pain, for whatever reason, is a very profound experience that is not easily shaken.  It feels like a weight placed on the center of the chest, that must be carried day in and day out, and as if it cannot be removed.  It feels like a gaping hole in the heart, one feels short of breath, as if the void will never be filled.  Often, this feeling of pain is hard to let go of because we become so used to its presence that we even begin to miss the pain itself once we do start to let it go.  Pain can seep slowly and can hinder our personal journeys.  It can cause us to forget our worth and our path in life.

But we must constantly remind ourselves that there is also light, love, joy, happiness, and good emotions and feelings that we may also carry.  We can choose to forget the physical weight that pain and sadness, the feelings of loss, bring to us, and choose to instead love ourselves and others.  We should take care to remember that we are worthy of love and that those who love us most, even if not physically present, are always in our hearts.  Although the pain of unrequited love is often unparalleled, we cannot let our hearts grow cold or hard to the world.   We must continue to carry the people and things that make us happy within our hearts, always, because love, although perhaps through its rose-tinted glasses, makes the world a much more beautiful place.

The poem that sprang to mind as soon as we were given the word "carry" is one of my favorites, by E.E. Cummings:

"[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]"

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

       i fear
no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

JOIN

acrylic, thread, and California Sycamore (Platanus racemosa) leaves on canvas

detail

The word join is defined as "to link or connect" by many dictionaries.  When I think of the word join, I think of people joining hands, or two or more different things joining together to form one entity.  Joining something together can be natural or forced.  This very experimental piece attempts to join together leaves of the same species in a way that appears natural, but is in fact forced.

When observing a moving body of water such as a river or creek, one often notices the current carries with it bits and pieces of living debris.  Often, the leaves moving down the river appear to stop and connect to other leaves, making a singular journey amongst its fellow leaves down the river, from one place to another.  Although figurative, I believe this to be applicable to life as well; when we are figuratively traveling down the river of our lives, many other people (just like leaves) join us on our journey.  They stitch together their lives to our own and vice versa.  Sometimes these stitches are more pronounced, while other times, they are barely noticeable.  Oftentimes, it is the smallest stitches between us and another person that make the biggest impact on our personal journeys and lives.  When these people leave our lives, impressions of their stitches are often left behind, which can cause us pain for the loss of the stitch itself.  We long to be joined together again.

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
"Separation" by W.S. Merwin

GATHER

mixed media on watercolor paper

Gather is one of my favorite words.  It is defined as "to come together," "to bring together and take in from scattered places or sources," and "to bring together different sources into one group or place."  To me, to gather means to come together as one entity to share and to experience; we shed our differences in order to share our similarities, and it is these similarities that bring us together in the first place.

When I think of the word gather, I think not only of people, but also of materials: particularly flowers.  I love gathering flowers into a bouquet, especially when they are all different from each other, which I find very pleasing to the eye.  Differences can often form a harmonious whole when gathered together.  Often, things cannot stand as well alone, but are a crucial part of a whole.

Apart from flowers, when people are brought together, they come into physical and/or conversational contact with each other, which allows them to appreciate one another.  Gathering with someone new allows new relationships and realization of similarities to build.  Often the first time one gathers with another person, there is a thrill from the newness of the gathering, and these gatherings can often produce joy.

Some inspiration was taken from the poem "once like a spark" by E.E. Cummings:

(once like a spark)

if strangers meet

life begins-

not poor not rich

(only aware)

kind neither

nor cruel

(only complete)

i not not you

not possible;

only truthful

-truthfully,once

if strangers (who 

deep our most are

selves) touch:

forever

(and so to dark)

APPROACH (NEAR)

acrylic on canvas paper

The definition of the word approach contains the word near: it is often defined as "to come nearer and nearer to something in the distance."  Thus, the word near is almost synonymous with approach, and is often defined as "to come closer."  To me, these words together mean to come closer to reaching a destination.  This could be a physical or figurative destination that could have significant or insignificant impact on a person.  When a person approaches something, they come ever closer to that which they are attempting to reach.  There is often an aura of mystery and expectation for what is to come.

In terms of these two words, a particular figure of speech springs to mind: a light at the end of the tunnel.  Essentially, everything we pursue, everything we approach and come nearer to, is a light at the end of the tunnel.  When one perseveres, keeps walking physically and figuratively in the right direction towards a destination, a person is coming ever closer to "the light at the end of the tunnel."  This light at the end of the tunnel is often a great relief to the person pursuing it; it is often a difficult and strenuous journey to this light, and the light provides a sense of escape, success, and respite.

This light at the end of the tunnel is what each of us searches for throughout our whole life.  To me, this light symbolizes the search for and achievement of happiness.  Although all physical and figurative destinations that we approach and come nearer to may stand alone from this ultimate pursuit of happiness, everything leads to this light at the end of the tunnel, and are essentially steps along the way towards this ultimate destination.

Time is of course the prime mode of measurement when it comes to approaching the end of the tunnel.  Our mortality and the shortness of the time we have becomes more and more apparent on our personal journeys.  Death is of course inevitable.  But it is the journey of life itself that holds so much brevity.  Despite all of our struggles, the simple joys that lead us along the tunnel to its end are what make life worthwhile.

In his poem, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot writes figuratively and symbolically of the journey of life.  He reminds us of our struggle with time, aging, and the ultimate destination of death, but also of the joys and memories that we experience in our lives.  The symbolism in his writing is beautiful, visible, and tangible.  The journey of J. Alfred Prufrock is essentially a tunnel towards an ultimate light.

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats         5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question….         10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,         15 The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,         20 And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window panes;         25 There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate;         30 Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room the women come and go         35 Talking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—         40 (They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”) Do I dare         45 Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all: Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,         50 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room.   So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all—         55 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?         60   And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all— Arms that are braceleted and white and bare (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) Is it perfume from a dress         65 That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.   And should I then presume?   And how should I begin? .      .      .      .      .      .      .      . Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets         70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?… I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. .      .      .      .      .      .      .      . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!         75 Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep … tired … or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?         80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,         85 And in short, I was afraid. And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while,         90 To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—         95 If one, settling a pillow by her head,   Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;   That is not it, at all.” And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while,         100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:         105 Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say:   “That is not it at all,   That is not what I meant, at all.” .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .         110 No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use,         115 Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old … I grow old …         120 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.         125 I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown         130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

TOUCH

white pastel and dandelion (Taraxacum officinal) on tan-toned paper

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the word touch as "to be in contact with (something)."  When I hear (and see) the word touch, I think of a caress, and what it means to be touched softly by another person.  A caress is a soft, loving, affectionate, tender, kind, gentle touch, which displays fondness, and even love, for another person in a haptic way.

Many human beings constantly crave the touch of another person; this touch is essentially a physical as well as a spiritual caress.  Craving affection is part of the human condition and displays a sensitive nature.  Although wanting to see someone (either physically or virtually) is often the cornerstone of a relationship of any kind, touch is, in fact, the true essence.  Seeing someone will never fully equate to the effect of being able to touch someone: hugging your brother after seeing him for the first time in weeks, embracing and kissing a lover, holding the hand of a child, being stroked on the head by your mother,  or even petting the fur of a dear pet are feelings that we cannot achieve merely by looking at them.  We itch and crave and long for the touch of those we love, and this touch is often a caress that evokes all of the feelings we have for this person, animal, or thing.  Even the feeling of the soft pods of a dandelion across the cheek or the wind blowing around and across the body can bring about such pleasant sensations to the skin.  Touch has the power to bring to us a sense of fulfillment and profound satisfaction.

In his poem, Song of Myself, Walt Whitman talks of touch as something universal.  What is so intriguing about touch is that it is ephemeral, which Whitman strongly laments in the following excerpts.  What makes touch so beautiful is its temporary nature: we crave it so much, yet its duration is short.  Because touch is so short-lived, we crave it all the more.  However, because the ephemeral nature of a touch is so profound, the memory of the touch is essentially eternal.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
[...]
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
[...]
I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy,
To touch my person to some one else's is about as much as I can stand.
Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new identity,
Flames and ether making a rush for my veins,
Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them,
My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself,
[...]
Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd touch!
Did it make you ache so, leaving me?
[...]
All truths wait in all things,
They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it,
They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon,
The insignificant is as big to me as any,
(What is less or more than a touch?)