Art and the rational mind

You may not know this about me, but my husband and I lived in Hawaii for a few years. We lived on the island of Maui. It was an incredible experience. We loved being near the ocean, where we could snorkel, surf and swim, but I also enjoyed having a chance to learn more about Hawaiian culture. I took a beginning hula class and really loved it. We miss it, but life had other plans for us, and now we are in the desert. Lately, I have been pining for Hawaii, for some of the things there that touched me so deeply. Since the hula was such a big part of living in Hawaii for me, I have been watching videos of hula to reminisce.

Some of you may be more familiar with Tahitian hula, rather than Hawaiian hula. Tahitian hula is much faster than Hawaiian hula. The dancers tend to wear elaborate headdresses, and the movement is focused more on the hips and less on the hands. There are two different kinds of Hawaiian Hula. One is the Auana hula. This is the Modern hula - the one with guitars, ukulele, dresses, flower leis - the one most of us are familiar with. My favorite kind of Hawaiian hula, however, is the ancient hula, called Kahiko. There is a lot of chanting, the dancers are usually adorned with greenery rather than flowers, and the instruments used are mostly the rhythm instruments like the Ipu (which is a drum made from a hollowed out gourd.) I have attached a video of women (wahine) performing kahiko hula, so if you haven't ever seen it before you can experience it for yourself.



It's often interesting for me to think about why I love the Hawaiian hula and chants so much. I don't speak Hawaiian, so I don't know what they are chanting most of the time. Yet it touches me deeply, and sometimes when I watch a hula performance, I am moved to tears. Have you ever loved music that is sung in a language you don't understand? What I have decided is that when we hear or see something that really touches us, it doesn't necessarily touch us intellectually. It touches our hearts. It touches our souls. Visual art can be like that too. There is always this initial desire for people to "understand" art. We think maybe if we understand it intellectually, then we will really be able to enjoy it. I don't think that's true. I think if it's something that touches us, it can touch us without our rational minds. It goes beyond that - it goes deeper.

Maybe the rational mind is a barrier between us and an ability to be touched by art. (Music, dance, painting, sculpture - I am putting all art into this word right now.)

I am curious to know what you think about this. Do you think you have to understand the words of a song to enjoy it? Do you think you really have to know what a painter is thinking in order to be touched by their painting?

"Untitled - arrangement on blue." Oil on canvas, 20 x 20 inches

Connecting with art

I enjoyed the comments and emails I received after my last post. Thank you all, for making the effort to tell me your thoughts! The things you wrote have led me to another topic - one about connecting people through art. I do think there are times when a piece of art draws us closer to ourselves. We respond to something un-nameable within that just feels "right" somehow. It's as though you look at the art and feel a bell, deep within, resounding. I love it when that happens! When it does happen, then the artist has truly tapped into something universal, and I suppose that is really what we are striving for. Connecting with other people and with someone else's art is all about finding a common thread. Something that we can relate to.

Don't you often think that finding differences is sometimes easier than finding commonalities? I think encountering "strange" art (and I mean "new to us" when I use that word) is often just like encountering "strange" ("new to us") people. At first, we might feel threatened or unsure. Do we like this? Do we feel a common thread? Is there anything about this "strangeness" that we can relate to? I have always asserted that time is what we need in order to find the common links with something new. The more time we spend with something or someone, the better chance we have of knowing and hopefully, understanding. Of course, the reverse is also true. Sometimes, we meet someone or something and we think we really like them, but after spending time with them, we find that we don't really like them as much as we thought. Or maybe we are just looking at differences, instead of searching for commonalities. What do you think?

I remember when I was in college, I read an article about people who cried in front of a work of art. Here I was, studying art and creating art, and nothing like this had ever happened to me. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe I wasn't even a real artist!!!! Then, about five or six years ago, I had the opportunity to visit the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. I have always loved Van Gogh's paintings, but I don't think I had ever seen one in person. I was so excited! The things that I remember about that experience will stay with me forever. For one thing, despite years and years of looking at reproductions of Van Gogh's paintings in books, I was unprepared for the colors. The colors he used and the way he put color together literally blew my mind. Being in the presence of his paintings was nothing like seeing them in books! Then, towards the end of the museum visit, I came across a painting he had painted for his nephew. It was a painting of a flowering tree. As I stood before this painting, I was suddenly overcome with emotion. And there I was, crying in front of a painting.

For me, that says a lot about the difference between seeing a reproduction of a work of art versus being in the presence of the actual work. It is the reason why the internet will never replace the physical world. It just isn't the same thing. It is also the reason why a reproduction of a work of art will never be the same as the original work.

Let's face it folks. Nothing beats the real thing.

Another new painting:

"Going Postal." Collage, acrylic and oil on board, 8 x 10 inches. ©Karine Swenson2012

Happy Wednesday, all!