An Abstract Introspection on Abstract Ex

I’m going to, in a rare act of energy, put pen to paper and transcribe my thoughts to the written word on the subject of art. I have always shared, what I perceive to be, the common mindset “I don’t know art, but I know what I like.” What I like is the renaissance masters and the neoclassical assists. I enjoy the same works of art that require the same skilled hand that a surgeon needs to bring a patient through a procedure alive. “Do I like the art, or am I awed by the skill displayed” is the question that demanded that pen be put in motion. In asking the question I feel I have gleaned the very purpose that tears at the abstract expressionist.

A run of the mill research paper is very much like a classically executed renaissance painting. Very detailed lines of regurgitated information that are organized according to accepted guide lines. In an effort to embrace the subject I’m investigating, as well as gain true understanding, I’m willing to commit an act that may be at once academic revolution, as well as an assignment suicide. In place of the usual research material, I’m going to submit my own thoughts and experiences in this paper, submitting my own wandering thoughts, perceptions, and conclusions.

When I first set out on this assignment, I had planned to research the history of photography with a focus on Louis Daguerre. My mind was changed when I watched an episode of “The power of Art” on the life of American abstract expressionist Rothko. I was intrigued by Rothko for his “Realness” and his conviction.

When I look at a work by Rothko or Pollok I see a bunch of incongruous and disharmonious lines, whose color scheme I imagine look like the vision of an individual in the throws of an acid trip. Yet, a great many people seek these paintings and are moved greatly, what is wrong with me that I’m not moved or inspired. What about the other people I’ve heard say that they don’t like modern art, can this appreciation be instilled in a class?

I’m going to have to make a quick explanation of the inner workings of a computer compiler. When writing a piece of software to cause a computer to perform a specific action, a series of commands have to be arranged in a specific order. When these commands are properly arranged they are put through a compiler that puts the command into a form that corresponds to the computers silicon architecture, or more simply a language it can understand and act on. What does this have to do with art you ask?

My first thought is that the colors and lines correspond to thoughts and emotions in the mind of the reader. Like a compiled program in a computer, Pollock’s lines reach deep into the Nero physiology of the viewers. Every brush stroke excites a new nerve ending causing the brain to light up like an orchestra. Rothko’s broad fields of color evoke carefully chosen emotions leaving the viewer helpless in the grip of the paintings power. At least this is my supposition; it doesn’t do anything to me.

In other people who’s minds can interpret the hidden instructions buried in the fabric, these paintings can make them go week in the knees, bring them to tears, or invoke images of a living thing surging with life before them. I do not mention these reactions at random, they are all reactions I’ve heard from friends and reference material of actual sentiment. With no other ocular stimulation than pigment on canvas the full range of human emotion seems to be available to the artist. Again, what’s wrong with me? Is my mental compiler so different that I am beyond the effect of these master emoveremancers ?

Interestingly enough I had something of another epiphany trying to think it through the other way. If I were trying to invoke emotion in a work I made, how would I go about it? Rothko was very interesting in the way he used color to invoke a person’s emotions. This is not a new idea; the idea of colors associated with emotions is very old. It seemed like he tried to make it a science.

My epiphany was quite accidental when I was recently waiting for the local art museum to open for a reception. I had walked that day and grossly overestimated how long the walk would take, and I found myself there thirty minutes early. The doors were open and people were walking in, but I didn’t feel right intruding till they were ready. I sat down and proceeded to wait.

While waiting my mind was drawn back to this paper and the problem of abstract art. I looked around myself and thought about how I would describe the world around me through a creative act. What would Rothko see in this situation? Would I be similar to Rodin’s “The thinker”? A picture began to form in my head. People were walking all around me into the museum as well as the cultural arts center next door. I began to see a solitary and motionless figure sitting on a curve with blurs of color moving about. I lost it almost as soon as I had it. I can’t see how I could encapsulate that moment in anything other than words. Perhaps I’m destined to be a wordsmith, forever only able to convey myself through words. The world of artful expression cut off from me.

In the end I find myself where I started; a swirl of never ending questions, stampeding through my head desperately seeking the light of insight. It has been implied to me that my very approach to the question and my characterization of that question as problem to be solved is what fuels my confusion. I don’t know how else to be. I’m a creature of reason. So perhaps I will dwell as a blind figure amongst the crowd of the moved, doomed to never seeing deeper than the pretty pictures.