Psychology and Dynamic Expression

There was a lot going on in this week’s readings, but it was all extremely interesting so there was a lot to think on. Particularly I thought Solso had a lot of interesting and crucial things to say about face processing in Chapter 5, which we haven’t really talked so much about. That aspect of art really represents the intersection of neuroscience studies, anthropology, and art, so it was particularly cool for me. Besides all the neat stuff about facial recognition and processing that goes on in the brain, Solso brings it back around to a discussion of how faces play such an important role in artwork and how that translates to the brain.

His pretty ingenious study of the portrait painter Ocean in the MRI gave some great perspective on how the artist’s brain differs from a non-artist’s brain. While it was confirmed that the “facial fusiform area” of the brain was active while looking at faces to draw, Solso was initially surprised to find that the non-artist’s brain activity was stronger in those areas than Ocean’s. He concluded that a portrait artists would not have to look at faces for an extended period of time; he would pick out the key features almost immediately whereas the non-artist would spend more time gathering information about the face. Relatedly, Solso also found that Ocean displayed greater activation in other regions of his brain, particularly the right prefrontal areas. This perhaps signifies that artists activate a deeper meaning behind the face they are drawing than a non-artist. This shows that artists seem to use more of the brain than would be involved in just a mechanical reproduction. and may give some insight into why they are so good at what they do. I was also interested in how different artists would perform on this task, and what their brains would tell us. Would a landscape painter be different from Ocean, or a photojournalist, or an actor?

I also really enjoyed Solso’s discussion of how our sensory systems do not give as accurate a representation of the world as we assume they do. Blocking our way to a “true” perspective of the world are sensory illusions that distort the perceptual system, cognitive illusions that are the result of intellectual paralysis caused by linguistic coding of visual information, and artistic illusions created by a visual scene. Solso describes the relationship between physical energy and psychological sensation as far from direct, and in fact “curvilinear,” signaling that our visual system does not give an invariable view of reality. Additionally we are faced with the problem of translating our experience, which is sensory, into words. This is true when looking at the natural world or at artistic depictions of it. Because of these distortions (what Solso refers to as “the power of the mind to see these as they ought to be, rather than as they are”), artists have the tough job of depicting a world that looks natural to the deceiving eye. Artistic illusions have to be created in order to match the psychological interpretation and the sensory one, and portray the natural world in a way that makes it “psychologically correct.”

As Arnheim discusses in his chapters, this is not always an easy thing to do. Even in the most “accurate” snapshots of the world, i.e. motion photographs, images can look still and lifeless because they do not posses dynamic qualities. Arnheim explains that this dead effect occurs when artists assume that dynamic qualities in art are re-enactments of actual movement, which is a false presumption to make. In fact, he says, “when immobile shapes come closest to giving the impression of actual displacement in space, they do not look dynamic, but, on the contrary, painfully paralyzed” (414). Arnheim uses one of Kandinsky’s theories of art in explicating the answer: a sense of ‘movement’ is only demonstrated by creating ‘tension’ within the artwork which is directed for the viewer. This can be achieved by showing moments “outside the dimension of time,” for example by portraying multiple phases of an event in the same image. Obliquity enhances dynamic qualities, as do non-primary colors, which strive toward or away from the primaries.

Arnheim asserts that by providing dynamics in art, we immediately attach expressive meaning to a piece. One of the most interesting parts of this chapter for me was when Arnheim makes the distinction between expression as an anthropomorphizing of the natural/art world and expression as attributing psychological meaning. He explains, “The willow is not sad because it looks like a sad person. Rather, because the shape, direction, and flexibility of the branches convey possible hanging, a comparison of the structurally similar state of mind and body that we call sadness imposes itself secondarily” (p. 452). When we attribute expression to something non-human, we are not humanizing that in as much as everything that we see is imposed with some kind of meaning. Human actions do not carry more importance than non-human things, our visual brain works uniformly to find expressive meaning in the world.

Art and Assumptions in Childhood

I, like many, found the levels of differentiation very interesting, as general concepts are broken down into specifics. So, early child art is concerned with generalities (simple structural features) that become slowly more representational. I thought the way Arnheim proved this point was fairly ingenious: we know that children draw what they see, but we know that children see much more than they draw. They are clearly able to recognize faces and people from an incredibly early age, but a drawing of "dad" looks surprisingly like "mom" who looks quite a lot like "sister." Thus we must acknowledge that there is a simplified representation going on that is not imitation but invention (of both the final product and the tool by which to represent this simplified version of real life).

As others have also pointed out, the discussion of "tadpole" drawings shed a lot of light onto our adult assumptions about what is "present" and what is "missing" from a drawing. Having read some literature on the psychoanalytic interpretation of children's drawings (which Arnheim briefly touches on), adults are very concerned with what is present/absent in a child's drawing, and also with what sizes the objects present are. Arnheim does an excellent job of explaining some of the constraints on child art that explain some of their drawing tendencies. For example, the fact that children's perceptual identity does not rely much on size, so size does not really factor into their drawings. Size can designate importance, but more often shows a relationship between things.

I was also amused (and surprised) to think about the enduring impossibility of the child house design that places the figure within a (2D) house so he can be seen. This is problematic when we expand the scene to 3D, where the house is then required to have no front wall in order to be able to see inside to the figure. I had not thought of this, just going along with the magic assumption that you can see through walls. Arnheim identifies this structure at work in even some of the most famous pieces by Durer and Altdorfer where "the Holy Family is housed in a building without front walls, camouflaged unconvincingly as a broken-down ruin" (p. 201). Some tendencies clearly don't disappear after childhood.

Kids art is more fun.

I think art by children is the most brilliant of all art. When considering children’s art, one must wonder where along the line of maturation the purity of creation, imitation and simple fun turned into (in some cases) the convoluted, messy expression that passes as art by adults. One of the things that frustrates me the most about visual art is that as significant and profound a piece INTENDS to be, the message is not always easily discoverable. And then what are we left with besides a piece that at most stimulates a pleasurable visual sensation? One never encounters that problem when observing a child drawing a picture. Though their creations are not always artistically legible, when asked they will tell you exactly what each element is supposed to be. Their intention is clear, whether it be simple motor activity or depiction of common scenes or shapes.

I know I touch back here often, but I was again reminded of the Waldorf system of art education for young children. As kids, our artistic tendencies were both closely monitored and carefully nurtured. We were taught to explore with many media, both conventional (block crayons, watercolor, pastel) and not (mud, leaves, tables and chairs). The reason for this was the belief that the most important area to cultivate in very young children was not the mind per se, but the hands. By teaching children to observe their environment and express their findings in multiple outlets, one is encouraging them to be more aware of and active in their surroundings. The output of the child, rather than the input of the teacher was prioritized in an educational setting.

In addition to the emphasis on visual art, unusual guidelines were used to gently steer children in what I suppose will call a Waldorfian direction. These guidelines were not directly imposed, yet in retrospect were enforced in a subtly strict way. For example, if a child would veer into the dangerous realm of straight lines, the teacher would not admonish him, but would come to his desk and say, “we don’t you try it THIS way?” Things like that. As mentioned, straight lines were rarely acceptable in our drawings, the reason being that straight lines do not occur in nature. For the same reason we were discouraged from drawing things like machines and buildings. Another rule was that we were not supposed to draw outlines, which for a child is extremely difficult. The natural tendency for a child is to draw an outline, and if necessary go back and fill it in appropriately. For Waldorf children, everything was supposed to come about organically. For example, if one wanted to draw a person, perhaps one would begin with the head. From there, the person would have to grow from the head down, that is, neck, shoulders, arms, torso, legs, one growing out of another. Actually, we rarely DID draw people. Most drawings were done of abstract shapes and patterns, a class called form drawing (yes, it was a whole class). Form drawing would consist of drawing a series of geometric patterns free hand, highlighted by color shadings that grew from dark to light.

Of course, though Waldorf kept me on a fairly strict artistic diet, I like all children drew on my own time, where I was free to draw as many outlines as I pleased. It is difficult for me to see what affect, if any, the art curriculum had on me other than being proficient in several media. But I am in no way a very good artist, I certainly cannot draw or paint with any real skill. So did the Waldorfian method really do anything at all, or was it trumped by my nature as a child to follow the biological evolutionary path into artistic adulthood?

Growth

It was very interesting how many things that this chapter tied together for me. I have done conference projects on both children's art and schema. I had heard before that 'dogishness' is perceived earlier than the characteristics of dogs, and that children often over or under assume characteristics. They may, for example, think only their own pet is a dog, or that all four legged animals are dogs.

It was good the way that Arnheim tied this fact back into art, and how artistic representations can be expected to be concerned with generalities. I have been, for a conference project in another class, been studying 'schematas' (and the way that they and nonverbal cues can help children learning English as a second language).

I had not heard the term used in a way meaning that the child is bound by rigid conventions that bind them to primitive templates that must be broken for the child to be able to gain freedom of expression. The reading that I have done about schemata has desribed them as a necessary thing for a child's development, and a way for the child to organize the world around them and make sense of events that happen more than one time. This is close to what Arnheim himself says, but I almost would like to know where he was reading so many of these harmful discussions of schemata, so that I would be able to see how they differ from both what I have said and what Arnheim has to say. I thought his analogy of the stairs was very helpful, and I had not heard it before! It makes much more sense to think of them not as obstacles, but a prerequisite that is indispensable.

I found the second half of the Arnheim chapter a little bit more difficult to get through, but loved the part about the 'misnamed tadpoles' on page 197. I have, while working at the ECC, seen drawings just like these! I had been wondering why the whole central part of the body is left out, and had never thought of the possibility that it only looked like something was 'left out' to me, while to the child it is perfectly complete.

Kids Art

I thought this chapter of Art and Visual Perception was especially interesting. It immediately got me wandering about the nature of art, as well as the way we, and our relationship with the world, change throughout our lives. I was particularly struck when I read that "'Triangularity' is a primary percept, not a secondary concept. The distinction between individual triangles comes later, not earlier. Doggishness is perceived earlier than the particular character of any one dog." I was very interested in the idea that a child draws something that can depict every instance of said thing, while an adult draws a highly specific object whose depiction is limited to itself. I found myself thinking that there was a certain virtue, and advantage in the basic, transmutable drawings of children. This sentiment reminded my of a set of coffee mugs my friends mother had made when I was a child. On one side of the mug was a drawing done by a child. On the other side were the words "Children's art is real art."
We think of a highly detailed drawing done by an adult to be far superior to the abstract scribbles of a child. This is because it fulfills a perceived goal of drawing: exact replication. I was now, however, reconsidering the validity of this goal. While a refined, detailed drawing certainly does do a great job replicating a specific visual field, its specificity limits its definition, and this limitation began to seem like a weakness. There is something ingenious about the representational simplicity of a child's drawing. Because a child depicts "dogishness" instead of a specific "dog," it has not only reproduced an image, but skipped over the facade of an instance and reveal its essence. In effect, the child has produced the fundamental essence of an object. The object is not only reproduced, rather its truth has been distilled.
Arnheim himself, writes that while children's art may seem abstract and symbolistic, whereas adult art work is realistic, adult art work is, in actuality, abstract and symbolistic in the exact same manner. The difference, is that its abstractions are far more complex and weave together in an attempt to hide each other. This seems counterproductive, since the goal of abstraction and symbols is to simplify and illuminate. Thus, "realistic" artwork is a contradictory illusion, that smuggles truth onto the canvass.
I wonder if, as we get older, if we fill our memory banks with so many specific dogs, that our idea of what a dog is becomes a series of dogs we knew that obscure the perception of "dogishness" that we once knew. Do our experiences sully a basic knowledge of truth that we are born with?

Children and Civilization

I enjoyed reading Arnheim’s chapter on growth. Since studying a conference works worth of children’s artistic development, I am drawn toward the correlation that many authors make between children’s artistic development and early human representations. Assumptions that a child of a certain age must have a certain set of skills can be harmful to the observations of the true nature of what is being expressed. It is important to consider the experience an individual has with a given material, else interpretations can be without objective support. Just as, I think, Livingstone pointed out, it is more biologically efficient to code for similarities than the numerous incorrect associations that can be assumed. The similarities between the development of the individual and the development of visual representation in cultures are important to understand. This relationship is especially clear to me in my experience with a past conference project. For my sophomore year art history conference, I studied Minoan pottery and learned how to throw pots on the wheel. Teaching myself to control the clay was difficult but I could see and feel myself develop more skill as I practiced. As I spent more time in the ceramics lab, I was able to make more delicate pieces. At the end of the project, in my review of the experience, I noted that my technical development was similar to the Minoan’s understanding of the ceramics. I like to consider the technical skill they must have developed independent of their use of the wheel, as the potter’s wheel had been in the lands surrounding Crete for almost a thousand years before Minoans included it into their production.

It is also striking to follow the increasing complexity and combination of different designs and motifs that were used over time. Early Minoan ceramics were limited to dark and light color differentiation that clearly distinguished the organic, swirly figures from the empty background. Eventually colors began to be included and designs began to include clear simple shape and not just designs. Soon, the handmade motifs incorporated the designs into larger shapes on larger vessels and everything evolved into more complex versions of the past. However, similar to the artistic development in children, certain techniques or mastered skills may be “dropped” in order to “pick up” a new, possibly more mature technique. The forms of the vessels remain within a certain number of variations function, with small differentiations between Early, Middle, and Late (with internal divisions of Early I, Early II, etc.)

) Late Minoan II

Growth

I enjoyed this week’s Arnheim reading, and its discussion of the development of visual perception and artistic creation. I have worked at the Early Childhood Center for the past three years and often find myself in the “art corner” watching the children paint, draw, glue or cut. I’ve notice tremendous shifts in painting style and scope from the two-year-olds that I worked with last year and the year before to the three/four-year-olds I teach this year. Two-year-old painting seems to be about movement and feeling. Their painting is often about the movement of the brush and the feel of the paint. This seems connected to Arnehim’s discussion on page 172 of the child painting the man mowing the lawn, because it demonstrates more of an awareness of movement than of object. At the same time, these are slightly different observations because the four-year-old was replicating the movement of the lawn mower with her paint brush while it is hard to know exactly what my two-year-olds were thinking about, perhaps they were just experimenting with moving the brush in different ways.

The group of three/four-year-olds that I work with have started painting more defined patterns and figures. Arnheim’s discussion of children’s development of an understanding of a “solid spatial trellis” and preference for the vertical or horizontal seems relevant to their painting. I have started to see the children make figures with long legs and circular bodies. I’ve also noticed that the three/fours sometimes create clearly defined patterns, for example horizontal lines in alternating colors, polka dots or a combination of lines and polka dots. The two-year-olds only sometimes made “patterns” although they were far less intentional. For example, sometimes the twos made a few dots and then continued to make more dots after discovering and being excited by the first couple of dots. However they would not alternate color. Any use of more than one color on the page was generally a sort of color mixing, i.e. experimenting with mixing blue and red and discovering purple.

Certainly, some of these developmental shifts are cognitive ones. As Arnheim discusses, a tremendous amount of perceptual development occurs. One must become aware and integrate the horizontal, the vertical, and different perspectives. Also, a child has to figure out what they want to depict and then figure out how to capture it in two-dimensional space. Additionally, they need the motor control to execute the picture. I would say, and I feel like I would be supported by Arnheim, that both cognitive and motor development are responsible for the differences between my two/threes and three/fours’ artwork.

Leaving, the children from the ECC behind, there were a number of other parts of the chapter that I found interesting. One part was what Arnheim said about representational concepts. “Representational concepts furnish the equivalent, in a particular medium, of the visual concepts one wishes to depict, and they find their external manifestation in the work of the pencil, the brush, the chisel” (169). I thought this was a really useful and interesting way of thinking about an artist’s abilities. This is the ability that most baffles me. My mother is an artist, a painter and I cannot really understand how she is able to paint what she paints. I cannot understand how she knows where to start and what to use to realize her painting. However, I can realize my visions in photography. I wonder if Arnheim would consider representational concepts to apply to photography as well, I would think so but I’m not sure.

I was struck by Arnheim’s discussion of the circle. Circles fall under Arnheim’s concept of simplicity, “the circle, which with its centric symmetry does not single out any one direction, is the simplest visual pattern” (175). He also says that circles are easiest for humans to make because of the lever construction of our limbs. Furthermore, he explains that children normally begin drawing people by drawing the circle of the head. It seems that circles are attractive and important to human’s sensibilities. Additionally, think about all of the meanings and imports circles have in our culture. There is something inherently important and comforting in a circle, which based on Arnheim’s discussion of children’s visual development, children become attuned to at a very young age.