Stereopsis and Depth

This week, the readings have had a huge impact on the way I look at the world. Sacks points out that "the subjective quality, the quale, of stereopsis is unique and no less remarkable than that of color". Like color, stereopsis is an aspect of vision that I had never taken the time to consciously notice. Reading Sacks' article on Mr. I earlier in the semester caused me to really consider the presence of color in my actual field of vision, in terms of its practical importance. Previously, I had only really paid attention to the importance of the symbolism we attribute to color, especially in an artistic expression. While I felt intrigued by this new perspective on color, it can't compare to what I felt upon reading Sacks' article about stereopsis. Sue's letters to Sacks were extremely evocative for me, and it probably took me at least half an hour longer to read the article than it should have, as I was constantly looking away from the page, covering an eye, and trying to view my surroundings as someone with monocular vision might. I have a very hard time picturing the 2D world that monocular vision presents, I think because stereopsis is just so inherent in my own vision. Just as Sue couldn't imagine stereoscopic vision (or that it would improve her perception of the world), I cannot imagine viewing the world without it. I was especially intrigued by Sue's diary excerpts: "When I was eating lunch, I looked down at my fork over the bowl of rice and the fork was poised in the air in front of the bowl. There was space between the fork and the bowl. I had never seen that before. . . . I kept looking at a grape poised at the edge of my fork. I could see it in depth." Not once have I ever thought of things as 'in depth'- but now it's all I look for. Even now, as I write this, I am suddenly kind of shocked by the way my computer sits in space, between myself and the wall in front of me. I'd never consciously noticed this kind of placement. I can't imagine the shock Sue must have had the first time she saw things as 'popping out' toward her. It must have been like an unexpected Magic Eye picture.

All of this thinking about depth is making me curious as to how artists play with our depth perception. Last week we read a lot about how artists were able to employ various techniques, like shape from shading, in order to create the sense of depth upon two dimensional canvases. These works were concerned mainly with depicting an accurate portrayal of a scene. But I wonder about the effect of an artwork that intentionally tries to play with our perception of depth; how this can be achieved. We've mentioned View-Masters and Magic Eye pictures, which both take advantage of the eyes' positions in relation to each other. These seem somehow more sensational or novelty-like than artistic. However, there are some stunning modern works that I can think of that take advantage of our depth perception to artfully manipulate our experience of the work.

The piece that I kept thinking of during our class discussion last week, and while I was reading for this week, was a sculpture by Anish Kapoor called The Healing of St. Thomas. Here is a picture:

As Chris Bergeron wrote in 2008, "Instead of carving marble or forging bronze, Anish Kapoor sculpts with materials that can't be held like mirrored reflections, the laws of optics and space around your body." Kapoor's work is extremely evocative, as he is able to really change the way you experience what you see. For some reason, The Healing of St. Thomas seems to me to be especially relevant to our discussion about depth. I saw the work in 2004; I entered the room from the left side of the wall, so that I was walking parallel to the wall. At first I couldn't even see that there was an artwork on the wall; then, as I approached the centre of the room, I saw what appeared to be a dash of red paint across the surface of the while wall. As you can see from the picture, neither the white of the wall nor the red color of the paint really show any shadow; they seem to really absorb light. The paint actually covers the internal surface of a kind of inverted wedge carved into the wall. I think that what is so striking about this piece, to me, is the fact that its depth only makes itself known once the observer has spent time and effort viewing the piece from multiple perspectives. Also, once you realize what you are really looking at, suddenly the emotion of the piece is revealed. What appears to be an innocuous splash of red paint is actually an extremely evocative wound, reminiscent especially of the wound in Christ's side on the cross. Homi K. Bhabha wrote a very powerful essay on this piece, in which he illuminates the importance of viewing the work from multiple view points, and I'd like to quote some of it here:

The wound gathers like a gaping aura, drawing us to it – disciple, artist, writer, viewer – to witness the making of a miraculous rebirth, the Resurrection, through the repetition of a shape, the void, each time for a different purpose.[...] You lead me to the precise position and location of the wound.Just this red slash, and nothing else, and yet, somehow, the space around it comes alive, making an expanded emptiness, beyond the supporting wall, to bear the wound…, I observe.

Kapoor plays with our pre-supposed visual norms a lot, and I really reccommend taking a look at his website (www.anishkapoor.com), where there are photographs of a lot of his work. Obviously, the full effect of their shape and color can't really be conveyed through the flatness of photography (just as the complexity of depth in the world cannot be conveyed fully through flat images), but you can get the idea.

Kapoor's work doesn't necessarily capitalize on stereopsis, but it does play tricks tha cause our brains to confuse three dimensional objects or shapes for flat surfaces, and I think the implications of this are really fascinating. I especially like the fact that to fully understand the true shapes employed in his sculpture, one must view the work from multiple angles, and one must spend time integrating the possible meanings of the piece into ones literal physical interpretation of the piece. Because we get the scriptural reference inherent in The Healing of St. Thomas, we are able to perceive it as a wound in the otherwise blemish-free wall, and not as simply a painted concavity. I can't think of any other work I've seen that does this; does anyone know of another artist whose work has this effect?