Perception and Creation Beyond Sight, 3

(This is a continuation piece of last week's post, Perception and Creation Beyond Sight 2).

Immaterial Elements and Tactile Shades.  Light.  Color.  Texture.  Composition.  For most artists, these are key concepts, central considerations in all their work.  With closed eyes, color becomes irrelevant, as does all but the brightest light.  

Sharon Karni's works, so rich in scope and layering (as well as color) showed me that textural nuance and material variety can be experienced as colorful, in and of themselves.  With eyes closed and color no longer a consideration, I was able to appreciate and enjoy the depth of Karni's tactile expression via her use of varied materials and textures, from wood relief to netting to nails.  

(An internet search led to one Hebrew explanation of her tendency to incorporate natural elements, such as beach sand and seawater, to her pigments, further adding to their sense of tactility.  The Biblical title of this work refers to words contained in a line of Moshe's Song of the Sea describing the Red Sea's waters as standing "frozen" on each side).

Sharon Karni, Frozen Abyss (Exodus 15:7-8), (detail), 2000-2004.  Mixed technique on wood.

Cathedral, a medium-sized sculpture in plywood by Israel Hadany, could be mistaken for simplistic in shape, a smooth, nearly organic form that -- in contrast to the surging interior of an actual cathedral, sags toward the middle, only to soar upward at each end.   To run my hands over its surface, eyes closed, was to flow down and up again, along its rounded exterior into the space created within.  But the temptation of actually seeing this work wedged itself into my tactile experience after only a few seconds.

Israel Hadany, Cathedral, 2005.  Plywood.

This was one of the few works for which, once I had opened my eyes, I could not limit myself to touch alone.  The contrast of light and darkness, spilling over, around and within the form, had me mesmerized.   An orderly row of small windows along its upper surface created a captivating sun-spot effect within.  Experiencing the sculpture by touch alone sharpened my awareness of the piece's richness and depth of form, as well as the visual beauty a sightless person misses.

Israel Hadany, Cathedral, 2005 (interior).  Plywood.

Compensation, Exaggeration.   It is commonly believed that those lacking one sensory ability tend to deepen their other sensory abilities -- namely, hearing and touch -- in compensation.  This makes sense to me, and I understand that magnetic imaging of the brain has proven it true on a neurological level as well.  

During my visit, I cannot say that my neurological abilities shifted in any meaningful way, but my attention certainly did.  The gallery, closed off only partially by short walls within the university's echoey, chamber-like corridor, had the opposite effect of that reflective, austere silence typical of most public art venues.  After only a few minutes I was intensely, almost painfully aware of the volume of sound entering the venue.  Previous wanderings through those halls, with my only goal to get from one end to the other, had not focused my awareness on the noise level, but here in the gallery I found it an almost overwhelming presence which disturbed my concentration.  In this context, an "enhanced" ability to hear became a limitation.

Closed In, Exposed Outward.  Last month, at a professional convention, I had the privilege of attending a presentation by several blind adults who shared some thoughts on their experiences before and after receiving dog guides.  One man, a psychologist by profession, had lost his sight as a result of a war injury.  He related his original refusal to have a dog guide, based on his fears of becoming dependent, and the many benefits he now credits to his canine companion, including a facilitation of his social connections with others.  Instead of standing out as an objectified, dependent person, he and his dog now share the limelight, and a sense of healthy interdependence.

I remembered this man as I made my way around the exhibit, eyes closed, hands roaming over the artwork.  I was acutely aware of the gallery's glass walls, and how ridiculous I must have looked to those who were unaware of the exhibit's focus.  I felt exposed, and this bothered me.  But I also felt strangely free, an unfamiliar sensation of being alone with myself, asking, If I can't see others, how much do I care how they see me?

In Conclusion.  I am so visual a person, I find it extremely challenging to even imagine a world in which my sense of sight does not play a dominant role.  Here in the Stern Gallery, I was reminded that my sight, for all its advantages, can limit my perception and my appreciation by its tendency to dominate my other senses.  I came to learn that approaching art up close can, with all the irony implied, create a distance.  

I credit this exhibit, its artists and curators, with providing us a particular opportunity to experience art -- and our own selves, experiencing the art -- anew.

* * * * *

Feeling and Meaning:  Seeing Art Through Touch

The Max and Iris Stern Gallery

Faculty of Humanities, Mt. Scopus

December 2008 - June 2009

Opening Hours: Sun-Thur 11:00-15:00 (except University holidays)

Curators: Susan Nashman Fraiman, Ahuva Passow-Whitman 

To contact Ahuva or arrange a guided tour, call 02-588-3881.

All photos here taken by ALN, and included here with permission of Ahuva Passow-Whitman.

* * * * *

Keep the balance, 

ALN

Perception and Creation Beyond Sight, 2

I have just spent half an hour with the exhibit “Feeling and Meaning – Seeing Art Through Touch,” now open  in the Stern Gallery, a glass-walled pair of narrow rooms carved out of the wide, multi-angled hallway of the Humanities Wing of Hebrew University, Mt. Scopus. Although it is a small exhibit, featuring only twenty or so works, I easily could have stayed there an hour or more.  

I took advantage of what I knew would be an abridged visit by passing fairly quickly from one work to the next, noting my reactions to the new and often surprising discoveries that came with experiencing a body of art in ways beyond the visual.  Here are some of my impressions.

Here, You Can Touch.  I entered the gallery completely aware that these objects, all of which had three-dimensional aspects, were on display to be touched as well as seen. Yet I had to consciously stop myself from asking the security guard to confirm that yes, I really was allowed to touch everything.  This, in and of itself, was a freeing prospect, breaking a social convention while opening doors to a new way of perceiving the artwork.

Eyes Down, Hands Up.  I did not want to fall into an impossible attempt at closing my eyes and "pretending to be blind;"  as a seeing person -- however myopic -- I know that I am habituated to experiences my world "eyes first."   By closing them, I understood that would only be scraping the surface of taking in my surroundings via additional senses.  I chose instead to touch the work with eyes open, but limiting their use, either beginning with a brief glance, to get a general impression of the size, shape, color and subject of the work, or else fixing my gaze downward, until after I had first gotten to know the art through my hands.

The Same Work, Twice.  This duality, seeing the work only peripherally while allowing my sense of touch to dominate my sensory intake, led to a feeling of intense sensory dichotomy. Through touch alone I could not identify a small sculpture which afterwards, by sight, I effortlessly recognized as a bust of Chaim Weizmann.  But it wasn't just a matter of finding something recognizable;  the sculpture as perceived by my hands, was nothing like the one my eyes claimed to see.  In all but those two or three works containing exceedingly clean, straight lines and clear-cut materials, I was never able to reconcile what I looked at with what I touched, effectively turning every piece into two -- or more -- completely different works of art.

How Big, and How Wide?  

The first thing I did when approaching a piece was to run my hands along its edges, trying to establish a tactile understanding of the size of the work.  

Sharon Karni.  Frozen Abyss (Exodus 15:7-8), 2000-2004. Mixed technique on wood.

For many of the larger pieces, such as Sharon Karni's Frozen Abyss (Exodus 15:7-8), this process took time and required a certain effort -- reaching up, around, crouching down.  It struck me, the amount of time and effort that would be required to understand the scope and size of an image without the help of my eyes.

A Feeling for the Whole Picture.  It only got more difficult when I tried to create an overall internal picture of the work in front of me.  With information coming in from only two hands, I could take in about 100 square centimeters at a time, and only slowly, bit by bit.  I ended up trying -- unsuccessfully -- to assemble a disjointed collection of data into one coherent image, but found I could do so only afterwards, using my eyes.  My sensory experience lacked wholeness and continuity.  

Sharon Karni.  Frozen Abyss (Exodus 15:7-8), (detail), 2000-2004. Mixed technique on wood.

Zohar Ginio, the lawyer/artist, and only blind artist participating in the exhibit, noted in his interview with The Jerusalem Report that he limits his works to a small scale since it is difficult for blind people get a feel for a large work that they cannot feel all at once. Indeed, his stone sculpture The Laborer, a self-portrait of his hand, is large in impact but small enough (approx. 80 across) to allow both sighted and sightless people to take in the work as a whole.

To be continued...

Keep the balance,

ALN

______

Feeling and Meaning:  Seeing Art Through Touch

The Max and Iris Stern Gallery

Faculty of Humanities, Mt. Scopus

December 2008 - June 2009

Opening Hours: Sun-Thur 11:00-15:00 (except University holidays)

Curators: Susan Nashman Fraiman, Ahuva Passow-Whitman 

To contact Ahuva or arrange a guided tour, call 02-588-3881.

All photos here taken by ALN, and included here with permission of Ahuva.

Perception and Creation Beyond Sight

I wish I could include here some of the amazing paintings by artist John Bramblitt, although when you see them, you might be tempted to believe he is not blind.  He is featured here in a recent NYT, as well as here in Tara Parker Pope's Well blog.  

His loss of sight became an ironic source of new courage, and a his painting, a way of communicating his perceptions.

"It wasn’t until I lost my sight that I became brave enough to fail,” he said. “Even if the paintings didn’t look good, I didn’t have to see them."

Wow.  To go back to painting, after blindness.   His ability to reframe his (and his environment's) outlook toward his limitation, into one of abilities, is powerful of itself.

On the subject, a current exhibit at the Stern Gallery on the Mt. Scopus campus of Hebrew University features artwork by, and for, blind and visually impaired visitors.  Read about it here, and in the February 16 edition of The Jerusalem Report (no web-based article available, as far I know), which includes a piece on artist Zohar Ginio, a lawyer by profession, and the only blind artist to have artwork -- a sculptural self-portrait of his hand -- featured at the exhibit.   

I have walked by this exhibit several times after-hours, on my way back from evening class.   The gallery has glass walls, allowing some works to be viewed from the outside, but I have not yet had the opportunity to wander in and experience the work tactically.  That needs correction, and since I happen to have class today, I am now going to log off, get up off my tush and head over to campus early, so that I have time to enjoy this exhibit.   Stay tuned for impressions.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Keep Sane, Keep Creative

Welcome to our studio.  

Just a reminder from your local art therapist to keep your body nourished, your mind active, and your soul flourishing during these difficult and stressful times.

Pictured here are Always the Imp and her good friend GG developing their watercolor skills.

Always came away transformed by the creative process.

Earlier today, she returned from her after-school art class (wouldn't want this shoemaker's daughter going barefoot!) with an original, double-spouted tea set, pictured here during this evening's hot-chocolate-based clinical trials.  

Not to worry, she drank from both little teacups, while Blondini Boy expressed his acute disappointment at having his chocolate milk relegated to the same-old plastic cup.

Keep healthy, keep safe, keep creating.  Keep the balance.

ALN

Ruby Tuesday -- Orange, Really

I know I'm pushing the definition of "ruby" here.... but I am so fond of orange.

This is a piece I completed awhile back, as a present for my Mom.  It's small, about 2/3 the size of a sheet of printer paper.

The base is handmade paper (made by yours truly), with an overlay of selected fabrics and ribbons, then hand stitched and beaded.  Over the years, I was inspired to delve into the fiber arts, specifically paper-making, by my good friend Q.  As for the stitching technique, several years ago I had the privilege of attending a week-long workshop in hand stitching with Japanese fiber artist Misao Tsubaki, an incredibly talented woman and a wonderfully supportive teacher.  (See some examples of her work here;  her website, unfortunately out of date, is in Japanese, but there are photos there as well).

Remember to keep creating -- whatever makes you happy -- in these troubling days of war.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Home in Turmoil

(No, thank G-d, the home in question is not my own, only the artwork).

This piece, Home in Turmoil (28x28x5 cm, mixed media), culminates my reflections of a year's work with a family struggling to hold itself together despite aliyah, divorce and remarriage + kids, financial struggles, and mental health challenges.  (This therapy took place not in the hospital but in a private family clinic where I also used to work).

At the center of the therapy, at least in the beginning, was the couple's school-age son, a bright and creative boy whose sense of calm and wholeness was disrupted by the fear and aggression that constantly threatened to overwhelm him and his family.  He could not focus in school; his bizarre behavior mostly defeated his desperate efforts to make friends and keep them.

Home provided him relative but sporadic feelings of safety, but even that was not enough to contain him and frequently his anger would burst through the boundaries, leaving him and his family powerless and enraged.  He relied on his acute sensitivity to discern when to trust someone enough to reveal that it was not him, not really him, rather the evil voices in his head who were responsible for igniting a mental anguish despite his will and far beyond his control.

Time progressed, therapy continued.  The physician's repeated attempts did not manage to keep the boy's multiple prescriptions in check with his fluctuating, pre-adolescent body-mind.  A three-week period of relative quiet and stability would be harshly interrupted by an unpredicted, unwelcome burst of fury, attack and withdrawal.  

Focus shifted to the parents as they struggled with their son, and with one another, to contain the damage.  Hospitalization was considered, disregarded, reconsidered. Financial factors, family issues, additional medical options -- all discussed.  The boy withdrew further and further into his dark, painful world until he refused altogether to return to therapy, leaving behind feelings of chaos and helplessness for the boy, his parents... and his therapist.

I wish I could say the answers are always out there, that it all works out in the end.

Sometimes, despite everyone's best efforts, it just doesn't.  It's true, the successes outnumber the failures.  But the failures, the if only's, are what stick in the mind, the heart, and sometimes, the artwork.

Keep the balance,

ALN

Back to Balance... Or Not

Ah.... it's good to be back.  

The school year is in full swing, the kids are back in school and I'm back at work.  Finding time for it all --  blogging included --  has become the task of the season.  How dare you go to work instead of blogging?  deadpans Dad.  Even Mom, who doesn't fully get the blog thing, called a few days ago wondering whether I'm still alive, for lack of published evidence.  

Returning to the Jblogosphere after over a week's hiatus feels something like jumping back onto a nonstop spinning carousel;  it's simultaneously thrilling, dizzying and weighted down by false starts.  As much as I've missed it, there has been plenty to keep me busy around here. Included below, an abridged record of the flurry, a kind of back-up disk for my sleep-deprived mind:

Things to Do Instead of Blogging

1.  Back-to-School Night (known in Israel as an asifat horim, lit., "gathering of parents"), one for every minor inhabiting the household, and sometimes more.  (RivkA explains it here in all its glorious detail).  Even the daycare centers here hold a back-to-school evening, usually in order to spell out the additional charges they request, for everything from toilet paper to art supplies to enrichment activities.  These events are painfully long and drawn out and can drag on for three hours.    This year, as a balance- and sanity-preserving measure, I skipped the preschool one altogether.  I hope they'll still let my son graduate.

2.  Working in the art studio, making paper and carving linoleum prints for greeting cards.

Here they are, drying on the mini-blinds:

Close-up of the same print as the one up on top, in a different color palette:

Supplies (Carving knives, water-based printing inks, soft-rubber brayers, carved linoleum printing blocks, card samples)  The art table is a low-budget home-made model:  an old wooden door on a frame of leftover construction wood.  Works for me.

My friend Q has a large studio where she makes handmade paper of amazing quality.  A few years back we added on our own, much smaller studio to our own house, but a full work schedule meant it often sat unused.   Going back to my artwork is probably adding years to my life.  At least that's the feeling I get from it.

Indoor plumbing repairs.  Particularly unsuccessful new hobby;  definitely sticking with my day job.  Note the bucket under the studio sink.  Guess why it's there...

Scheduling my kids' extracurricular schedules.  Another less successful venture.  In keeping with Israeli tradition, my kids are now signed up for various after-school creative ventures.... only problem is, the schedule is still new and I keep forgetting to send them on time...

Catching up on Srugim and other stuff.  I'm up to episode 12, and I'm wondering how things will hold together now that the geographic focus has spread out beyond the Swamp itself.  Last night we watched the first couple hours of the BBC's Pride and Prejudice, which follows the book down to nearly every last detail (which is why it takes about six hours to watch.  (I'm just amazed that we have such a detailed historical record of all those line dances... and how did they manage to get their hair arranged so neatly with no running water in the house?).

Work, work, and work.   More work.  Don't know why this one's so far down on the list, actually.  Time-wise, it's way on top.  Lots to do:  Strengthening our connections with the families, designing a class schedule for the school year, helping our new staff members find their way, meeting with medical and mental health staffers, inviting patients' schools to meet the department.... the list is endless.  Despite this, I'm still making every effort to leave work on time.  Balance, balance.

Dancing around the living room, music on full volume.   I do this with the kids, but between you and me, I would do it anyway.  (Just ask my former roommates -- Friday afternoon was Disco Time in the kitchen.  Remember Cate Blanchett in Bandits?  Only she, as always, looks amazing, and I look like, well, never mind....).

Getting some sleep.  Only kidding - I just added that one for Mom.  Amazingly enough, even without blogging I haven't managed more than five hours a night.  I'm still waiting for someone to invent a pill with no negative side effects...

All the other stuff:  Laundry  Dishes  Cooking  Homework help  Bedtime   Stories  Wiping noses (and other places)  Commuting there   And back   Shopping  Phone calls  Hair cut  Bank statements  Emails  Visiting neighbors  Shul meeting  Cleaning aquarium  Guests here  Floor clean  Food ready  Table set.... Go.  Shabbat.

(Speaking of keeping the balance...)

Shabbat Shalom,

ALN