The art of seeing more than a circle
For quite some time, modern, abstract art annoyed me. I didn’t see the sporadic placement of lines, circles, and smudges of color to constitute true artistic genius. Don’t you see? It’s a man and woman, separated by a void, him holding a newspaper. No I don’t see. All I see are a few rectangles and lines. Just draw a freakin person if that’s what you want me to see. Make it realistic. Show me what you want to show me.
I would look at painting after painting, and not see or feel anything. I simply didn’t get it. So I gave up on abstract art and stuck with what I did understand. I would go to museum after museum, gloating about the Renoirs and Monets I saw and simply avoiding any of the pieces I was convinced an eight year out would have a easy time replicating.
This has been my strategy for years, but alas, boredom came to the rescue. A month alone in a city, hours spent waiting tables and watching Netflix led me to drastic measures. I had visited, and quite appreciated many a visit to the Frist Museum in Nashville. The Kandinsky exhibit they were hosting wasn’t of the up most interest to me, but the museum was free and with my night off work I needed to do something other than Netflix in bed.
So off I went, museum bound and not sure I would really enjoy going. I walked inside and, at first, it was precisely what I was expecting. I went from piece to piece trying to understand just what it was looking at, what the artist wanted me to feel.
I found myself extremely jealous of the couple close by. They seemed so astounded by his work, talking for long stretches about each piece. I wished they would fill me in on what was so great about the jagged lines and circles before.
It wasn’t until I started reading the displays that I began to understand.
There was vision and meaning to the art that I’d completely missed. The more I read about what Kandinsky attempted to relate through his work, the more amazed I was at the brilliance of what he hoped to accomplish.
For Kandinsky, it was more than a visual experience to see his art; it could be auditory, spiritual; what was taken away from a piece was without bounds. These lines, that black hole all depicted his ties with the celestial world. Colors were representations being brought closer to humanity or closer to the spiritual. There was an orchestration of color and movement in the lines of each piece depicting the dynamism of all he was feeling with his brush in hand.
The creator always has a relationship with his creation. There is always something that is seen, felt, or expressed. Even when it isn’t apparent to others, it’s there. Kandinsky helped me appreciate art I can’t always understand. He taught me how to see past the muddled shapes and colors to what exists deep beyond the pigment: a message, a feeling, just waiting to be discovered.
Yes, it can be exhausting to stare at a painting and see nothing, but at least now I know that somewhere deep within the pigment is a message, a feeling, just waiting to be discovered.
I would look at painting after painting, and not see or feel anything. I simply didn’t get it. So I gave up on abstract art and stuck with what I did understand. I would go to museum after museum, gloating about the Renoirs and Monets I saw and simply avoiding any of the pieces I was convinced an eight year out would have a easy time replicating.
This has been my strategy for years, but alas, boredom came to the rescue. A month alone in a city, hours spent waiting tables and watching Netflix led me to drastic measures. I had visited, and quite appreciated many a visit to the Frist Museum in Nashville. The Kandinsky exhibit they were hosting wasn’t of the up most interest to me, but the museum was free and with my night off work I needed to do something other than Netflix in bed.
So off I went, museum bound and not sure I would really enjoy going. I walked inside and, at first, it was precisely what I was expecting. I went from piece to piece trying to understand just what it was looking at, what the artist wanted me to feel.
I found myself extremely jealous of the couple close by. They seemed so astounded by his work, talking for long stretches about each piece. I wished they would fill me in on what was so great about the jagged lines and circles before.
It wasn’t until I started reading the displays that I began to understand.
There was vision and meaning to the art that I’d completely missed. The more I read about what Kandinsky attempted to relate through his work, the more amazed I was at the brilliance of what he hoped to accomplish.
For Kandinsky, it was more than a visual experience to see his art; it could be auditory, spiritual; what was taken away from a piece was without bounds. These lines, that black hole all depicted his ties with the celestial world. Colors were representations being brought closer to humanity or closer to the spiritual. There was an orchestration of color and movement in the lines of each piece depicting the dynamism of all he was feeling with his brush in hand.
The creator always has a relationship with his creation. There is always something that is seen, felt, or expressed. Even when it isn’t apparent to others, it’s there. Kandinsky helped me appreciate art I can’t always understand. He taught me how to see past the muddled shapes and colors to what exists deep beyond the pigment: a message, a feeling, just waiting to be discovered.
Yes, it can be exhausting to stare at a painting and see nothing, but at least now I know that somewhere deep within the pigment is a message, a feeling, just waiting to be discovered.