In 1968 two of mid-century’s most influential designers, Charles and Ray Eames, made a short film called Powers of Ten. In just ten minutes they explored the universe from one end of the scale to the other. A book based on that film was published some years later and had a lasting impression on me. It begins with a view from a billion light-years away and moves in at 1/10th the scale steps until we reach the zero point of this journey—humans having picnic on the grass. The journey then goes micro, diving into a human hand, scaling in by tens. In just 40 steps, we are at the quantum particle level, that uncertain and (still) mysterious world.
That visual rubberbanding became an elemental part of my artistic curiosity. In an early artist statement I referenced that micro to macro slide:
The primary influence on my work is the natural world, from the wide open expanse of space to the microscopic view of cellular structures. For all the time I spend looking at nature, I am not interested in duplicating what I see. Instead I am seeking a way to go beyond the domain of nature as we know it and into the place between what we can see and what we cannot.
Looks from the new Hubble
The extraordinary domains at either end of the spectrum of this shared reality continue to feed the imagination and the eye. New images from the new and improved Hubble telescope (astrophysicist Sandra Faber says “we had to make the Hubble a new set of spectacles”) are visual stunning, provocative, luminous, haunting. (More about Dr. Faber and the Hubble can be read in this earlier post.)
A pattern cut by leafcutter bees (Photo: Noah Charney)
The other end of the spectrum is explored in a recent piece in the Boston Globe. Talking about the work of Noah Charney, a biologist who is compiling images of invertebrates and their tracks, artist and writer Roger White puts a nice spin on that extraordinary world at the micro level:
As it happens, insects are Modernists. Their work is suffused with abstraction, pattern, and process. They favor bold, all-over compositions that emphasize the physicality of their materials: the rich colors of soil and leaves, the intricate interior structure of wood, the texture of sand and stone. They turn simple actions like chewing, carving, and egg-laying into complex displays of repetition and variation. When it comes to sculpture, insects are born bricoleurs. They fashion ad hoc constructions out of salvaged materials (like the chamber of the caddisfly larva, a casual yet considered arrangement of found rocks and debris) with an intuitive feeling for texture and color that would have made the Catalan architect Gaudí proud.
As a practitioner of the non-representational, I liked White’s quiet defense of that visual orientation:
The irony here is that abstraction, the signal achievement of Western visual art in the 20th century, is still often regarded as a profoundly artificial art form. Abstract art, we’re taught, was symptomatic of a society’s estrangement from the natural world. For some people, the notion that it’s art at all is still up for debate: the popular critique of abstraction – that it doesn’t “look like” anything – has been around as long as the movement has.
The naturalistic argument for abstraction is certainly born out by looking at non-Western, non-pedigree, indigenous art. The painting tradition that began in the 1970s with the introduction of acrylic paints and canvas to aboriginal people in Australia speaks to an aesthetic commonality with the abstraction that emerged in 20th century Western art. The etiology of those similarities are still a hot topic of discussion and not a straight line relationship by any means. But what can be seen is that there is a connection here that is deeper than just style or intention. While I cannot speak to the leafcutter bee’s intention, I can feast on what is left behind.
Painting by aboriginal artist Bessie Petyarre, from my personal collection
The thought that the Hubble pictures of explosive colors of mystery and movement in constant flux a billion light years away are intrinsically woven with the pattern a leafcutter bee creates on a leaf at once makes life appear to me there is no randomness, but a carefully planned orchestra of art.
The great chain of being…thanks Diana for your cosmic and thoughtful comment.
This is a wonderful post to come across Deborah! Your (early) artist’s statement resonates strongly with an understanding I’ve come to this past decade. I find it simultaneously awe-inspiring and strangely comforting to recognise one’s humble place in this Universe. Life becomes so abstract at the level of particles!
Living in Australia, working generally in abstract painting myself, the phenomenon of the rise of Indigenous Art has impacted significantly on my own work – mainly in my desire to engage with the often immensely powerful aesthetic and understandings behind the work – and for the questions they raise for me as an artist and as a fellow traveller on this land.
A friendship with non-indigenous artist Una Rey, formed when undertaking post-grad work 2 years ago led to very engaging dialogue that is not so common to come across on this subject. Una is at the moment finalising work on her PH D examining, in no small part, the relationship between non-indigenous painters of the land and indigenous painters from the land. Una has lived in remote indigenous communities in northern and central Australia in the role of Arts Manager, in various positions that proved intensely complex and affecting.
Artists here in Australia do not necessarily delve in to and discuss the immense indigenous presence in Contemporary Art. Interest varies a great deal…and there’s a misplaced envy of success that interferes with deeper engagement from some corners. However, a lead has been taken by a number of non-indigenous artists of great integrity, some eminant, others not so…to connect with and develop relationships with indigenous artists and communities around Australia…and through this one can see the shifts in knowledge and ways of perceiving filtering back.
I have found Una’s work in this area particularly thought-provoking as it is born out of her own profound engagement with the land, extensive respect for the indigenous communities she has known, and the Art of these people. However,she has been raising pertinant questions and suggesting that non- indigenous people here do have reason to address their own belonging to land, and and that it is indeed timely to do so.
I’m off track from where I started responding to your wonderful post Deborah!
About 15 yrs ago I heard it said – in relation to the meeting of the original inhabitants of Australia with the white settlers from Britain in 1788 – that this was a low tech, high psyche people meeting a high tech, low psyche people – and whilst that may come across as a clumsy or even deeply problematic statement… it certainly provoked me to ruminate on the notion of “high psyche” and divert my attention to conceptual underpinnings of the Art of Indigenous Australia – be it from Rock engravings suggested to be many thousands of years old, to bark paintings dating back hundreds of years or recent works on canvas.
I’m deeply embarrassed to think of what was taught in school during my school years in the 60’s/70’s regarding the very people whose Art has given me so much.
Thankyou again Deborah for a most thought-provoking post!
[…] of the comments to my earlier post, Threading through Abstraction, Micro and Macro, came in from Down Under. Both of these writers offered a thoughtful expansion of the discussion I […]