Dear Reader,
I came across this fascinating article on the Positive News website discussing the wisdom of taking our time to appreciate art and what that does for us.
To quote the article, “In an age of scrolling and speed, we’ve forgotten how to truly see art. Art historian Olivia Meehan explores the practice of ‘slow looking’ – and how taking time to engage deeply with a painting can transform our experience.”
Claude Monet said: “Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.”
Cool Stuff
I’ve added this Post to the “Cool Stuff” Section of the Positive Echo website, and is free to access. https://garycoulton.substack.com/s/cool-stuff
The benefit of taking time to absorb art
I used to be “That Guy”, who visited galleries and sought out one kind of art, impressionist. My knee jerk was to see if I could recognise the piece and name the artist in my head. Then, I’d read that little notice to learn more. I might take a couple of minutes to look at the picture and then move on to the next that caught my attention. Something changed when I visited Paris with Mel, my wife.
We went to the Orangerie to view Monet’s Water Lilies. For anyone who has not seen this painting, it is huge and covers the walls of a large ovoid room. The colours and forms are overwhelmingly beautiful. I spent the best part of ninety minutes staring at them, imbibing them, without attempting to intellectually interpret their meaning. To begin with they were lilies but in time were transformed into a pallet of intertwined hues and shapes. They occupied all of me.
Mel was patient, sensing I was going through something she’d never seen before., she was right. Eventually, she ushered me out into the sunshine. I stood and wept long wracking sobs. I didn’t give a fig for what people observing me might think. I now know this experience to be art shock, and it changed the way I appreciate art from being a disconnected intellectual observer to a committed emotional collaborator with the artist. No longer a consumer but rather a partner in the artistic adventure, separated by a hundred years or more. I was never the same person after that.
I discovered I’m neurodivergent decades after this experience and spent several decades struggling to find myself. One of the things I practiced was accepting what is in any moment. If I was happy in that moment that was OK, and if not, that also was fine. I went on a journey of trying to understand my emotional responses to situations, so I could avoid being carried away by them. To do this I decided to investigate my reactions to things that made me feel uncomfortable. One of my life laboratories was art galleries.
Impressionist paintings moved me in ways that medieval religious art could not. I’m not religious so the subject matter didn’t engage me. However, one day while in the British National Gallery in London I consciously made the decision to walk to rooms containing religious art from the 15th and 16th Centuries. I felt my resistance physically, gravity seemed to increase its pull on my shoulders, my thoughts were full of, “You don’t belong here”. I decided to stay.
I use the zoom out, zoom in, zoom out method of viewing paintings. Depending on the size of the canvas, I stand ten feet or further away and simply look. I resist the temptation to concentrate my focus on specific features, instead I simply see the entirety of the picture. Then, I walk as close as I can to inspect how the picture was formed, the brush or palette knife strokes, connecting me with the artist technician. Having done that, I walk back again and only now allow myself to scan the picture for its individual elements. Depending on my mood this may take ten to fifteen minutes, or longer.
Back in the National Gallery I chose a picture at random and stood in my discomfort zooming in and out. I looked at the colours and the garments, and the texture of the clouds. Mostly, I observed my thoughts and physical sensations. As the minutes ticked past, my discomfort diminished. By the time I moved on I’d not become an aficionado of this genre, but I understood my negative reaction better, and I’d lessened its impact.
Art as a metaphor for life
The events of our lives flash by, preventing us from really understanding their importance and impact on us. Rather like the person who whips around a gallery dedicating a couple of minutes to each artwork. What if we took time to practise our skills of deeper observation and appreciation using art as our life laboratory? By harnessing our ability to focus, even on the uncomfortable, we sharpen our tools for observing and understanding life events.
And now?
These days, I’m able to sit quietly being comfortable with discomfort. It’s not the same as fatalism, rather it enhances my capacity to accept what is, helps me understand my emotional responses, and hones my ability to make wiser decisions.
Slow art is not only about our personal experience, it is a model for everything human we do.