musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

The object of Art is to give Life a shape


Strange things are happening nowadays, or is it just me having weird thoughts? Peculiar questions? Although I’m retired now, I don’t remember hearing those questions asked when I was at work; maybe people didn’t think like that in those days; maybe we were all different then. Of course, I used to keep to myself on my days off; my job required hearing complaints that needed hastily contrived solutions, acceptable or otherwise. So, I longed for time alone, a bubble where I wasn’t constantly acceding to the demands of others. On the long drive home from work, I listened to the radio so I wasn’t troubled by questions -profound or otherwise; I expected no epiphanies in those days; those were unusual times, I think…

But Life is different now that I’m retired. I actually miss the constant need for improvisation, and the frequent palliation that so annoyed me in the past. I now enjoy the chatter of strangers, and the giggle of excited teenagers -even on public transit. Even in the middle of Covid times, there were people all around me on the bus. Although I tried to sit alone, there were often couples in the seat ahead sharing stories about their lives. Would it be rude to admit that I often eavesdropped?

I have to admit that most of what I heard were, well, banal observations on everyday life -gossipy things, I guess- but every so often I had to strain to hear something so interesting, so compelling, that I needed to lean forward in my seat.

In fact, I remember a time when I risked breaking the social-distancing guidelines and got so close to the couple in front, that they both actually turned around and glared at me for a moment

They were two young women quite elegantly attired in designer cloth masks both with swirly designs on them that reminded me of the sea and sky of Munch’s painting the Scream.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sitting back on my seat. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop” -a lie, I’m afraid- “but I was so intrigued by your Munch masks that I began to listen to what you were saying. That’s rude, I know…”

One of the women -the one whose mask most resembled Munch’s wavy red sky- turned her head towards me again, and examined me curiously. Even behind her mask, I could tell she was smiling. “You said ‘Munch’… Are you interested in Art?”

I smiled back at her and nodded my head.

“We’re both students at Emily Carr,” she started. “You know, the Arts University here in Vancouver,” she explained, in case I was a Luddite or something.”

I nodded pleasantly. “I gathered that from your discussion.”

Her friend turned around and smiled at me as well. “We were just talking about something one of our professors discussed today.”

Red sky nodded. “Yes… She was asking us what happens when we lose ourselves in a painting? I mean, where do we go…?”

“Like, do we temporarily inhabit a liminal space between thinking and seeing…?” Swirling water added. “…Hover between reality and imagination?”

“It’s obvious that for a moment we are not actually aware that we are in a room looking at the painting,” Sky continued. “We’re somehow in the painting. In Constable’s ‘The Hay Wain’, for example…” She thought she’d better ask before going on. “Do you know that painting?”

I nodded, but not because I had anything more than a vague recollection of some horses pulling a wagon along a creek with a house in the background, but because Sky seemed so earnest.

“Well, anyway,” she continued, “it’s as if you’re actually -I don’t know- like, right there, sitting on the bank watching them as if you maybe were from a neighbouring farm or something…”

“And it’s the same with most art forms, isn’t it?” -Swirling water this time. “I mean it’s easy to lose yourself in music…”

“And how often are you aware of the letters on a page as you read…?” Sky added.

They were both really excited, as their eyes danced back and forth between each other and me, the stranger behind them on a bus. I found myself absolutely enchanted with their fascination with Art, but mainly I think, with the idea they had just planted in my head.

“There’s something about Art of any type that transcends the usual boundaries between reality and make-believe, don’t you think?” Sky stopped for a moment, embarrassed that we were still nameless strangers. “I’m Carry, by the way,” she said, and nodded to her friend. “That’s Tanya… I suppose we’re not supposed to shake hands or anything nowadays… It seems strange, don’t you think?”

“Rude, actually,” Tanya  added, and then stuck her hand out to shake mine.

I wasn’t quite sure how to react; Covid had really messed with politesse. But in a split second decision, I shook her hand. “I’m G,” I said, and reached for Carry’s now outstretched hand. And then I couldn’t help expressing my interest in their thoughts. “Wow! I’d never thought of the immersion I experience with the various types of Art… How do you explain it?”

The two women glanced at each other for a moment, and then giggled and simultaneously shrugged. “Our prof discussed Heidegger’s idea about the boundedness of the world and his concept of Da-sein, the ‘being-thereness’… but that didn’t really explain anything, did it Tanya?”

“Nope,” she answered. “The only thing that made sense was the idea that we voluntarily surrender to the fantasy in the art, and sort of swim in it…”

“Like we briefly experience what the characters in a book do, or the people in the painting see around them, and for that moment, find ourselves changed…” Carry looked at her friend and shrugged. “The prof was right… but I don’t think she explained it very well… There were a lot of arms waving in the air at the end of her lecture anyway…”

“Yeah, I remember she sighed and shook her head at the magic of Art being able to do that to us. And then she mentioned an article we could read that might help.[i]“

I understood their confusion and wrote down the URL in my phone. “Maybe Art is just a shared empathy…” I said, and they both nodded their heads, although I have to say I was not trying to be profound. Maybe I was also feeling empathy at our shared realization that most Art neither demands nor expects an explanation. It just is in whatever realm it exists. And for a moment, so are we…

[i]  https://psyche.co/ideas/when-art-transports-us-where-do-we-actually-go

, , , , , , ,

gozzter

, , , , , , ,

Leave a comment