wider view

another article from robert genn, reprinted with permission:

In 1984, Edward O. Wilson introduced the "Biophilia hypothesis." His idea was that there's an instinctive bond between humans and other living systems--animals, plants, etc. Leaning on the earlier work of Erich Fromm, Wilson defined Biophilia as "the urge to affiliate with other forms of life."

More recently, Bob Stone, a researcher in Birmingham, UK, has done some amazing experiments in hospitals and nursing homes. He puts large flat-screen terminals near patients' beds. The 24-hour imagery on these screens mimics the actual time of day, including sunrise and sunset. The scene might be a fairly static beach or woodland view with the occasional passage of birds or animals. Audio completes the picture.

Guess what? Patients cheer up, become more alert and engaged, have lower blood pressure, and act happier. Believe it or not, this phony environment even works a bit better than pushing people out into familiar gardens in wheelchairs.

In another experiment, this time in the USA, children with ADHD were subjected to actual greenery. Measurable amounts of calm, focus and improved concentration followed after about 20 minutes. They're calling it "Green therapy."

Plein air painters have known about this sort of thing for some time. The "event" of outdoor work somehow soothes the savage breast--after a couple of hours even problematic people can be positively mellow. As an antidote to the sweaty anxiety that many painters have in their studios, green therapy calms and centers quicker and cheaper than a Zen master. Brilliant for the artist's soul; over time it also improves quality.

I know of sunless painters who toil below screaming projectors and dictated deadlines. I've shouted down their stairways to get them out and into the greenery. Funnily, in a world of rugged individualists, it's probably fear that keeps them in their caves. Like the old folks of Birmingham, they get some sustenance from their reference material. Back in the UK, one lady, bedridden and virtually silent for two years, was totally perked up by her seaside-mimicking terminal. "Get my hat," she called out. "I need to take a bus to the sea. Is there a bus?"

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Unlike phobias, which are the aversions and fears people have of things in the natural world, philias (such as Biophilia) are the attractions and positive feelings that people have toward certain habitats, activities, and objects in their natural surroundings." (Edward O. Wilson)

Esoterica: I'm laptopping you from a sport-fishing boat off the west coast of Vancouver Island. Over the inter-boat radio, my buddies are completely concerned with fish. Back at the lodge, dinner-table conversations can be positively fishy. Captains of industry, these guys hardly mention their offices or factories. I'm the only one supplementing fishing with painting. My advice: Take a bus to the sea while you still can. Hey, gotta go, there's a coho on my line.

working a puzzle

another nice article from robert genn, reprinted with permission:

A fellow painter told me her whole approach was intuitive. "Bob, it's not that your ideas aren't intelligent," she told me, "but I just don't need to know all that stuff." After telling me once again she paints how she feels, she went on to say that she wasn't feeling all that motivated. Later, I was wondering if it might be me un-motivating her.

Then I was remembering the many painters over the years who reported poor motivation and who also just happened to be from the intuition camp. Looking into old emails I found statements like, "It feels too easy to be worthwhile," "I can't be bothered anymore," "I don't know where I'm going," "All I paint is chaos," and "What's the use?"

That night I happened to be in an airport departure lounge. I couldn't help but notice a fellow traveller abandoning her half-completed crossword puzzle on the seat beside her. She had that internal smile that betrayed her satisfaction.

That was when my banana ripple fell off its cone. It's not only finishing the puzzle that satisfies, I realized, it's going word by word that brings the joy.

In painting, I use the puzzle system. I commit myself to one stroke or another at the beginning, then look around to see what my next move might be. Thus, I go from move to move--working out the puzzle--until it's either completed or abandoned.

The puzzle system starts with the proposition that you may not know what to do. The nice part is that, deep down, you have the feeling that you can figure it out. The system draws heavily on the skills of focus and concentration, as well as your accumulated knowledge of techniques and processes. A logical order may be desirable but, as in the case of the recently mentioned ice-cream cone, things can go this way or that. In other words, plenty of opportunities for intuition develop during the game. Further, the process is both additive and subtractive. Things you thought you needed turn out not to be needed; and things you didn't know were needed are suddenly seen to be needed. Balancing it all is quite an art.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Painting is the passage from the chaos of the emotions to the order of the possible." (Balthus)

Esoterica: If you decide to play this sort of game, if only as a test, you'll find there are challenges. Thinking is needed. As things go this way and that, you may, for example, need to dig for reference you hardly anticipated. Constantly asking the question "What could be?" may take you onto unfamiliar ground--maybe an odyssey of walking among the stars. The byproduct of this sort of structured but exploratory art-making is exhilaration. Thus joyfully obsessed, you may just happen to find yourself motivated. As far as I can see, the work is more like play. "Ludere ludum" said the Roman poet and philosopher Kjerkius Gennius (36 BC), "Play the game."