Art, Abstraction, and Imperfection
Abstraction
To abstract, in art, is to unveil. It is the attempt to discover the essence of an experience by uncovering its fundamentals by removing superficial externals (cue Aristotle’s ousia; Plato’s universals).
This entails unveiling what vision cannot detect, cannot sense, indeed, cannot see. Reality as we see it — though familiar — does not necessarily correspond to reality as it is. No, seeing is too shallow; too flawed; and too preoccupied with mirrors and reflections. We must strip — remove — undress — and unveil the reality that we cannot see, nor touch, but sense
Aesthetic experiences at their deepest are internal — turning our gaze towards a universalism in which particularities (and their inevitable hierarchies) are irrelevant. It shifts the scale from the personal and superficial to the minuscule and monumental; and in so doing, grants us access to a place where nothing matter but the bare essentials… “[silencing] all external noise…[making] us aware of our fundamental solitude” [1] — in which we, coincidentally and in the end, may find solace.
№98 is no abstraction in the sense that it distorts a material reality. It is an abstraction in that it attempts a realist representation of a non — tangible idea. Realism and abstraction do not stand in opposition — at their core (and in their most total execution) they express exactly the same thing: that is, reality — not the personal and shallow — but the universal and the spiritual.
“What is essential in a work of art” says Carl Jung, “is that it should rise far above the realm of personal life and speak from the spirit and heart of the poet as man to the spirit and heart of mankind.” [2] In other words, to abstract not to obscure — but to reveal.
Imperfection
“This is the paradox [of man]”, writes Ernest Becker — “he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness… and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order to blindly rot and disappear forever”. [3] Søren Kierkegaard too understood the human character in part as a support system to shelter ourselves against the “terror, perdition [and] annihilation that dwell next door to every man” [4] — protecting ourselves (ironically) from the only real certainty we have in life: death.
№98 is deeply flawed — it is crooked, torn, jagged, and weary — hinting at the dimension of time, the process of ageing, and our inevitable departure. It exalts no outer but (with some level of confidence) an inner beauty — visible to some, though surely off — putting to others. “To those that are not accustomed to it”, Kandinsky writes, “the inner beauty appears as ugliness because humanity in general inclines to the outer and knows nothing of the inner.” [5]
Art is not immortal — it exists inside the definite, and mistakes, discrepancies, and traces of age is therefore unavoidable (a lack of which would not just be denial — but a lie). “This fear of the traces of wear and age is related to our fear of death” [6] Pallasmaa writes. Do not fear time — embrace it — and learn (like Tanizaki) to “love things that bear the marks of grime, soot, and weather…and the sheen that call to mind the past that made them”. [7] To live not in disillusion, but assent.
“A sense of melancholy lies beneath all moving experiences of art; this is the sorrow of beauty’s immaterial temporality.” (Juhani Pallasmaa)
[1] Pallasmaa, Juhani. The Eyes of the Skin. 1996.
[2] Jung, Carl Gustav. Modern Man in Search of a Soul. 1933.
[3] Becker, Ernest. The Denial of Death. 1973.
[4] Kierkegaard, Søren. The Concept of Anxiety. 1844.
[5] Kandinsky, Wassily. Concerning the Spiritual in Art. 1947.
[6] Pallasmaa, Juhani. The Eyes of the Skin. 1996.
[7] Tanizaki, Jun’ichirō. In Praise of Shadows. 1933.
