Week Five: Searching For Essence + Dancing on the Scar

So this week, we're "Searching For the Essence of Art" with Arthur C. Danto... sounds like fun. Let's jump on in! Wait, what exactly are we searching for?! A needle in a haystack? Sasquatch? No? Okay, okay that's right... essence ... we're searching for essence. Oh, such a sparkly and beautiful word, yet I honestly have no idea the concrete/academic meaning off the top of my head. Do you? Sure, I know what essence is. If I saw it, I'd know. If I touched it I'd know. If I tasted it, I'd know. Essence is something, that thing, that special something, that makes *that* something what it is. But that's a bunch of jibber-jabbish and totally ambiguous. So without further adieu, I've consulted my good friend wikipedia with a basic and much more clear insight on to just what essence really is: in philosophy, essence is the attribute or set of attributes that make an object or substance what it fundamentally is, and which it has by necessity, and without which it loses its identity. So, in a sense (pun intended) essence is what makes art, art, but the thing that makes art what it is is inherently tied to it and it cannot lose it's essence or it loses its identity? Is that what you're telling me, wikipedia? Hmm. So essence, in the most simple and reduced terms, is the indispensable element, the most crucial component to anything. So now, onward ho! We continue our search for the essence of art. Look under the canvas. Find it? No. Look on top of the art installation. Is it there? Nope. Look at the black and white photos in the museum. See it? *Still searching* That essence we're so adamantly searching for is pretty elusive. Wanna know why? Because I don't think it's tangible. Instead, I think the essence of art is dialogue-- communication, fluidity, movement, criticisms, histories, cultures-- all of it encompasses dialogue. Dialogue is the critical component in art, that without its essence, art loses its identity. Dialogue between the audience and the artists, between cultures, between one art critic and another, between friends, so long as the dialogue is open and reflecting upon art, is the essence.

The dialogue is what makes art what it fundamentally is: a vehicle for conversation, a participatory engagement with the art and with the world. Without dialogue in art, well... I don't think art would exist. Sure, pretty pictures might exist without art, but what makes art art is that we are challenged, intrigued, upset, engaged, or otherwise affected by its presence, its essence. This week, Gablik questions, did "recognition of cultural difference led to greater global dialogue, or to an ethnocentricsm that reinforces separatism?" and "How can audiences take on the role of participant rather than spectator?" First of all, how about we define art in different terms: instead of strictly visual, how about a sensory and participatory act, a kind of fluidity between the art and our experiences, back-and-forth, creating this great dialogue. I think we all can agree on that. I know I also agree with Danto's sentiments, in that if we were to find a solution through criticism, that open dialogue back and forth produces an atmosphere for people to express how they're feeling-- their sentiments on whatever cultural or socio-economic issue is at hand-- and then walk away from it. If we solved our problems in a way that didn't alienate the "other" but listened to all sides of the issue and respected the thoughts of others without necessarily agreeing, then much of the world's problems probably wouldn't exist. But here's where I get cynical: Yes, it'd be great if everything was all rainbows and butterflies and ponies, and if everyone got to say their piece and be done with it, and if we could all feel respected and feel as though our opinions, views, criticisms, what have you, were respected and held in high regard, but the truth is not everyone has a voice, not everyone will express their views even if given the chance, and there will always be at least one person who is uncooperative with an open and honest dialogue among cultures and will cause problems for the rest. So, in theory it's a great idea, moving toward solving problems through open dialogue and criticisms and philosophizing and all that sparkly stuff, but I just don't realistically see it happening so long as we're free to do and think and act however we please.  Suzi Gablik's problem, and it seems mine as well, with pluralism (or philosophy) is that it encourages more individualism, and that is the exact opposite sentiments that Gablik supports. She desires for a new "paradigm of interrelatedness" or communication between communities/cultures. And as for Danto, he says he's afraid of "community." He doesn't want to be told what to do, and he thinks it complete authoritarian, where as Gablik thinks community denotes a more consensual, inviting structure of living. But what about essence? Isn't that what they're supposed to be searching for?

Isn't it right in front of us? This dialogue between Danko and Gablik, isn't that the essence of art, in a sense. Now I'm stretching this pretty far but here me out: the essence of art is the fact that two people are sitting down together in a room, taking time out of their day, to reflect on art, the historical and hierarchical context of it, and of philosophy, questioning which one is most conducive to growing the interconnectedness among people and cross cultures, and how it all relates? Isn't that what makes art special? Isn't that what makes art fundamentally art? The fact that people are sitting down and debating and deliberating and even criticizing with each other. I think that's the essence. I may have completely lost my mind, but that's what I think the essence is. That's what I think essence in art is. All the jibber jabber, the philosophizing of this, the criticizing of that, the attention to this certain piece, of that certain event, "oh my god, it was horrible!", "did you see that crazy whacky abstract piece?", "that river cleaning thing they're doing sure is inspiring. maybe I should start recycling, or save the planet" ... I mean, that's what makes art art! That's why art is art. Because people are talking about it. Without the dialogue, there's no essence.

Ron Graff was wonderful in person; charismatic, intriguing, a little zany. He had that essence. When someone's brilliant, you just know. I for sure felt his essence, the almost intrinsic nature of dialogue he had with himself. He commented on his art and told whimsical stories of how this painting came to be or this painting was some other painting and then two years later it transformed into this painting. I found his style and his mentality about art and about his creations a very fluid one; that is to say, that much like Coco Fusco, Graff creates this intense, intimate relationship between himself and society (or, in many cases, the scenery) that provides a back and forth movement between the two worlds; Graff goes out and experiences life and learns about things or sees a new static kind of scene in nature and translates that onto a painting. Although his subjects are still life, and manly objects or scenery, Graff still has this fluidity and this movement about his art, like he is constantly learning from one art piece, and then scraps away at the painting or throws another layer of paint on top to create this dynamic image, both literally and metaphorically. It's this brilliant kind of juxtaposition between the static still life that he puts onto the canvas and the canvas as this fluid, ever changing medium for which Graff creates and is constantly changing its identity. It's definitely got the essence.

In, "Two Undiscovered Aborigines Dancing on the Wound of History" Coco Fusco
recalls that in the participatory art installation, people had to figure out for themselves if the "natives" were legitimate or not. This installation encouraged participatory interaction between the art/artists and the cultural, and in the larger context of the community and history, provoking/creating dialogue among audience. Throughout the event, the objectification of the natives in the context of racial and elitist hierarchy was highlighted, and it seems some of the audience was uncomfortable or even outraged at such an art installation. The range of emotions that this event provoked can be explained pretty simply: since issues today are more emotionally charged than in the past because they are more ecologically and politically important than ever. So, it seems that with the emotionally charged issues and dialogue that follows, art is becoming more dynamic, as opposed to the static environment that it once inhabited, which was based on observations only. In the art installation of Fusco, engaging with the audience was the fundamental goal; the audience's participation was a crucial component to the success of the event/piece and also to the success of the changing, solving, deliberating of cultural issues. If the audience is engaged and participating, then they will feel as though they have a voice or a part in the issue that is being brought to light, and thus they will feel more propelled to act. If they are simply observing, and do not have a participatory role in the event or viewing of art, they are not going to feel incorporated into the history it is presenting or the questions it is trying to raise, and thus they won't feel the need to reflect on and/or participate in some kind of cultural shift or change in their thoughts and actions.

So, seems only logical that if we transform what we understand as art, as we seem to be doing, we will then transform our thoughts about art, and expand on the role that art could play in our culture if we were to really let it. If we transform what we think art ought to be in to what we want art to be/what we want art to do for us, we can perhaps transform our understanding not only of art in the most basic context, but also transform our ideas and views on the cultural issues that art brings to the forefront. If we break down these hierarchical walls in the art world that we've built up between cultures and between continents and between histories, then to we might be able to break down the walls between people as a whole as well. In the case of the event of the Aboriginals being caged, I found it interesting that some people were afraid, while others were upset, while others immediately read into the metaphorical level of what the piece was getting at. And for all of these different ranges of emotions comes a different levels of participation, involvement and engagement with the piece and with the larger issues at hand. Some participation was direct, communicative and physically interacting with the caged people, while some participation was more of an internal metaphorical contextualize of the participatory piece.

Fusco says that "now everybody's getting bombarded with everybody else's culture- maybe not in an equal way, but there's some kind of cultural interaction that we share" which has to be understood before we can understand how we are constructing ourselves and our identities in our own cultures. I agree with Fusco in the sense that the movement between the world of art and the world of culture and cultural identity should be fluid and participatory, a constant stream of interconnectedness and communicative relations that better help us understand and relate with the world and with ourselves, and that we can indeed achieve this through participatory art, so long as we take the time and the care to reflect and react responsibly. And so long as we remember to bring the essence, we'll be dancing on the scars of history.

Week Four: Healing/Process/World/Postcards

James Hillman's "When you're healed.. send me a postcard" can be summed up with the following quote:  "I like to practice therapy. I do it well. But I don't believe in it." This is a quote by Hillman himself, and when I read it I had to pause, and remember back to the first day of class with Ty, when she said something along the lines of, "I create art... but you wanna know a secret? I kinda hate art." What a mind blowing, and slightly confusing concept this was for me upon hearing Ty say this and reading this article. But then I got to thinking... Why is it that we participate in things that we don't necessarily believe in or, that we "kinda" hate? I think it's because as much as we think we hate it, or don't believe in it, we do. We do. We do. We do. We want to. We need to. We feel this moral obligation to help ourselves, help someone else, heal the world. We have this calling, this inherent and insatiable urge to create/to help/to contribute to the world whichever way we can. But it's scary, because what if we fail? Worse, what if we don't succeed? And so, we say, I don't believe in it, or I hate it, or this is stupid, why even like art, what's the point of therapy, because then we aren't 100% responsible for the outcomes, we are not 100% responsible if the impact that we are trying to make or the message we are trying to send goes awry. And you know what? WE ALL FEEL THIS WAY, in one way or another. And since everything can't be rainbows and butterflies and ponies shining out our asses all the time, we put up these walls, severing the connection between ourselves, between our worlds, between us and nature, while we simultaneously deflect the complete responsibility for the condition of humanity and of the world. Because who in their right mind would want to have all that weight upon their shoulders? And better yet, who would willingly put it upon themselves?

In all honesty, I don't really know where I was going with the sentiments above, suffice to say that the condition of the world is sometimes too much to bear and so we isolate ourselves. For Hillman, it seems psychology may be part of the problem because it's working on healing the inner part of the soul/self, without addressing the problems of the outside world; not being able to separate the "condition of the individual soul from that of the world" is problematic at best, and catastrophic at worst. In regards to art, Gablik thinks "like therapy, [it] too has fashioned its practice on the paradigm of separation detachment and autonomy." This is to say that art is an isolated act, much like therapy, done in a room detached from the outside world. And when detached and isolated, the beauty in life and in nature becomes hard to grasp. Beauty is essential for Hillman; without beauty, life cannot function the way it's supposed to. Art is not some "accessory" in our culture; rather, it is inherent to the "radiance" of the world. In other words, to Hillman, beauty functions as any other living organism in a sense; it is crucial to the earth and environment that beauty (in art and in life) exist as a critical component to our livelihood as a planet, and should not be seen as a mere afterthought or addition to our culture. As I understand Hillman, he believes that without beauty, we are blind in a sense that we cannot fully understand or appreciate nature. This is comparable to seeing the grand canyon in person, taking in the sights and the smell of the pines and the sheer vastness of it all, a deep plunging canyon with a seemingly bottomless expanse; we cannot fully appreciate the canyon in it's entirety if we haven't seen it ourselves. Sure, we can look at pictures or read about it in a book, or even see it in a movie. But in order to truly grasp the majesty, the beauty in its entirety, we must witness it ourselves. Much as in nature or our environment, we have to experience it ourselves, play a participatory role and communicate with it, in order to see all of its encompassing beauty.

Art has become an individualistic, "self-contained" act of indulgence, severing all connectedness to the natural world, instead of a communal and participatory act of connecting with the environment. Is art like therapy in that it heals the individual and not concerned with healing the community? Or is art a participatory act between people in a culture who actively seek to heal themselves.  Does whatever you do in that room affect the outside world? Does an isolated artist in a studio have an impact on the outside world? Does a person in a therapists office that's working on healing impact the outside world because they're healing themselves? Does healing yourself mean you're perpetuating, encouraging even, the healing of all of humanity? Who's to say. I for one know that when I'm bettering myself and healing myself, by meditating daily, talking through my problems instead of letting them brew inside my mind, when I'm at my best physically and best emotionally, I have this clarity of myself and of life. I feel connected to myself, and in turn I feel connected to humanity and to the earth. So, yes, I do think there is something to be said about individual healing that translates into communal/cultural healing, that emanates through the isolated walls of a studio or therapy room and into the real world. But that's just me. And, as Suzi Gablik has stated in this interview, some critics are of the belief that only "healed" individuals can make important contributions to the world. Hillman, on the contrary, believes this a silly idea. For one, how does one know when they are fully healed? Can we every be fully healed? What the hell does that even mean? Do we even want to be completely healed? I, for one, think that from the deep wounds in our souls come the greatest ideas, our greatest passions, our greatest and most profound ideologies, and in turn have the greatest impact on ourselves, and if we choose to share, with the world. So, I'd have to agree with Hillman when he says that psychologically we are all not completely healed, and that that's okay, probably better than okay, great in fact, and that we are still making great contributions to both the art world and the world at large. For example, I don't think Dan Powell is completely "healed" or what have you. Yet he's sharing with us a piece of himself, a piece of his life, of his experiences, of his ideologies, where the medium speaks for him. He builds this collaborative relation with his pieces that expresses connectedness yet isn't grabbing us by the throat saying, "Here is my art. You better like it! And you better think about this ecological issue that I'm raising. You better question what I think you should question. You better understand my intentions." I don't think that's his goal at all. I think he's just trying to develop and nurture a relationship with his art and with others through his art; he does this by using distortions of images, of still life, of reality in a way that makes us interact with the pieces; the black and white collages of photographs provokes us, foster a sense of connection with him and with the material with out trying to relay any kind of socio-economic issues to us. He's not trying to raise eco-awareness, just simply trying to connect through his own means, by whatever medium is calling to him in a particular moment. I think his style is admirable. He doesn't necessarily objectify the medium he's using; rather he lets the object do the talking, so to speak. He let's the images or the photographs stand alone, by themselves, for themselves, and they tell their own story without him having to.

Today it seems that the objectification and commodification of nature have produced neutral, even somewhat negative, feelings toward nature which in turn devalues and erases the nurturing tendencies we should have toward nature. Carolyn Merchant compares the world of art to the world in general, arguing that the way most people view the world/environment/nature is the same way they view art: isolated, at a distance, and non-participatory -- autonomous objects as art, instead of participatory installations or participatory dance. Again, we keep coming back to the observer versus participant debate when it comes to art. There should be a collaborative relation between the artist and the medium through a participatory means, one that garners "collective-ness" (I'm making up words now!) and invites participation among the observers, turning them into participants themselves, whether they know they are being turned into participants are not. I think that's what Carolyn Merchant is getting at: that participatory art, so to speak, should evolve along side of us, and knowingly or unknowingly, change us for the better, help us, heal us to what ever degree it is able. Participatory art should take us with it, take us on the journey of not only "healing" (and I use that term loosely) ourselves, but simultaneously healing our world. Art should align us with nature, not deviate us off course. It should embed us with world views and cultural values that are cohesive with one another, that are conscious of one another, that are part of nature.

"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them, and that is eternity." -Edvard Munch

Week Three: Ten Thousand Artists ... In One Lifeboat?

Hilton Kramer, you are one conservative man. Much like my father, but for different, and slightly more intriguing reasons. Kramer seems to value the quality of art over the quantity of art produced, and strives to preserve the meaning/value of what art and an artist truly is. To him, there's a real "dysfunctionality" in the art world, which is directly proportionate to the size of the art world. That's to say, there are so many damn people these days that claim themselves as artists, yet many lack the skills to produce quality pieces of art work. This is Kramer's perspective. He sees art as an aesthetically pleasing object, nothing more. A non-interactive and non-confrontational manifestation of an artist's ability to create pretty pictures.  Don't get me wrong, traditional art does perhaps serve as a confrontational guise in the ego/i/self sense, meaning it provokes one to think, and may cause you to confront things within, but does it really challenge us to think outside of ourselves? Does it cause us to think on a grander scale, as a way of being one with the world? I don't think it encompasses this concept entirely, like art today does. And you know what I think is missing with this idea that traditional art is the "best" or of the highest quality? The concept of a dialogue between the art/artist and the world. We know what Kramer would say: traditional art is the most meaningful and of most value when it is serving no other purpose than itself; in other words, art should be pretty to look at for the sake of being pretty to look at. Now, granted, I'm glossing over the details, but that's the general idea. But I think, traditional art that's pretty is always going to be just that- pretty- and lacking in dialogue. And isn't sharing and conversing and collaborating with the world what makes all of us go 'round and 'round? I'd like to think so. I think that's what many artists today are striving for, that inherent need to create something of value not only for themselves but to satiate their need to be heard through whichever art medium they choose. Art is the voice, of the world, the individual, all wrapped up into a-sometimes pretty, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes incredibly abstractly conceptual package. I think modern art holds much more value and is much more functional than Kramer gives it credit for.

With this idea of art functioning as dialogue, comes the abstract ideas of artist Jack Ryan. His "Moonrise" piece (one of the components of his "Scriabin's Mustache") is eerily striking to me. It kinda creeps me out. In the best way possible. But still, it's really really really creepy. The alien-esque noises simultaneously coinciding with shots of the waxing and waning of the moon totally freak me. The noises, which are space and solar wind recordings, are exceedingly challenging for me to listen to without thinking "ET--Phone Home" yet at the same time generate such an emotional response. For me, it's almost as if time is standing still as I watch this video, yet at the same time I find such rhythm and continuity in it's noises and images. It's much like the fluidity and continuity I find in Ryan's work. With Ryan, it seems everything is left up for our own interpretations, or shall we say, open for an interactive and intentional dialogue, be it with ourselves or others. It seems, also, that Ryan likes it this way, and much prefers that art, in general, be left undefined. He wants us to use the work he's created in whichever way we need to in order to define art the way we see fit for ourselves. This concept is all encompassing in the sense that it's a very ambiguous and slightly objective stance that he's taking on art, yet in turn that's eliciting such a strong response and emotion for the viewer to create a definition of art in a somewhat subjective manner. I'm jumbling a lot of my thoughts, but suffice to say that Ryan presents art in a way that's objective, so that we in turn can take that art and use it as objectively or subjectively as we choose. I think that's magical, and very, very powerful.

Unlike Ryan, Kramer seems to want to put art and artists in a teeny tiny little box. They just won't fit, nor do they want to. There's no right or wrong way to view art, subjectively, objectively, one eye-closed, upside down.  Kramer mentions that art is "best" when it is created and appreciated as art and not as something else. But hold the phone! Aren't some of today's artists, such as Ryan, striving for the complete opposite? Aren't they striving to create art- yes, something aesthetically beautiful AND functional at the same time- as to serve as a jumping off point, encouragement for an open dialogue among people, and an invitation to share our own truths, whatever those may be? I think those are the intentions among many artists in today's world. Not so much to create something beautiful to look at, although a lot of art created with such intentions certainly is. But I think there's a larger, more expansive objective on the forefront; the concept of an open dialogue between artists of all kinds, all skill levels, all conceptualizations; there's no kind of right or wrong artist, best or worst, in my opinion. It all depends on the message, the intentions trying to be conveyed. Certainly artists can fail in their attempts to convey a message they so adamantly tried to express through an art piece or installation, but to call them a "bad artist" for it seems entirely wrong. I think, oftentimes, they're better for trying and failing.

There seems to be this emerging of "ten thousand" artists, if you will, due to the heightened awareness of  such critical socio-economic, environmental, and political issues, and because of what's at stake (our beautiful, incredible, dynamic planet!) more and more people are emerging as artists and expressing their messages because they feel the inherent need to spread their own truths. Kramer, however doesn't see the condition of the planet as a sinking ship, like many artists these days seem to. Maybe that's the difference- people such as Kramer don't view the world as collapsing around them, don't feel the walls crumbling, and thus with this he only needs art to function for him in an aesthetically pleasing way. He doesn't need art to explore/question/defend his world. But for other artists, the walls are crumbling, and thus with their view of the world as a sinking ship comes manifestations of art that will no doubt be different. That's what it all comes down to. As more and more people become aware, seeing the light so to speak, the need to create just pours from their being. They've gotta get it out. And so they do. Sure, the quantity of artists has probably increased, but guess what? So, too, has the quality of intentions. The quality hasn't gone anywhere. In fact, I think the quality of art is richer in awareness and more incredibly dynamic than ever. And that should be the measure of great art. I guess it's just a matter of how you look at it.

So, here's the ultimate question: Can we save them all? Do we need to save them all? Do we want to save them all? How do we determine who stays afloat and who sinks into the great blue abyss? Who determines it? See, this question of "good art versus bad art", "wrong versus right" , "quality versus quantity" is really just a circular and entirely subjective or objective matter, depending on how you look at it, and will perpetually propagate itself. There's really no two ways about it. Art is art. Whatever that means is up to you. So I say, ten thousand artists in one lifeboat!  Hop aboard! There's plenty of room! And perhaps the sea that we call life will be infinitely better for it. One thing's for sure, though- they'll be plenty of dialogue along the way.

Week Two: From Chronicler to Participant

In "Doin' Dirt Time" Rachel Dutton and Rob Olds giving up everything, seeking their full potential without material limits or economical restrictions. They're after renewal. They're trying to demonstrate that living is the purest art form by living in complete solitude, which is indeed a very notion radical for most people. However, this alluring act is an act of art in itself, and it makes quite the statement- two people who don't want to be held prisoner by their past, or prisoner by their art, so they drop it all and flee.  Their sense of urgency is intriguing, almost a subconscious thing; they just knew they needed to get out of LA and so they did. like some divine intervention. Almost like art as god? Rob Old says he, " didn't even know it was happening" but yet it happened: the total transformation of art and life.

In the beginning, it seems art is controlling them, even if they are trying to free themselves of art. They're running from LA, burning or giving away their art, like it's some kind of demon or plague. Almost like an unsettling nightmare, or a hellish reality they couldn't escape. But when they started anew, secluded in the wilderness with no one around but themselves, they rediscovered art. They found art as pure and simple as it comes. To me it seems that art was chasing them, chasing them out of town. They were/are the hunted, and art is the hunter. The modern culture couldn't provide them with the art they inherently desired, subconsciously longed for. So they had to remove themselves from that culture, and place themselves purposefully in an environment where they could practice art in an intentional way, practice living and being with intention. Art as their spiritual medium, art as god.

Simply just being can't be a form of art in the modern world because we are never just being, they don't jive. We are constantly caught up in the latest technologies, latest tv show, latest drama, never truly living in the moment, never truly connecting with the earth/our environment the way the earth intended us to. So with advancement in technology and advancement in our cultural commodities (seemingly evolved culture) comes this incessant and insatiable need to create art because when we create something it is alive, it is born, we are giving it life. Modern art tries to put life back into the earth seemingly devoid of life. Because living as art, it isn't special in our modern world, it can't be. We don't grow our own vegetables, we don't make our own fires, we don't do anything sacred to connect us with the earth. We are totally and completely isolated from the art of living. And Rob and Rachel did the exact opposite; they completely isolated themselves form our modern culture in order to create, to live, to be art, whereas modern culture completely isolates it self from earth, from living, from simply being, in order to participate in this modern world. The notion of our dependence on things: "you're not going to die if you turn the damn box off" really strikes a chord, and we can relate this notion to most modern technology. You are not going to die if you turn off your tv for a night. You are not going to die if you unplug your fridge (or if you skip dinner). You are not going to die if you turn off your computer (or go a weekend without internet-trust me, I've done it, I'm still alive and probably better for it). You are not going to die if you turn off your phone. You are not going to die if you turn off your iPod (and simply listen to the sounds of nature). Although, I have to admit, sometimes it really feels like we are going to die if we turn off the damn box. It's so uncomfortable. It's extremely challenging, given all these technological commodities are readily available, that we not engage in and interact with them.  We make it our reality that we can't "live" without such technology because that's the story we've convinced ourselves of. But, what's even more daunting, more challenging, more uncomfortable, is venturing into the seemingly unknown, as Rachel and Rob have done, to live. To really, really live. To practice the art of living in the purest and most simple way they know how.

Something interesting, and perplexing to me, to note, is that Rachel and Rob are both firmly of the belief that art has no role in the world. I find this contradictory and disproportionate to their beginnings of their journey, for a few reasons. If art plays no role, or should play no role in our culture, then it would have been impossible for Rob and Rachel's transformation to take place. They said that art very well played a part in the transformation of their conscious, from their journey from LA to isolation. The art the created in their past (the modern art) propelled them down the path they are on now. It made them conscious and aware of their own need to seek out a more simple life. Art made them aware enough. Art told them that they didn't need art (in the modern sense) in their lives anymore; through their drawings and sculptures and images of people burning they were. Art was the reason they went in to isolation, into a secluded part of the earth, with no interaction or participation . Art played a role in the transformation of their lives. So to say that art has no role, even now, seems contradictory. If art can shed light on cultural, social, and environmental issues for Rob and Rachel, and steer them in a more pure and simple direction, then what makes us think that it might not be able to do the same for other artists? It has to play some kind of role.

Christopher Manes is adamant that the story we write (and have written) for ourselves is our reality; that we think we are the dominant, most evolved species, and so therefore, in our minds we are. This causes problems because when our story tells us that we are superior to, say a fungus or a cow, then we believe we are, thus perpetuating the destruction of the earth/other living beings so that we create a world in which we are the sole beneficiaries. Christopher says that "it's hard to imagine that we're not more important than other things, because we are so powerfully all over the place" which I think is an accurate sentiment that most human beings feel. If we weren't the most important things on the earth, then what would be the point of living? What would be our purpose? It's easy to assign a purpose to life when we deem ourselves the most evolved and the most powerful and important species. It's scary to think that we may not be the most important, most evolved thing; that earth is interconnected with nature and with everything in a way that makes all living things equal.

That's a radical and challenging notion to accept. And I think that's why we keep re-writing our story as the most powerful and dominant being, because if we subject ourselves to an equal plane with all other living things on this earth, then life seemingly loses its meaning (although it doesn't have to, and it shouldn't). We all want to be the most special thing that exists! If we weren't, what "fun" would that be?! If we aren't "special" then we aren't anything. That's the general consensus. But wait a minute. Hear me out: I think life would be tremendously more meaningful and fulfilling if we relished at the thought that everything that exists on earth is of equal importance and that everything is connected. That we all exist together on the same level, not as different levels of an evolutionary scope. How mind blowing and challenging and overwhelming and completely incredible is that notion?! I think it's mind blowing. And challenging. And incredible. And I think that when art stems from this notion, this idea of oneness and connectedness to the earth and every living thing, then it's art in the most pure form.

To come full circle with the idea of eco-art and/or living as art, it's beneficial to look at the work of Colin Ives. His interactive installations are a testament to what it means to be inherently connected to animals that co-exist in our urban environment.  His focus seems to be on connecting the human with the animal through art, in a way that triggers an emotional response and brings about questions of environmental and ecological issues in a way that's accessible for the viewer. Piece by piece, Colin is raising the awareness of humans while situating them on the same plane, or level, as the animals that co-exist the land with them. It is interesting to note that in the installation of "The Clearing" no one in the room wanted to intentionally stand in front of or walk by the projector; that is, to say, we as humans have this inherent need to preserve nature. This interactive art piece demonstrates that we indeed do not want to disrupt the natural and pristine state of the forest, that we respect the forest (or the image in projected in the installation) enough to be careful and watch our step. Yet in the world today, this sentiment is lost. In an isolated show room, we are adamant on preserving the pure state of nature, but out in the real world, the real forest, we are careless and destructive. I think there is something profound to be said about this, although I'm not sure the right words to convey my thoughts.

We're so far removed from the consequences of our actions and our role as active participants on this earth that we've lost all sense of connectedness to our environment, and this has in turn perpetuated human beings and our culture to where we are now. Disconnected from earth and observers in our lives, as opposed to participants. Art plays a role, however big or small, pure or impure, for everyone. It's the method that manifests in different ways, but to think of art as participation in life and experiencing life versus art as observation is the most pure and to the core of the earth. I think that's what it all comes down to: the transformation "from chronicler to participant" as Suzi Gablik so eloquently states it.

*all photos taken by TK