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