deciding on important art

People’s opinion in judging a particular artwork is often relative. However, most of the time, people agree on the importance of a certain artworks. Especially curators, who are often educated and have the ability to judge the value of artworks. Although people may have different tastes in picking their favorite artworks; the style, composition, texture, use of color, light and lines and so on all contribute to, and to a degree, determine the quality of an artwork. Using art elements and principles, curators might not be able to determine or agree on the best piece of artwork, but they can definitely determine what's a good/important piece. Thus, these curators are using what they learned from (possibly) school as their source. They are relying on authority as a way of knowing. Also, the importance of an artwork might not mean only the quality of this artwork, it can also suggest historical significance and so on. Curators also need to use their logic to decide on important art. A great piece of art may strike anyone as important. Like everyone else, curators can often rely on their common sense and intuition as sources. But most importantly, curators need previous education and knowledge about art, including art principles, history, to judge and to serve as a way of knowing.

touch as a way of knowing

Touch is a necessary way of knowing in almost every areas of knowledge. It might not be primary, but definitely important. Since we are talking about art, I’ll use art as an example. Art is certainly an area of knowledge where I find touch to be a primary way of knowing. Besides viewing a piece of artwork, the texture of the particular artwork is also very important. Through creating texture, artists can often express their individuality. An artwork with texture is usually more alive and interesting. Van Gogh for example is known for his use of texture. While viewing an artwork, people, including myself, are often tempted to touch the work and feel it. Through touching an artwork, one can learn more about the art, including the style, the theme and so on. Texture is an important element of art, mainly visual art. In the museum, visitors are not allowed to touch the artworks in order to prevent possible damage. However, “the problem with this is that it ignores and leaves out all those many artworks that the artist intended to be touched, handled, interacted with and explored in many different ways, including multi-sensory approaches. It also ignores the exciting input that artists can have in designing and creating interactive, which can give unique perspectives on other artists’ work.” Touch is even more important while judging sculptures and potteries, since how smooth the surface of, for example, a ceramic piece, determines its quality and value. Touch is a primary way of knowing in art. It is, however, less relevant to abstract areas of knowledge such as mathematics since numbers and calculations are often abstract ideas that touch can not be applied to.

Important Art and Phenomenological Translation

First, the ways of deciding what's important art have to be varied and complex, or we'd all be capable of being curators. We ain't. Although some of these decisions must of course be guided by critical response to the art, the requirements of establishing a significant collection, and the audience, there's of course some elusive quality that requires years of study. The arrangement of pieces within an exhibit probably requires similar insight. 
Perhaps good art (perhaps not important art) all shares a quality of leaving a phenomenological impression that transcends translation. If you could fairly explain the piece without the piece, why would you need the piece in the first place? Some art can do this - either in its ambiguity (no one translation can capture the entire phenomenological experience of viewing/interacting with the piece) or in complexity (there's just no way of putting it into words - perhaps the piece is not static and no description remains adequate permanently). In any case, there's a connection between what makes art Art and what makes art untranslateable. 

Can you feel it?

As Magister P asks: what areas of knowledge do you find touch to be a primary way of knowing? And why is it a preferred way of knowing for you in that area?

Morpheus and Magister P think alike. What is real? We can touch what we "see", and the sensations tell our brain that it is real. Touch presents itself as the strongest sensory method for identifying if something is real. Therefore I believe touch to be a very strong indicator if something exists. Physical, concrete molecules pushing back against your fingers is a pretty strong resource telling you that it is real. Other senses can be obscured and altered by optical illusions and sensory confusion, but if you are holding on to what you believe is real, then who is it to tell you that it isn't?

The 100 Acres exhibit will be a fantastic experience for anyone. But what will make it THAT much better is the non-repressed urge to go over to the art pieces and touch them! Who wouldn't love to climb, slide, sit on, jump off of the sculptures and such that are to be in the park? Instead of staring into a canvas with colored oil paste blobs and being quiet and serious...we can feel the surfaces beneath us and enjoy it (and why not sit there and relax too and take in the world around you in nature with the noises that permeate the 100 Acres exhibit as well)!

REAL LIFE!

I AGREE! It's hard to put your finger on EXACTLY what makes actually experiencing something so much more valuable, spiritual, and moving. It's a little like seeing the actual Declaration of Independence in its glass case in Washington, D.C...all I could imagine was the founding fathers' hands actually grasping the pen to write their names on this document 233 years ago. The experience could not compare to seeing a fake copy of the Declaration. Seeing the "real thing" or the "real place" allows one to experience it with all his senses; he is not limited to one. Yet in the case of the Declaration, this spiritual experience can be completely in our minds (imagining the history, realizing the historical significance, etc.). Either way, the experience is a spiritual one, and even if experiencing a work of art in real life does not offer us greater knowledge (I didn't really LEARN anything new from seeing the actual Declaration of Independence) it is an enjoyable experience that can lead to inspiration--the building block of art.

I am in complete agreement with what Jill and Ben said in their prior posts, suggesting that there are many things that cannot be completely captured with a picture or a video. The old adage suggests that a picture says a thousand words, but seeing an experience first-hand sure says a lot more than that. I do not think any documentary on the Grand Canyon and adequately qualify the experience of seeing it -- this is why thousands of tourists go there every year even though they can google a picture. If pictures really did an experience justice, then there would be few reasons to get out of bed in the morning. I can find most things on YouTube, so what would be the point.

But! I think that it is unfair to totally disregard the relevance and importance of pictures and video as a way of conveying an experience. In fact, there are some things that REQUIRE pictures and video to actually convey a certain experience. I immediately think of the television show "Planet Earth" on the Animal Planet. There are scenes of the earth that range from tiny microscopic images to far-reaching clips of the entire planet. If you have not seen this video, take a minute (or three): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I5eJkjMLIRM. In case you don't have the time, it is a slow motion video of a shark attack. I can say with almost complete confidence that I will never have the opportunity to see this experience first hand in my entire life. I do realize that the experience was unique for the photographers who shoot the film and could be classified as an "phenomenological experience" that cannot be fully captured. But what can be said about microscopic images that no one can actually "experience" or take in? For me, the media arts often fills this void, allowing me to see an experience that I will never be fortunate enough to see in person.

Cuz he's hot then he's cold..!

So I think one of the most obvious examples of touch being a way knowing is telling whether something is hot or cold. Though it may seem simple and unimportant it does in fact have a lot of value. Neural sensors on our skin are one of the main uses of our brain so that we can directly perceive and interpret the things outside our own body. To know the world outside our own body is one of the whole purpose of knowledge and learning; understanding more about the world around us so we can understand ourselves and our purpose within it better. Though touch serves mainly just utility purposes it has another extremely important function. The function may not be an "accepted" or clear area of knowledge but area is the area of safety for our body. One can sense if something is causing us pain whether it be tearing or burning our skin it is vital that we know when these events are occurring in order for us to survive and maintain our health. So this way of knowing might not be important in some study or research area, but it is very important in everyday life.

Sports is an Art...Right??

When I first heard the reference to the translation of a phenomenological experience I immediately connected it to sports. Though it may seem like a superficial reaction and one only fueled by my love of sports and not so much fine art, it still seems very valid and pertinent to me. I watch a lot of sports on TV: basketball, football, baseball, and especially soccer. Through my experiences from watching games on television and actually going to a game at the stadium it is clear to me why TV can never quite capture the ambiance of a sports match. For me this is especially true for soccer games. So much of soccer is about the atmosphere surrounding it, everyone tries to cheer as loud and as long as possible to try and help the home team gain motivation to play better. This is combined with the numerous displays of flags, posters, confetti, streamers, and even smoke bombs. But you don't get the same experience by watching a whole bunch of rabid fans chanting and waving flags as you do when you're actually there throwing streamers on the field while trying to cover your face and mouth from the smoke of the bombs going off all around you. So having seen the difference between these i can say that there is nothing more true than this statement by Dr. Freiman about not being able to capture beauty of art, or sport, in pictures and video. That is why i will never turn down an opportunity to see a game or go to see a famous painting or monument because the first hand experience is one of a kind and cannot be replicated by anything.

Translation of the Phenomological Response: You Have to be There

There is undoubtedly an ambiance to a place that cannot be captured with pictures. There are so many subtleties to a location that cannot be captured unless one is there—smell, temperature, and texture, among others. But in terms of the park, or an exhibit, I think the element that pictures can’t capture is simply reality. In a park, or any beautiful location, you can turn 360 degrees and see different views creating the whole picture; you really are under the sky, there is a stretch of grass to every side, and if you wanted you could walk a little ways and get new views from the park. However, if you are looking at a picture (even a film), you are limited to what that picture shows; it simply isn’t real, and if you look a few degrees left or right, you view the wall next the screen the picture is on, or something equally successful in reminding you that you are indeed viewing an image of something real and beautiful but not the thing itself.

The same could be said for a story. You are hearing a description of an event, but not the event itself. There are even more subtleties that cannot be accounted for in a story—you can’t physically see it, you can’t hear it (you may be missing out on a lot of tone, if the story involves people speaking), you can’t grasp what went really went on at all. You are forced to rely upon a very flawed description: it is a recount of what happened, it is from an individual’s perspective, it is limited by that individual’s capability of expression.

The even itself, and places themselves, simply cannot be translated; they must be witnessed.

Sound of Silence Response: Silence v Noise v Pleasant Sounds

First I think it’s interesting to focus a little bit on the idea of “noise” as a term. I don’t think of noise necessarily as the opposite of silence. Noise seems inherently negative in terms of hearing, just as sharp seems a negative touch, or bitterness a negative taste. I consequently think of something inherently positive like “pleasant sounds” to be opposite noise. “Silence,” on the other hand, is not only an absence of noise, but also an absence of pleasant sounds. Silence can be both positive—relaxing, peaceful—and negative—foreboding, uncomfortable.

Now to apply these terms to the given questions. I find there to be an absurd amount of noise in my life, everywhere. In the morning, the sounds of people getting ready for work and school; at school, kids yelling in the hallways, constant lecturing (which is not always noise, but often is), intercom announcements, constant chatter, too much else to name; in the city, sirens, more chatter, construction, traffic; at home, sounds in the kitchen, more chatter (let’s be honest, arguments), and too many televisions. I must admit to contributing at least somewhat to virtually all of the listed noise. Noise is part of nearly every second in every location.

Ideally, one would seek out an absence of noise and a presence of pleasing sounds—it makes sense to want to trade a desirable sensation for an undesirable one. However, this idea has two problems: one, it is difficult to find a location that both lacks noise and has pleasing sounds. (For example, I sit by this creek sometimes in Marrott Park because I like the sound of rushing water, but I’m always frustrated by the fact that I can still hear the traffic a few hundred yards to my right.) Two, even pleasant sounds can turn into noise. (For example, I have been listening to the same group of birds yelling for the past half hour, and while it was pleasant at first, I have half a mind now to run at them with my hockey stick.) The consequence of being unable to find an ideal location with pleasant sounds but no noise is the desire for silence.

As silence does in fact have the capacity to be peaceful, it is often better to have silence and no noise than to have pleasant sounds and noise. Silence thus becomes essential to escape the constant unpleasantness of noise. (As I type this, I now hear sirens in addition to the cawing birds and televisions and chatter, and would like nothing more than to shut it all out.) It becomes essential to have quiet places anywhere they can be available, to escape noise. At the same time, it would not be desirable to have quiet everywhere, for that would bring in the elements of discomfort and foreboding (lacking continually the noise we have grown so accustomed to), and thus make noise sometimes preferable to the silence.

I suppose what I have arrived at is that it is essential to find a balance between noise and silence, to maintain peace of mind. What I would really love, however, is a wooded stream away from people and traffic, where I could tell the birds when to and when not to chirp, and maybe hear some Red Hot Chili Peppers when I felt like it. As I don’t think this place will ever exist, I will settle for a few short periods of daily silence to contrast the constant noise.

Translation of the Phenomenological

At one point in her evening lecture, Dr. Freiman mentioned that all the best pictures and video in the world could not adequately convey to artists just what kind of environment 100 Acres is. She commented on the impossibility of translating a phenomenological experience.

Okay, first of all, I am just enough of a word freak to love an expression like "impossibility of translating a phenomenological experience."

But more to the point, why is it that pictures, even moving pictures with sound, cannot seem to convey all that there is to a place? Why do people when telling a story sometimes add, "you had to be there?"

The Sound of Silence

Chilean artist Alfredo Jaar is planning a piece for 100 Acres called Park of the Laments.

What role, if any, does silence play in your life? According to Jaar, this park is to be "a place where we can lament and purge the global atrocities of the 20th and 21st centuries."

What noise is there in your life? How much noise do you contribute, both to your own life and to the world around you?

How important or unimportant do you think it is to have quiet space...in your life? in the a school? in a city?

Kinesthetic Knowing

In her evening lecture, Dr. Freiman commented that one of the ways we learn in our society is through touch and the use of our kinesthetic senses.

It struck me that we had never discussed this particular way of knowing.

So...

In what ares of knowledge do you find touch to be a primary way of knowing? Why is it a preferred way of knowing for you in that area? What are its drawbacks in this or any other area of knowing?

Deciding on Important Art

I had the opportunity to ask Dr. Freiman between her afternoon and evening lectures a question quite relavant to TOK. I asked, "How do you in your role as a curator decide what is important art? In particular, how did you determine which artists to invite into the 100 Acres project.

Before I share what her responses were...and she may share herself, since I have sent her an invitation to our blog...I want to hear from you. What ways of knowing do you think a curator would employ in making such decisions?