In a multi-dimensional universe, where the choices we make create the space-time reality we occupy (established in respect of the deterministic laws and relationships that govern it), art tunnels a wormhole. Art ties a topographic knot into the continuum, allowing us a mediated portal to a different world. For a few brief, illusory moments in time, art sheds light and creates space for a deeper truth to emerge, one which might ruffle the fabric of space-time in strange and incongruous ways.
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Saturday, September 6, 2025
Saturday, November 23, 2019
Movement is life
What it is about art, that the impetus for production is repression and deprivation? War, sickness, separation. Death. Unresolved love. Crises of the spirit catalyse art. The more we repress the subconscious it seems, the more active it becomes, the more its activity seems to bleed into consciousness and find an eventual manifestation.
The other day I was having a conversation with an Israeli about how much I loved the Israeli approach to movement, and how much respect I had for their movement techniques such as gaga and Feldenkrais. I reflected on how dancers here possess a totality of movement that seems to come from a much deeper attunement to the mind-body connection. She said with a sense of humour that it was because in Israel, where we are surrounded on all sides by the intensity of conflict, war, and crisis, we search for something else to focus on with greater intensity. We search within ourselves.
Perhaps it was environmental pressures that selected Israel to become the mecca of contemporary dance it is today. Richard Wolpert hypothesises that the mind was made to move; that the nervous system was evolved to allow complex movement, citing the example of the sea squirt, which digests its own nervous system for food once it has settled on the rock it will call home. It no longer needs to move, so it no longer needs its brain.
There is something deep within us that needs to move. Whilst it stretches the metaphor to say the sedentary lifestyle is eating our brains and causing strokes, even in the language of evidence based medicine, we know this to be true.
We are in a generation which venerates the mind and dismisses the body. Yet the language of movement is impossible to quantify and analyse through the language of cerebral science alone. It needs to be embodied to be fully understood. That is what dancers do. Research movement. The connection of movement to the body, the connection of moving bodies to each other, the connection of movement to rhythms.
As the world turns to the advancements of medicine and technology for the elixir of health and youth, there is a need to return to the arts. To come back to what is within us, the fundamentals of who we are, and embrace and enjoy what it is to be humans - minds made to do, and to move.
The other day I was having a conversation with an Israeli about how much I loved the Israeli approach to movement, and how much respect I had for their movement techniques such as gaga and Feldenkrais. I reflected on how dancers here possess a totality of movement that seems to come from a much deeper attunement to the mind-body connection. She said with a sense of humour that it was because in Israel, where we are surrounded on all sides by the intensity of conflict, war, and crisis, we search for something else to focus on with greater intensity. We search within ourselves.
Perhaps it was environmental pressures that selected Israel to become the mecca of contemporary dance it is today. Richard Wolpert hypothesises that the mind was made to move; that the nervous system was evolved to allow complex movement, citing the example of the sea squirt, which digests its own nervous system for food once it has settled on the rock it will call home. It no longer needs to move, so it no longer needs its brain.
The humble sea squirt, incidentally,
may also present a potential treatment for mesothelioma.
may also present a potential treatment for mesothelioma.
There is something deep within us that needs to move. Whilst it stretches the metaphor to say the sedentary lifestyle is eating our brains and causing strokes, even in the language of evidence based medicine, we know this to be true.
We are in a generation which venerates the mind and dismisses the body. Yet the language of movement is impossible to quantify and analyse through the language of cerebral science alone. It needs to be embodied to be fully understood. That is what dancers do. Research movement. The connection of movement to the body, the connection of moving bodies to each other, the connection of movement to rhythms.
As the world turns to the advancements of medicine and technology for the elixir of health and youth, there is a need to return to the arts. To come back to what is within us, the fundamentals of who we are, and embrace and enjoy what it is to be humans - minds made to do, and to move.
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Meditation on mindfulness
Some time ago, I came across a happiness social science experiment by Killingsworth and Gilbert. They developed an app to ping at random times during the day. At that point the participants were to input what activity they were doing, whether their mind was wandering, and whether they were happy. As expected, people were happiest when they were doing what they loved (e.g. sex). But interestingly, and perhaps unexpectedly, they found that when the participants were doing an unpleasurable task and paying attention to it, they were happier than when they were doing the same task whilst mind wandering, even if they were engaged in a pleasurable daydream. People are happiest when they pay attention to whatever they are doing, when they are mindful and living in the moment, rather than forward planning, reminiscing, or daydreaming.
Learning how to maintain a state of attention and presence, in the age of distraction we live in today, is especially challenging. One way it can be cultivated is through meditation. Meditating has powerful protective effects on age-related cortical thinning. In fact, meditation has been shown to actually develop grey matter in areas associated with memory, learning, attention and emotional regulation. Meditation was associated with the development of the left prefrontal cortex, an area associated with feelings of well-being and happiness.
No one is born unhappy. Our brains have not developed yet. But we become unhappy. Whether we become wired to be happy or unhappy in disposition depends very much on our experience of the external environment. For instance, whether we are loved and supported as children, or whether we are traumatised by violence, bullying, abandonment, neglect or abuse.
Traumatised minds tend to be fearful, anxious, depressed, and riddled with insecurities and perceptions that lead us into a negative spiral that limits our social functioning. Traumatised minds are trapped. Mired by their past and the thinking patterns they have developed, they cannot change, and instead bring their traumatic past into their present and future.
Resilient minds are open to change, and adopt mindsets that help us deal. As we develop our minds, we also develop coping mechanisms and resilience, and we all have, to some extent, a choice as to how we want to respond to our external environment, and how we want to shape and change our brains. It is not an easy task, but it is one that we are constantly engaged in, whether consciously or unconsciously. Mindful awareness of our moment to moment existence creates a space for us to recognise the moment we are making choices to feel or think in a certain way and take more conscious control of shaping the way we want our brains to grow.
Learning how to maintain a state of attention and presence, in the age of distraction we live in today, is especially challenging. One way it can be cultivated is through meditation. Meditating has powerful protective effects on age-related cortical thinning. In fact, meditation has been shown to actually develop grey matter in areas associated with memory, learning, attention and emotional regulation. Meditation was associated with the development of the left prefrontal cortex, an area associated with feelings of well-being and happiness.
No one is born unhappy. Our brains have not developed yet. But we become unhappy. Whether we become wired to be happy or unhappy in disposition depends very much on our experience of the external environment. For instance, whether we are loved and supported as children, or whether we are traumatised by violence, bullying, abandonment, neglect or abuse.
Traumatised minds tend to be fearful, anxious, depressed, and riddled with insecurities and perceptions that lead us into a negative spiral that limits our social functioning. Traumatised minds are trapped. Mired by their past and the thinking patterns they have developed, they cannot change, and instead bring their traumatic past into their present and future.
Resilient minds are open to change, and adopt mindsets that help us deal. As we develop our minds, we also develop coping mechanisms and resilience, and we all have, to some extent, a choice as to how we want to respond to our external environment, and how we want to shape and change our brains. It is not an easy task, but it is one that we are constantly engaged in, whether consciously or unconsciously. Mindful awareness of our moment to moment existence creates a space for us to recognise the moment we are making choices to feel or think in a certain way and take more conscious control of shaping the way we want our brains to grow.
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Still waters run deep my dear
A friend of mine and I were chatting about the tension between wanting and being happy, and my tongue stumbled upon the sentence - happiness is not found by doing something in order to be happy, but in being happy doing something. I realise this marked a culmination of a 12 year reflection on happiness, which can be found here: 1 2 3
It's surreal to realise that is the fabric of reality - the things you realise come full circle in the never-ending cycles of being.
Happiness is not found by doing something in order to be happy, but in being happy doing something. But doing what? Whilst there is happiness in simply being in the moment, there is more to happiness and joy - fundamentally, it comes from connectedness and being of value to others. A sense of usefulness and purpose.
Sometimes that purpose seems to come the pursuit of something; a place of wanting. Perfection, for example (arguably a human construct that does not really exist, but don't get me started on that). For me at least, being drawn to all-consuming pursuits like dance or medicine perhaps stems from an unfulfilled sense of human connection. In a way, it is a form of escape from that sadness - that sense of disconnection or isolation. But no matter how good you are, it never feels good enough, or like you've worked hard enough. The very escape and reward becomes a kind of punishment as you feel inadequacy - no matter how hard you try, it is never good enough for you, and you realise that you haven't actually resolved the underlying sense of disconnection, but that it has come out as inadequacy of another sort.
The pursuit of a relationship as a means to that end doesn't work either. Whilst a seemingly straightforward solution to the problem of human disconnect, this pursuit is actually damaging to the relationship in question if the entirety of the weight of your need for connection now rests on a single person. It generally ends up in neuroticism like 'Oh my God, why hasn't s/he texted back when it says s/he is 'online' or has 'read' the text', and a sense of disappointment when you realise that the relationship or person has not lived up to your expectation of what connectedness should be. Relationships are not a solution, or a 'magic bullet' cure to loneliness. If you think they are, then in the words of Sia, all your bullets ricochet. To love isn't about fulfilling your own need.
Happiness cannot be pursued. In a related vein of philosophical musings, you can't always get what you want, and getting what you think you want is often an exercise in realising that what you think you want isn't actually what you are really lacking. To paraphrase the words of Anna Pavlova, happiness cannot be chased, but like a butterfly, will come to rest gently on your shoulder.
There is happiness and satisfaction in being fully present in the moment that you are in, not being distracted from it by the past, or the future, or your own wants and desires. Whilst for some people that amounts to the New Age mindfulness of simply being, meditation and the like, for me it finds its best absolution in connection and belief in God. The belief that He loves us, and that He has made it this way, and is working in our lives. That the situations we are in, however they look to our human eyes, have value. Weak or strong, rich or poor. The sick inspire us with their fighting spirit, and the well take joy in caring for those in need. For it is through our individual circumstances that we are uniquely positioned to connect to others, and to mean something to other people. There can be many dancers, or waitresses, or admin officers. But no one else is truly in the same position, and no one else can replace us. It is out of this that we find purpose. And it is through the ongoing fulfilment of that purpose that joy arises. Joy is that sense of purpose that is fulfilled by an other-person centeredness in human connection. Joy looks outwards and runs deeper than a feeling of happiness.
Love, happiness, joy. All inextricably intertwined and culminating in moments of bliss, through a very good conversation with a friend.
It's surreal to realise that is the fabric of reality - the things you realise come full circle in the never-ending cycles of being.
Happiness is not found by doing something in order to be happy, but in being happy doing something. But doing what? Whilst there is happiness in simply being in the moment, there is more to happiness and joy - fundamentally, it comes from connectedness and being of value to others. A sense of usefulness and purpose.
Sometimes that purpose seems to come the pursuit of something; a place of wanting. Perfection, for example (arguably a human construct that does not really exist, but don't get me started on that). For me at least, being drawn to all-consuming pursuits like dance or medicine perhaps stems from an unfulfilled sense of human connection. In a way, it is a form of escape from that sadness - that sense of disconnection or isolation. But no matter how good you are, it never feels good enough, or like you've worked hard enough. The very escape and reward becomes a kind of punishment as you feel inadequacy - no matter how hard you try, it is never good enough for you, and you realise that you haven't actually resolved the underlying sense of disconnection, but that it has come out as inadequacy of another sort.
The pursuit of a relationship as a means to that end doesn't work either. Whilst a seemingly straightforward solution to the problem of human disconnect, this pursuit is actually damaging to the relationship in question if the entirety of the weight of your need for connection now rests on a single person. It generally ends up in neuroticism like 'Oh my God, why hasn't s/he texted back when it says s/he is 'online' or has 'read' the text', and a sense of disappointment when you realise that the relationship or person has not lived up to your expectation of what connectedness should be. Relationships are not a solution, or a 'magic bullet' cure to loneliness. If you think they are, then in the words of Sia, all your bullets ricochet. To love isn't about fulfilling your own need.
Happiness cannot be pursued. In a related vein of philosophical musings, you can't always get what you want, and getting what you think you want is often an exercise in realising that what you think you want isn't actually what you are really lacking. To paraphrase the words of Anna Pavlova, happiness cannot be chased, but like a butterfly, will come to rest gently on your shoulder.
There is happiness and satisfaction in being fully present in the moment that you are in, not being distracted from it by the past, or the future, or your own wants and desires. Whilst for some people that amounts to the New Age mindfulness of simply being, meditation and the like, for me it finds its best absolution in connection and belief in God. The belief that He loves us, and that He has made it this way, and is working in our lives. That the situations we are in, however they look to our human eyes, have value. Weak or strong, rich or poor. The sick inspire us with their fighting spirit, and the well take joy in caring for those in need. For it is through our individual circumstances that we are uniquely positioned to connect to others, and to mean something to other people. There can be many dancers, or waitresses, or admin officers. But no one else is truly in the same position, and no one else can replace us. It is out of this that we find purpose. And it is through the ongoing fulfilment of that purpose that joy arises. Joy is that sense of purpose that is fulfilled by an other-person centeredness in human connection. Joy looks outwards and runs deeper than a feeling of happiness.
Love, happiness, joy. All inextricably intertwined and culminating in moments of bliss, through a very good conversation with a friend.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
In the words of the Rolling Stones, you can't always get what you want. So the way to be happy? You can't want what you want. If you want something enough, you won't get it. It's when you don't want it, that you'll get it.
I think I sense some skepticism in the crowds.
Whenever I wanted something a lot, I placed expectations on myself and on getting that thing. If, and when, things got in the way of my ambitions, I would get really disappointed and frustrated. By contrast, when I just went along with what I was supposed to, I often found myself rather pleasantly surprised by the unexpected results.
Achieving goals, in itself, does not bring lasting satisfaction or happiness. I believe it when rich people tell you that they can have all the money in the world, but it can't buy happiness. I believe it when ambitious people who have achieved great things tell you they climbed to the top and find themselves dissatisfied and wondering what they do next. Achieving goals can bring you transient gratification, but not lasting happiness.
Happiness is being satisfied with how you spend your time. People sometimes like to ask 'what would you do if you knew you only had months to live?' The happiest people tend to reply 'I probably wouldn't change anything.' If you spend your time doing what is worthwhile, what brings good to others, what is enjoyable, no matter the outcome, you will have spent the time wisely, and you can be happy about having done what you can, having done your best.
I think I sense some skepticism in the crowds.
Whenever I wanted something a lot, I placed expectations on myself and on getting that thing. If, and when, things got in the way of my ambitions, I would get really disappointed and frustrated. By contrast, when I just went along with what I was supposed to, I often found myself rather pleasantly surprised by the unexpected results.
Achieving goals, in itself, does not bring lasting satisfaction or happiness. I believe it when rich people tell you that they can have all the money in the world, but it can't buy happiness. I believe it when ambitious people who have achieved great things tell you they climbed to the top and find themselves dissatisfied and wondering what they do next. Achieving goals can bring you transient gratification, but not lasting happiness.
Happiness is being satisfied with how you spend your time. People sometimes like to ask 'what would you do if you knew you only had months to live?' The happiest people tend to reply 'I probably wouldn't change anything.' If you spend your time doing what is worthwhile, what brings good to others, what is enjoyable, no matter the outcome, you will have spent the time wisely, and you can be happy about having done what you can, having done your best.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Dreamers and do-ers.
Lately, I've realised that who we are is not defined by 'he who has the most toys', whether toys means riches, accolades, achievements, romantic or social conquests or even, in the Christian context, whether you are serving or leading in multiple ministries. Rather, we are defined by two things: how we choose our battles, and what we believe in (and if that be Christianity, so be it). When life happens, it is not the toys that we have that equip us to deal with the situation, but the beliefs that we have, that then drive our actions. How we respond when a loved one dies, or when we go bankrupt, will depend a lot on our outlook and beliefs. Similarly, what we believe in determines the battles we pick. All in all, you might say that our reality is shaped by our beliefs.
Pragmatism for me has always been both a foreign, and often a slightly unsavoury concept, particularly as it plays out in a social context. Relationships of convenience - whether mail-order brides, green card marriages, friendships between colleagues, truces between competitors - have a particular sense of hollowness for me. At some points in my past I daresay I would rather shun my needs than have them met by hollow relationships.
Yet needs must be met, and pragmatism is a survival instinct, as ingrained as someone being extra-nice when they want something from you. I still find that when I want something, I operate in exactly that way. I do make an extra effort to be nice to my superiors, or when I need a favour, or even as viscerally as when I am physically attracted to someone. In reverse, when someone asks for my help and is sweet about it, I do feel sincerely flattered. I have found myself forced to accept that this exchange needs to happen, and that it is the way our social fabric is constructed.
Pragmatism for me has always been both a foreign, and often a slightly unsavoury concept, particularly as it plays out in a social context. Relationships of convenience - whether mail-order brides, green card marriages, friendships between colleagues, truces between competitors - have a particular sense of hollowness for me. At some points in my past I daresay I would rather shun my needs than have them met by hollow relationships.
Yet needs must be met, and pragmatism is a survival instinct, as ingrained as someone being extra-nice when they want something from you. I still find that when I want something, I operate in exactly that way. I do make an extra effort to be nice to my superiors, or when I need a favour, or even as viscerally as when I am physically attracted to someone. In reverse, when someone asks for my help and is sweet about it, I do feel sincerely flattered. I have found myself forced to accept that this exchange needs to happen, and that it is the way our social fabric is constructed.
'At this time of your life, people are transitory. You aren't going to stay friends for ever. After this, you may never see them again.'
'People are people. Everyone is good for something. You just have to take them for what they are and learn how to work with them.'
The cold harshness of those words strikes me. As much as it alarms me that people think like that, I've come to realise that these are not uncommon ways of thinking about relationships. Many people are going to think pragmatically, seeing relationships as functional rather than personal, and in do are going to make it their reality. As much as I dislike being thought of in that utilitarian way, I know that if I reject this perspective, I essentially reject their relationship. So, at least with that person, I must accept that that is how they feel about the relationship. It is not untrue that much fun, laughter, camaraderie and joy has been forged out of situations of necessity. I also recognise that the belief is powerful in its ability to minimise the pain of the believer when it comes to dealing with rejection, abandonment or conflict.
I have aimed to build my relationships on empathy of another's situation, respect of their admirable traits and differences, love and sincerity, rather than out of necessity, if at all possible. I believe that people are like me, and that I am like people. There is depth to people. There is that beautiful transformative moment when you see someone in their element, when you watch how someone has grown over time or when someone allows themselves the luxury of trust, of being vulnerable. These moments are only granted to you when your eyes are open to them. It is true that you can recognise that someone has matured without being close to them, or without believing in them, and it is true that photographs can capture beautiful moments. But it is not the same as that moment in a relationship when you recognise it for the first time, after you have invested your belief, your empathy, your love in that person. And although you can reduce empathy, respect or love to things that people need, the reason they are given is not because the other person needs them, but rather they are given the way a breath is released at the sight of a beautiful view. Conversely, the edge to this perspective is that when a relationship turns sour, the bitter truth is that you will be the one self-destructing.
Our reality is shaped by our beliefs. Although other people's beliefs and actions may influence our world, it is our personal belief that shapes our actions. If I accept this as a truth for me, if I don't fight for the belief that friendships and relationships can be more than just the products of necessity, that aspiration will die with me. And I don't want that. So I shall fight for what I believe in.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Coming out of the closest
I was catching up with a friend the other night when the conversation turned to close friends and how we might define who we are 'closest' to.
As a rule, I generally don't give much thought towards quantifying my varying degrees of closeness to my friends, but for discussion's sake, it did make for an interesting topic: what does make a close friend close?
Is it the person with whom you spend the most time with? The person to whom you share the most with? The person you talk to the most? The person you have the most in common with? The person with whom you have been friends for the longest?
There are endless reasons to be close to someone, and indeed all the above reasons are reasons to be grateful for. For me, there are two reasons that I am close to the people I am close to.
The first is honesty. Among those I count as my closest friends are those who are willing to open up to me. They have shared things with me I know that one does not immediately readily share with the world, and their trust and vulnerability induces reciprocality in me. I have great difficulty in sharing and opening up to people, and as I have grown older I have only made more mistakes in whom I elect to share my vulnerabilities with. This negative feedback means that I tend only to open up to people I feel have opened up to me.
However, more than just sharing their personal lives, such friends are treasured for the fact that they are unafraid to share their personal opinions, even when said opinions may be less than savory. When someone is willing to insult or rebuke you in the interest of being completely honest, it is for me one of the signs of a true friend. Caveat: insults alone do not imply friendship though - quite often they imply rather the opposite.
The second is gratitude. As my dear blogstalkers are well aware of by now, I love a good cliche, especially when it is true. And my dears, a friend in need really is a friend indeed. This works both ways. Both those who have helped me when I am weak and those who have allowed me to see and aid them in their darkest moments, are friends who I treasure deeply.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
I'm willing to tell you. I'm wanting to tell you. I'm waiting to tell you.
We spend most of our lives waiting for things to happen. Eventually, you come to accept it as a part of life. Some people are able to do it graciously and patiently, while others will whine their way through it - I remember when I was four, how I used to have to wait for unimportant grown-up stuff, like checking the apartment for locked doors and windows, to be done, and lilting, "Why are we waiting?"
Well, one reason might be that we are waiting for someone else to act. Much of our lives consist of the things that are beyond our control, and most of our lives are spent waiting for these things to occur - whether it's waiting for army to be over, waiting to reach a destination, waiting for someone to call, or waiting in the doctor's office. It might even be as big as waiting for love, or waiting for the new covenant to be fulfilled. Or worse (to pull a Hermione Granger), waiting for late exam results.
Another reason might be that we ourselves aren't ready. We've got other commitments, we're afraid, or we don't have the skills required to take on the challenge - for instance, as much as I longed to ski down the Snowy Mountains last week, I knew that I just wasn't ready for that then.
To put it simply, we have no choice.
Even though it often feels frustratingly akin to doing nothing, waiting is still an action, of sorts. According to my trusty Oxford Apple Dictionary (OAD), the word 'wait' came from the word 'wake', which means to emerge from a state of sleep, become aware of, or cause to stir. This puts things in quite a different light - when we wait for something, we are aware of the likelihood of something happening, and that changes the way we live. From a state of sleeping unawareness to that of waking, we have shifted our perspectives, our modes of life, in a significant way.
Sometimes, the best way we can handle this awareness is to carry on as we were - pretending like we didn't even know it was going to happen. But although on the surface it may seem to pass muster, this is never really the case. Whether we will or nay, we keep ourselves attuned to that thing we know will happen. In fact, early senses of the word 'wait' included to be watchful, or observe carefully. In a sense, waiting is a filter of what we see - if we are waiting on the good stuff, we can be optimistic (although some might say we will be disappointed). We can never be completely objective our observation, and waiting is what colours our lenses.
Besides being alert to what we are waiting for, we also prepare ourselves for it. The OAD says that some aspects of the word 'wait' include being ready for a certain purpose. Today at church we had an interesting sermon that tied in perfectly with this; the preacher presented the time between the Lord's first and second coming as a window of opportunity to repent and come to God, as a period of grace - the Lord is waiting for us to be ready, we aren't just waiting for him.
Waiting may seem pointless, futile, or like you're just plain doing nothing, but it's a deceptively active verb - you need to be on the alert, you need to make yourself ready. You may have no choice but to wait, but what you do have a choice in: how you respond when that thing that you've been waiting for happens, will depend on how you've waited.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Exhortation to love
The other day I saw fliers being pasted all around the suburb I frequent in Sydney. They were for someone who had gone missing. As much as it was sad that someone had indeed gone missing, and the circumstances behind it must be quite unfortunate, it was obvious that the person who had gone missing was loved and missed.
The same cannot be said for everyone though, and I cannot help but reflect that it is possibly the worst thing in the world to be unloved and uncared for, to be shunned by others, to feel alone and isolated. I think I would rather be that person who had gone missing, than someone whose existence people know of and care little for.
Of course, with my exercise-induced endorphin high, I couldn't help but put a positive spin to the melancholy thought. I realised then that love really does cover everything. You can be in the worst situation - suffering, diseased, in dire circumstances, but if you are loved and in a supporting environment, somehow it seems more bearable. Conversely, you can have everything, yet have not love, and the world becomes an empty and torturous place indeed.
If you believe in God, the benevolent love and wisdom of a creator, can help us through troubling times. We might possibly comfort ourselves in the knowledge that the shit that happens to us, happens for a purpose. Perhaps, we may be strengthened by the experience, and some good things are bound to come of the bad.
But more than this, we creatures of such a creator have in us the capacity to love each other, in a tangible way, for a tangible physical realm. So every opportunity we get, let us be there for one another, and love one another, so our sorrows might seem that little bit easier to bear.
As an aside, in Christianity, the foremost command after loving God is loving others. Cognitively, this for me is what makes Christianity such a valid fundamental belief. Jesus Christ realising God's love for us by dying for us divinely substantiates the Christian dogma.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monopolar mania
Once long ago, I sat on my toilet bowl back in Chip Bee Gardens and thought about the greatest things that God created. I came to the conclusion that two of the greatest things God created were 1) the most basic unit of matter, 2) water.
I continue to be fascinated with these, and as my scientific understanding grows, so does my sense of wonderment. From atoms to sub-atomic particles, to the gradual melding of our disparate concepts of energy and particle in physics, the recent interesting advancements in physics suggest that the most basic unit of matter is not dots, or atoms, but string. Our best analogy or understanding of the wave-particle duality of matter is that of a piece of string that indicates the probable positions of a particle's trajectory.
As for water, as I began to understand the intricacies of hydrogen-bonding, my appreciation of the molecule reached new depths. The way the specific properties of the elements hydrogen and oxygen result in dipole formation, that results in bonding that leads to water's unique and anomalous properties is nothing short of miraculous in its simple ingenious logic.
Today, I found something that fused my two pet topics (quantum physics and water). Forget bipolar magnetism, monopoles are the next big thing in physics, and it seems dreadfully exciting. It's based on the way chaotic way in which certain molecules are organised when in crystal lattice.
Monopoles are found in a substance known as spin ice (holmium titanate), which organises itself in a way that is configurationally similar to ice due to the properties of holomium, titanium and oxygen.
Holmium ions align their spins more than twice as readily as even iron does, but in holmium titanate, the titanium and oxygen atoms form a tight tetrahedral lattice with holmium ions at the corners (see diagram). Thus corralled, the ions cannot align their spins all in one direction, so plump for the next best thing: two spins pointing inwards to the centre of the tetrahedron, and two pointing out. "
It's an unhappy arrangement. The spins don't know where to go," says Oleg Tchernyshyov of Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland, who studies similar instances of magnetic frustration.
The spin arrangement in holmium titanate mirrors the way that hydrogen ions are arranged in water ice, so Harris and Bramwell coined the term "spin ice" to describe their compound.
- Newscientist.com
Thursday, January 29, 2009
More philosophy tests
| Which philosopher are you? Your Result: W.v.O. Quine / Late Wittgenstein There is no provable absolute truth. The way you see things is dependant on your language. Truths exist only within a language, and change as the language does. | |
| Sartre/Camus (late existentialists) | |
| Nietzsche | |
| Early Wittgenstein / Positivists | |
| Immanuel Kant | |
| Aristotle | |
| Plato (strict rationalists) | |
| Which philosopher are you? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz | |
Thursday, September 7, 2006
Emotion
Emotion is a powerful tool (just like science). But, just like the scientific mindset, it is only too easy for the slave to become the master. It's only too easy for our emotions to overtake us.
Emotion is most powerful as a way of knowing. For instance, admiration for the qualities in others can tell us what qualities are desirable and that we should strive to cultivate in ourselves. Even negative emotions, like guilt, or mortification, are useful in telling us when we have done wrong and can guide us to do better.
But all of us already know this.
It's how to deal with emotion, how to harness its power without being overpowered, that many of us seem to have problems with.
The way I see it, emotion is but a bearer of information. What you do with the information is entirely up to you. As a master of your emotion, you must decide and choose your course of action. Should you let your passion inspire you to do something wonderful? Or will letting your actions be dictated by emotion make you do something dreadful?
A concrete, and simple instance of how to be a master to your emotion lies in the emotion of revulsion. When we see something that is revulsive to us, we learn to look away. This is good. We don't want to be harmed by what we are seeing. However, sometimes we cannot let the emotion dictate that action in response. We must desensitise ourselves from it, for instance, when we must dissect frogs, to reap the maximum reward for that poor frog's life.
Having said that though, it is only too easy to let your emotion run away with you. Indeed it's perfectly understandable. When you do this, it's important not to let emotions continue to dominate. Do not be overcome by guilt, or wallow in it longer than you have to. The guilt is important in stopping the other emotions, for instance anger, jealousy, or misplaced love. Beyond that though, wallowing in guilt and allowing yourself to be depressed by it, is pointless.
This mastery of emotion is what will allow temperamental artists to lead a balanced life. It is this that will allow them to play with their emotions in their art.
Perhaps this might mean a limit in the depth of the emotion and art in the works of such artists. But I think that's a sacrifice that I am personally willing to make.
muse
Emotion is most powerful as a way of knowing. For instance, admiration for the qualities in others can tell us what qualities are desirable and that we should strive to cultivate in ourselves. Even negative emotions, like guilt, or mortification, are useful in telling us when we have done wrong and can guide us to do better.
But all of us already know this.
It's how to deal with emotion, how to harness its power without being overpowered, that many of us seem to have problems with.
The way I see it, emotion is but a bearer of information. What you do with the information is entirely up to you. As a master of your emotion, you must decide and choose your course of action. Should you let your passion inspire you to do something wonderful? Or will letting your actions be dictated by emotion make you do something dreadful?
A concrete, and simple instance of how to be a master to your emotion lies in the emotion of revulsion. When we see something that is revulsive to us, we learn to look away. This is good. We don't want to be harmed by what we are seeing. However, sometimes we cannot let the emotion dictate that action in response. We must desensitise ourselves from it, for instance, when we must dissect frogs, to reap the maximum reward for that poor frog's life.
Having said that though, it is only too easy to let your emotion run away with you. Indeed it's perfectly understandable. When you do this, it's important not to let emotions continue to dominate. Do not be overcome by guilt, or wallow in it longer than you have to. The guilt is important in stopping the other emotions, for instance anger, jealousy, or misplaced love. Beyond that though, wallowing in guilt and allowing yourself to be depressed by it, is pointless.
This mastery of emotion is what will allow temperamental artists to lead a balanced life. It is this that will allow them to play with their emotions in their art.
Perhaps this might mean a limit in the depth of the emotion and art in the works of such artists. But I think that's a sacrifice that I am personally willing to make.
muse
–verb (used without object)
1. to think or meditate in silence, as on some subject.
2. Archaic. to gaze meditatively or wonderingly.
–verb (used with object)
3. to meditate on.
4. to comment thoughtfully or ruminate upon.
[Origin: 1300–50; ME musen to mutter, gaze meditatively on, be astonished <>
—Synonyms 1. cogitate, ruminate, think; dream. 1, 3. ponder, contemplate, deliberate.
–noun
1. Classical Mythology. a. any of a number of sister goddesses, originally given as Aoede (song), Melete (meditation), and Mneme (memory), but latterly and more commonly as the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne who presided over various arts: Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), Erato (lyric poetry), Euterpe (music), Melpomene (tragedy), Polyhymnia (religious music), Terpsichore (dance), Thalia (comedy), and Urania (astronomy); identified by the Romans with the Camenae. b. any goddess presiding over a particular art.
2. (sometimes lowercase) the goddess or the power regarded as inspiring a poet, artist, thinker, or the like.
3. (lowercase) the genius or powers characteristic of a poet.
v. intr. To be absorbed in one's thoughts; engage in meditation.
v. tr. To consider or say thoughtfully: mused that it might take longer to drive than walk.
n. A state of meditation.
bemuse
bemuse
1. To cause to be bewildered; confuse. To daze.
2. To cause to be engrossed in thought.
amuse
2. To cause to be engrossed in thought.
amuse
1. to hold the attention of (someone) pleasantly; entertain or divert in an enjoyable or cheerful manner: She amused the guests with witty conversation.
2. to cause mirth, laughter, or the like, in: The comedian amused the audience with a steady stream of jokes.
3. to cause (time, leisure, etc.) to pass agreeably.
4. Archaic. to keep in expectation by flattery, pretenses, etc.
5. Obsolete. a. to engross; absorb. b. to puzzle; distract.
6. Archaic. To delude or deceive.
2. to cause mirth, laughter, or the like, in: The comedian amused the audience with a steady stream of jokes.
3. to cause (time, leisure, etc.) to pass agreeably.
4. Archaic. to keep in expectation by flattery, pretenses, etc.
5. Obsolete. a. to engross; absorb. b. to puzzle; distract.
6. Archaic. To delude or deceive.
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
Friendships
Lately there's been a new topic of discussion that's been raging the blogosphere as I know it: Friendship. This is my take.
If we viewed the world in greyscale, there are many different shades of black and white. Once you view the world in full colour, these shades of black and white turn to actual hues, like turquoise, red, or yellow. Yet there are some which are so intensely black or white, that even after you upgrade to Technicolour, they will remain all black or all white. This is a story of Black and White, of darkness, and of light.
All along, White understood other Colours by shining its light on them. Some light was absorbed, but the rest was reflected back, revealing the hues in their resplendence. Since White is a combination of all hues, White took delight in the similarities it shared with these hues, in the colours that were reflected. What made it so beautiful to White was this: the longer White shone its light on these Colours, the more White discovered of them, the more hues were reflected back, and the closer the approach to White these Colours came.
Then Black came along. White tried to understand Black the same way it did with other Colours. It shone its light on Black. But Black being Black, reflected nothing back. It remained in the dark. White peered at Black long and deep, but could see nothing in the darkness except occasional cold glimmerings of light. White was never sure whether this light was the light that was reflected back from White, or from some internal source within Black, for Black, in its darkness, seemed to radiate an energy of its own, an aura of darkness.
Now, the chemistry between Black and White was different from the chemistry between White and other Colours. It was driven not by White's act, but by Black producing a reaction in White. White was piqued by the challenge Black presented. While White understood that it would never be able to understand Black the way it did with other Colours, White observed Black on its own terms, in its darkness, and thought that it had arrived at some form of understanding. No, the challenge Black presented was not merely the challenge to understand, but to influence. To establish some light in Black's darkness. It was a new struggle which energised and intrigued White. Of course, Black was darkness, and once light comes darkness goes. White knew this. White knew that despite all its effort, Black would still be Black. But White kept at it.
There were instants when White's light threatened to invade Black's darkness, and Black's darkness threatened to overtake White's light. These were instants when White's light completely flooded Black's darkness, and when Black's darkness completely engulfed White's light. But of course, White being White, it was almost immediate in its response to restablish its light, because White cannot be White without light. And Black of course, was likewise as quick to restablish its darkness, because Black cannot be Black without darkness. But sometimes in the struggle, there were lingering moments of balance and unity, and of great beauty. Snapshots of these moments would look like the yin-yang diagrams, a splotch of White in Black, and a splotch of Black in White, whichever way you developed the film (positive or negative).
All of us have a little bit of Black, and White in us. Most of us make friends the way White understands and delights other Colours. We appreciate similarities. But if we can respond to the differences in our friends the way White responded to Black, perhaps we can make the most of these differences. When coupled with appreciating similarities, friendships can be greatly deepened. And these kinds of friendships - which involve the embracing of the friend as a whole, their good, their bad, their similarities, and their differences - can be much more than just friendships for the sake for friendship, they can be empowering unions.
So what do I mean by empowering unions? I don't mean, as some might presume, the jump from platonic love to romantic, although it's true there's a change in intent. An empowering union is powered by the intent to work synergistically together to create something wonderful. But perhaps this isn't a change, but arises spontaneously as the result of being intent on knowing someone. Deeply.
If we viewed the world in greyscale, there are many different shades of black and white. Once you view the world in full colour, these shades of black and white turn to actual hues, like turquoise, red, or yellow. Yet there are some which are so intensely black or white, that even after you upgrade to Technicolour, they will remain all black or all white. This is a story of Black and White, of darkness, and of light.
All along, White understood other Colours by shining its light on them. Some light was absorbed, but the rest was reflected back, revealing the hues in their resplendence. Since White is a combination of all hues, White took delight in the similarities it shared with these hues, in the colours that were reflected. What made it so beautiful to White was this: the longer White shone its light on these Colours, the more White discovered of them, the more hues were reflected back, and the closer the approach to White these Colours came.
Then Black came along. White tried to understand Black the same way it did with other Colours. It shone its light on Black. But Black being Black, reflected nothing back. It remained in the dark. White peered at Black long and deep, but could see nothing in the darkness except occasional cold glimmerings of light. White was never sure whether this light was the light that was reflected back from White, or from some internal source within Black, for Black, in its darkness, seemed to radiate an energy of its own, an aura of darkness.
Now, the chemistry between Black and White was different from the chemistry between White and other Colours. It was driven not by White's act, but by Black producing a reaction in White. White was piqued by the challenge Black presented. While White understood that it would never be able to understand Black the way it did with other Colours, White observed Black on its own terms, in its darkness, and thought that it had arrived at some form of understanding. No, the challenge Black presented was not merely the challenge to understand, but to influence. To establish some light in Black's darkness. It was a new struggle which energised and intrigued White. Of course, Black was darkness, and once light comes darkness goes. White knew this. White knew that despite all its effort, Black would still be Black. But White kept at it.
There were instants when White's light threatened to invade Black's darkness, and Black's darkness threatened to overtake White's light. These were instants when White's light completely flooded Black's darkness, and when Black's darkness completely engulfed White's light. But of course, White being White, it was almost immediate in its response to restablish its light, because White cannot be White without light. And Black of course, was likewise as quick to restablish its darkness, because Black cannot be Black without darkness. But sometimes in the struggle, there were lingering moments of balance and unity, and of great beauty. Snapshots of these moments would look like the yin-yang diagrams, a splotch of White in Black, and a splotch of Black in White, whichever way you developed the film (positive or negative).
All of us have a little bit of Black, and White in us. Most of us make friends the way White understands and delights other Colours. We appreciate similarities. But if we can respond to the differences in our friends the way White responded to Black, perhaps we can make the most of these differences. When coupled with appreciating similarities, friendships can be greatly deepened. And these kinds of friendships - which involve the embracing of the friend as a whole, their good, their bad, their similarities, and their differences - can be much more than just friendships for the sake for friendship, they can be empowering unions.
So what do I mean by empowering unions? I don't mean, as some might presume, the jump from platonic love to romantic, although it's true there's a change in intent. An empowering union is powered by the intent to work synergistically together to create something wonderful. But perhaps this isn't a change, but arises spontaneously as the result of being intent on knowing someone. Deeply.
Saturday, April 8, 2006
Small^time = big
Don't you find it funny how true cliches are, despite their bad reputation? For instance, today I realised the truth of the cliche that the little things are the ones which count. Sometimes you wake up one day and you suddenly realise how far you've come from a few years back, and you kind of wonder how the change came about. I think it is the little things that make this change. The little decisions to just indulge that little bit here, or to make that extra effort to be nice there, that ever so gradually and imperceptibly build up.
Dance also helped me realise this. In dance, particularly in ballet, every move you make is important, and significant. Slack a little bit at barre, and you will feel it at centre work. In no movement can you say, what the heck, I shall slacken just a little bit here. Once you do so, the whole movement is ruined. Perhaps it is imperceptibly so, but the weakness will be revealed in other steps that you perform.
You have one life, take that little bit of extra time to think over the choices you make. You will live it all the better for thinking.
Dance also helped me realise this. In dance, particularly in ballet, every move you make is important, and significant. Slack a little bit at barre, and you will feel it at centre work. In no movement can you say, what the heck, I shall slacken just a little bit here. Once you do so, the whole movement is ruined. Perhaps it is imperceptibly so, but the weakness will be revealed in other steps that you perform.
You have one life, take that little bit of extra time to think over the choices you make. You will live it all the better for thinking.
Sunday, April 2, 2006
How to be happy
Firstly, look to the present. You will be able to find something in it that is beautiful.
If you can't, look to the future, because you'll never run out of tomorrows, and with the advent of tomorrow comes inifinite possibilities, and renewed hope.
And when you're glad, look to the past, reflect and see how you can do better.
And when you're glad, look to the past, reflect and see how you can do better.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Cycles of knowledge
I was reading John's blog when it dawned on me (I was going to say struck me, but as I've said before, my thoughts don't travel fast enough to strike) that a lot of knowledge is circular.
First of all, knowledge is circular because from the day we are born, information is being overloaded into our system. To get on with life and move on, we have almost no choice but to believe in the information, and trust that what our parents tell us is true. We cannot really establish any one truth move progressively, because that's not the way information in this world gets relayed to us. Instead, we can only assume temporarily that something is true, and use that truth to lead to new conclusions. Information is thrown at us in the disorganised, chaotic pattern the world seems to be ordered by (allusion to Chaos Theory, which is really not at all chaotic), and we have to somehow fit the pieces together. We use the incomplete puzzle to try and create and put in new pieces of the puzzle. In the same way, we assume that what we know is true, and that the way we've fit the puzzle pieces we have together is correct, to try and create or join together more pieces of the puzzle. Then looking back, we see how some of the temporary beliefs we have formed are likely to be true because it fits in with the rest of the pieces in the puzzle. In a sense, it's circular reasoning, and hence technically a fallacy, but it's really the only way we can know. Even the so-called basic Truth, cogito ergo sum, is vulnerable to circular reasoning.
Secondly, a lot of levels of understanding and growth are cyclical. As you mature, you realise how juvenile and naive your thoughts were before, and you change your mindset. Then you mature some more, and you realise that what was juvenile and naive was actually best, so you end up reverting, or regressing to these mindsets. It happens a lot in artists too. They start out with the childlike drawings, move on to realistic art, and regress to a stylised form of art not unlike that of a child's.
In fact, that's evidence that Chinese culture is more matured than Western culture. Just look at the number of years it took for the Chinese to realise that art wasn't simply about just trying to translate reality onto canvas as realistically as possble, and compare it with the West. For the Chinese, if I remember correctly, the transition was just that, a transitory period lasting maybe a dynasty or so. For the West, it was ages.
First of all, knowledge is circular because from the day we are born, information is being overloaded into our system. To get on with life and move on, we have almost no choice but to believe in the information, and trust that what our parents tell us is true. We cannot really establish any one truth move progressively, because that's not the way information in this world gets relayed to us. Instead, we can only assume temporarily that something is true, and use that truth to lead to new conclusions. Information is thrown at us in the disorganised, chaotic pattern the world seems to be ordered by (allusion to Chaos Theory, which is really not at all chaotic), and we have to somehow fit the pieces together. We use the incomplete puzzle to try and create and put in new pieces of the puzzle. In the same way, we assume that what we know is true, and that the way we've fit the puzzle pieces we have together is correct, to try and create or join together more pieces of the puzzle. Then looking back, we see how some of the temporary beliefs we have formed are likely to be true because it fits in with the rest of the pieces in the puzzle. In a sense, it's circular reasoning, and hence technically a fallacy, but it's really the only way we can know. Even the so-called basic Truth, cogito ergo sum, is vulnerable to circular reasoning.
Secondly, a lot of levels of understanding and growth are cyclical. As you mature, you realise how juvenile and naive your thoughts were before, and you change your mindset. Then you mature some more, and you realise that what was juvenile and naive was actually best, so you end up reverting, or regressing to these mindsets. It happens a lot in artists too. They start out with the childlike drawings, move on to realistic art, and regress to a stylised form of art not unlike that of a child's.
In fact, that's evidence that Chinese culture is more matured than Western culture. Just look at the number of years it took for the Chinese to realise that art wasn't simply about just trying to translate reality onto canvas as realistically as possble, and compare it with the West. For the Chinese, if I remember correctly, the transition was just that, a transitory period lasting maybe a dynasty or so. For the West, it was ages.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Balanced perfection
As a child, beauty is simple, our ideals are simple. We find the lifelike, vividly detailed Da Vinci more appealing than surrealist Dali. We find the things that are pleasing to the eye beautiful. We see perfection as an ideal like getting a 100% on a test, or being eloquent, intelligent, graceful.
Now I realise that perfection isn't quite as simple as all that. Something that's too perfect actually loses some of its beauty, some of its perfection. Its flawlessness is an imperfection, and it makes it less interesting, less appealing. It's like the way master potters sometimes purposefully include flaws in their work. They could make perfect pots, the ideal pot, easily, yet they choose not to, because they see that perfection is also about the acknowledgement of flaws. In the same way, I realise that as much as striving to live up to the ideals of perfection, being perfect is also about the acknowledgement and acceptance of what is not perfect.
Actually, perfection is like dance. I once said that the most important aspect of ballet is balance. It's true for perfection. And balance doesn't mean taking the middle road, but allowing a dynamic equilibrium to occur as a result of the constant battle between the two extremes, striving for perfection, and your own imperfections.
Now I realise that perfection isn't quite as simple as all that. Something that's too perfect actually loses some of its beauty, some of its perfection. Its flawlessness is an imperfection, and it makes it less interesting, less appealing. It's like the way master potters sometimes purposefully include flaws in their work. They could make perfect pots, the ideal pot, easily, yet they choose not to, because they see that perfection is also about the acknowledgement of flaws. In the same way, I realise that as much as striving to live up to the ideals of perfection, being perfect is also about the acknowledgement and acceptance of what is not perfect.
Actually, perfection is like dance. I once said that the most important aspect of ballet is balance. It's true for perfection. And balance doesn't mean taking the middle road, but allowing a dynamic equilibrium to occur as a result of the constant battle between the two extremes, striving for perfection, and your own imperfections.
Monday, February 6, 2006
Understanding simplicity
Some of you may know I have an ongoing obsession with simplicity, and the dynamics between simplicity and complexity. I finally realise what I haven't quite been able to put into words all this while: complexity is only as complex as your lack of understanding. Once you understand, everything will become simpler. The more you can understand, the more the elegant simplicity, the organising chaos, will reveal itself. I hope that the rambling complexities I have perpetuated are becoming clearer?
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Class act
It's finally dawned on me (I saw dawned on me as opposed to something like hit me because I am rather slow, and I don't think any of my thoughts would move fast enough to hit me) that language is the human way of classifying things. Classifying objects, people, ideas. Everything. We classify to communicate. Golly gee, right now, I am classifying!
It's a rather strange realisation, when you think about it. Everything we are saying is a classification. We understand things only through classification. Definition, explanation, organisation all stem from classification.
You may argue, how can that be? The only way I can reasonably continue my own argument is by defining my concept of classification, which is really just classifying the word using more classifications. Anyway, just for the record, my definition of classifcation is putting everything into some sort of category, or place, such that it will be potentially easier, or more convenient for us to grasp.
Maybe, the reason we will never be able to understand our universe is not because it is inifinite. Or at least, not just because of that. Maybe the reason we won't be able to understand it is because we cannot classify it. Perhaps a better statement might be: maybe the universe isn't meant to be understood. Because to understand it, or at least to understand it in a way in which it is possible for us to share our understanding, we must classify it. And we can't classify it because perhaps the universe just won't fit into our classifications. Just like some organisms won't fit properly into our plant and animal kingdoms, planting a foot into the plant kingdom, and another into the animal kingdom, our universe will never be able to fit nicely in whatever classifications, however evolved they may become, neatly.
It feels weird to think that all this time I've just been classifying...
It's a rather strange realisation, when you think about it. Everything we are saying is a classification. We understand things only through classification. Definition, explanation, organisation all stem from classification.
You may argue, how can that be? The only way I can reasonably continue my own argument is by defining my concept of classification, which is really just classifying the word using more classifications. Anyway, just for the record, my definition of classifcation is putting everything into some sort of category, or place, such that it will be potentially easier, or more convenient for us to grasp.
Maybe, the reason we will never be able to understand our universe is not because it is inifinite. Or at least, not just because of that. Maybe the reason we won't be able to understand it is because we cannot classify it. Perhaps a better statement might be: maybe the universe isn't meant to be understood. Because to understand it, or at least to understand it in a way in which it is possible for us to share our understanding, we must classify it. And we can't classify it because perhaps the universe just won't fit into our classifications. Just like some organisms won't fit properly into our plant and animal kingdoms, planting a foot into the plant kingdom, and another into the animal kingdom, our universe will never be able to fit nicely in whatever classifications, however evolved they may become, neatly.
It feels weird to think that all this time I've just been classifying...
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Art as a paradigm for life
Different people have different conceptions of art. This is simple - different people live different lives. And art is life.
Human beings like to compartmentalise, organise, classify, stereotype things. But the thing about things is that they often refuse to be classified. That's why art is life and life is art, but not really.
Art is how you get people to see through new windows, new viewpoints, and live different lives, or just live their own lives better. Art is how you enrich people. A well-written account of an abused child (touch wood, you weren't/aren't one), allows you to experience what it is like, see things in a different light. It allows you to experience things you may not be able to experience in your life. You ponder, and get a bigger, broader perspective.
Art is about self-expression, self-discovery for the artist.
But really, art cannot exist in an artist until the artist has a life outside (used rather loosely - no artist can really be outside art) art. From this life, the artist draws upon the basics for art. It gives him the experience and foundation for his art. However, the artist's life in his art will teach him much also. But without this outside life, there is really nothing for the artist to draw parallels to. The two lives feed off each other, the are one and separate at the same time. They cannot be classified.
So yep, life is art, and art is life, for lack of a better word than is.
Perhaps the most important thing you can learn from art is that you cannot classify things. You just have to let them be the tangled inter-connected, interwoven network of things that they are. But, (and here comes my favourite line) within that complexity, sometimes you can find a startling simplicity. And, maybe by classifiying things, you are just making things more confusing, and further and further away from simplicity.
Everyone is an artist.
Human beings like to compartmentalise, organise, classify, stereotype things. But the thing about things is that they often refuse to be classified. That's why art is life and life is art, but not really.
Art is how you get people to see through new windows, new viewpoints, and live different lives, or just live their own lives better. Art is how you enrich people. A well-written account of an abused child (touch wood, you weren't/aren't one), allows you to experience what it is like, see things in a different light. It allows you to experience things you may not be able to experience in your life. You ponder, and get a bigger, broader perspective.
Art is about self-expression, self-discovery for the artist.
But really, art cannot exist in an artist until the artist has a life outside (used rather loosely - no artist can really be outside art) art. From this life, the artist draws upon the basics for art. It gives him the experience and foundation for his art. However, the artist's life in his art will teach him much also. But without this outside life, there is really nothing for the artist to draw parallels to. The two lives feed off each other, the are one and separate at the same time. They cannot be classified.
So yep, life is art, and art is life, for lack of a better word than is.
Perhaps the most important thing you can learn from art is that you cannot classify things. You just have to let them be the tangled inter-connected, interwoven network of things that they are. But, (and here comes my favourite line) within that complexity, sometimes you can find a startling simplicity. And, maybe by classifiying things, you are just making things more confusing, and further and further away from simplicity.
Everyone is an artist.
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