I’ve always understood the abstract in a superficial yet simple way – something that looks simple. That is a lie. I didn’t always perceive it as such. Initially, I had a more philistine perspective, considering each abstract art piece as something elementary or unable to be understood. This obviously wasn’t true at all, those pieces were understood and that was why they were in a gallery, a magazine, or on whatever medium it graced.
This failure on my part was largely due to my working definition of abstractionism: something immaterial. The dots and color blocks were just things to me. They are still things. But they are different things.
I’m still working through this because I’ve found that, although I haven’t studied abstract art specifically, I’ve gained a greater awareness of it just by living. And it is perhaps my awareness of this development that I find abstractionism so interesting. Perceivably, I will die without ever having understood it at all.
At the moment, I am considering the abstract as a method of extraction: to portray the core essence of something via some other thing. And this loss of detail in the process of extraction, I believe, mirrors the human process of collecting images so accurately. It spits the contours of our visual database back at us – and if done properly – we get it immediately. Perhaps this is why it lends itself to be understood via experience, rather than depending on the learned knowledge of an art critic or professor. As my visual database extends, so to do the contours.

 

I have a lot of stuff in my fridge. Most of what I have in there I don’t recall buying and I certainly don’t plan on consuming it at any time soon. Yet I know I am incredibly lucky to have so much, that I can choose not to consume and still have a balanced diet. Often, I grab the coke instead of the water, the pudding instead of the fruit and the ice-cream instead of the vegetables. Why not, right? If this is what makes me happy then, dammit, I should be able to do it without feeling guilty. I am set in my ways. I know what I like and that’s what I’m sticking with.

I have my bread. I eat bread every day. It gives me what I need: A sufficient foundation for the day. It is reliable, cheap and always there. It gives me a sense of comfort. It seems to adapt to my moods and it definitely has a huge effect on my well-being. Or at least I think so…

My meat is very important to me. It is red, it is juicy and goes along great with the bread. I eat all kinds of meat. that is all the variety I need in my life.

And then, there’s the jelly. Oh yes, the jelly. I can just smear it on anything and it’ll fill in the gaps. It always fills in the gaps. That’s what makes it so convenient.

A pickle I don’t have every day… but on some days, I do, even though I have to eat them at school a lot.

Now, let’s think of the fridge not as a fridge but more as your life in general. The bread is the small arts you consume every day. From your funny Facebook-feed to your tantalizing Twitter tweets. From the childish chalk on the sidewalk to the annoying ads anywhere and everywhere. Think of the meat as the music you listen to… in the shower, on your way to class, during your runs and after hard days of studying. Think of the jelly as videos on YouTube, sitcoms and basically every sort of visual art you consume more attentively, but only in small chunks and between things. The pickle is the brilliant book you read from time to time.

And that is basically it. That is the art we usually consume between classes, studying, homework and maintaining a presentable body shape so your parents won’t be too concerned when you come back for spring break. This routine isn’t too bad, is it? It can even help me to keep my life together, right?

I sometimes think this way. I sometimes think that by consuming the same products, the same services and the same art, I can keep a balance in my life. But most of the time it’s the things that shake this balance, which make living fun and which, paradoxically, balance your life most effectively.

Just like mixing up your diet, mixing up your art consumption isn’t only fun but also healthy. We have so much going on on Campus. Go to the theater and have a laugh, go to a concert and be moved, visit exhibitions and galleries and let the art take you away. Away from the daily stress, away from the sorrows in your life. Maybe just try a new type of meat (that was my metaphor for music, remember?).

Discovering new art is like discovering new worlds, created within and through this, our very own world. It is a lot like having a thorough look into the depth of your fridge. You will find things that you didn’t know were in there and it will take just a little step out of the comfort zone to try them. Who knows… your favorite food might be in there somewhere… you just haven’t found it yet.

Stay up to date about art events: http://artsatmichigan.umich.edu/

 

PS: Remember to be as weird as you can possibly be.

“If you can dream it, you can do it.”

-Walt Disney

When I was little, when Borders was still around, I loved buying books. Dad would tell me I could buy one book, and I’d take so long looking around, trying to decide between all the different books I wanted. I wanted everything.

In recent years, as I’ve had to start thinking about saving money, I haven’t bought nearly as many books. Most of the books I get now are presents for my birthday or Christmas. Aside from buying textbooks, the only real time I spend money on books is when I get a gift card.

Well, I got a gift card for Christmas this year, and I’ve been debating what to spend it on since. Here’s the thing: there are countless novels I’ve been meaning to read, but I don’t really want to spend money on a random novel unless it’s one I’m going to revisit. Otherwise, I could just check it out from the library, right? If I’m going to buy a novel, I want it to be one of my new favorites, you know? I don’t regret owning I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak or The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky, because I’d like to reread those one day, and it feels good to own your favorite books. When people are visiting, they see the books you use to represent yourself.

In the end, with the help of my friend Kháhn San, I settled on two books. The first was Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. There’s no guarantee it’ll be one of my favorite books or anything, but it’s very long, complex, and difficult, so I’ll want longer than the standard library loan period to read it. I’ll probably want to go back and revisit earlier chapters late in the book, and really get into the experience of decoding the complex web of narratives. The other I chose, on my friend’s recommendation, was Bluets by Maggie Nelson. I’m told it’s a relatively accessible book of poetry, and that’s what I’m looking for. I figure a book of poetry is another good choice for buying, since poems are the kind of writing you want to revisit a lot. You don’t really read them as narrative; rereading a poem is different from just reading the same story over again.

Even if I don’t buy many books anymore, there’s still something so magical about bookstores; even if I don’t want to buy every book, I still want to read every one. Once everything is in ebook form and bookstores are less populous, this is what I’m going to miss.

……Just kidding! But when the sun does burst out from behind the grey clouds, it is not only the sky that seems to get lighter. Even my daily walk to the dining hall was shorter with the sunshine streaming down. Every breath becomes a phenomenon, a spectacular gift from nature. Then there is the increased awareness of motion. Up and down, left and right. I am suddenly aware of the motion of my arms and my legs as I stroll along the sidewalk. How am I doing it? When did I learn this? Half of my hazy memories stem from static ridden home videos alone. My path to South Quad leads me past the Cube and the people populating the square. The children are reveling in action too. Their joy illuminates the complete lack of fear to their movements. Their parents move in a completely different manner, following different rules. They move their cameras up and down as helpless as I to capture the complete transformation that has occurred before our eyes.

 

As a person that has always loved winter, it feels like a betrayal to admit that I love this weather. But as much as I like the coziness of a knit-wool sweater and the warmth in the bottom of my stomach after a cup of hot chocolate, all of that is manufactured as a response to the weather. You can never truly embrace winter without keeping at least two layers in between you and the cold. Everything is open and free under the sun. We expose ourselves in t-shirts and shorts without concern. Our fears evaporate in the clear air and leave us with minds liberated from responsibility. Perhaps that is why I can move in such child-like wonderment today, all those adult burdens have simply vanished.

This is not an altogether original observation. When I proposed this blog post to my roommate, she may have rolled her eyes, and responded with a “duh”. But I think she unintentionally proved my point. This weather unites us, tempting us to all come out of our separate houses and dorm rooms. Sunshine is universal. Even on the coldest day in Ann Arbor, when the wind temporarily robs you of the ability to breathe, it must be sunny somewhere. Then, there is the comfort, that in a few months the sun will return with all its suffocating, summer humidity. Wherever you turn, you cannot escape the influence that the sun exerts. It is a constant reminder of life, fueling the processes that allow everything on Earth to bloom. I glance at a shrub and am reminded of eighth grade biology without the boredom of the classroom. Thousands of little pancake-like granum are hidden in that leaf, unconsciously saving the world by using the power of the sun to fix CO₂ from the air. I feel the heat on my skin and think of the expansive, cold space that surrounds this tiny planet. Out of millions of floating rocks, this is the one with the star at the correct distance to create life, rather than burn it out of existence.

The sun has become more than simply the physical fuel for our lives, but also the inspiration of art and mythology. Every day, Apollo traverses the sky in his glowing chariot. Every night, Ra enters the Underworld and fights his eternal battle against Apophis, the god of Chaos. In Aztec legend, Huitzilopochtli is the sun and the moon is his sister’s decapitated head. Again, the sun is universal from one end of the hemisphere to the other. Akycha hails from the Inuit mythology and Inti from Incan legend. It is not just ancient history either. One of the most enduring symbols of America, after all, is the Washington monument, an enormous obelisk. Everything is built to optimize the sunlight, even the new buildings currently being constructed built for the University of Michigan business school. Its influence is omnipresent. You would have to move the Earth out of the orbit of the sun to escape its presence.

It is hilarious to think that the Earth was once considered the center of the solar system when our lives so clearly revolve around the sun. The warmth of the sunshine is always there even when it is not sunny in Ann Arbor.