Even non-representational works can take hold of us, like the breathing colour fields of Mark Rothko's paintings or the beautiful ambience of Max Richter's music. Sometimes, artworks have such a magnetic pull that we forget the actual world around us and lose our sense of time and place, of other people - and sometimes even of ourselves. The French art critic Denis Diderot (1713-84) called such immersive experiences 'art at its most magical'. Once a painting by Claude-Joseph Vernet (1714-89) pulled Diderot inside a pastoral river scene so completely and enjoyably that he compared the experience to a divine mode of existence:
"Where am I at this moment? What is all this surrounding me? I don't know, I can't say. What's lacking? Nothing. What do I want? Nothing. If there is a God, his being must be like this, taking pleasure in himself."No wonder, then, that there is a certain sense of wistfulness when it all ends, when the lights come up or the last page is turned, and we find ourselves back where we were, forced to carry on with our daily lives.
The idea of artworks as portals to other worlds dates back several centuries, and it has become a commonplace way of talking about our experiences with art. In Pictures and Tears (2001), the art historian James Elkins called it the 'travelling theory' of aesthetic experience. The obvious problem with this theory, however, is that it sounds terribly metaphorical. In reality, I never leave my place in physical space. I'm there in the gallery, the auditorium or on my sofa all along. Try as I might, I cannot enter Bruegel's landscape by touching the canvas, nor can I run into the world of Hamlet by running onto the stage. The artwork allows me only to peer as if from a threshold, where I can see inside but never enter. Here we face what I call the paradox of aesthetic immersion: when I'm immersed in artwork, I seem to go somewhere without going anywhere, and I seem to be in two worlds at once, and yet I'm not properly in either.
So what kind of 'travelling' are we talking about?
One way to answer this question is to look closer at the phenomenology of immersive experiences - that is, the way immersion is experienced in the first-person perspective. The Polish phenomenologist Roman Ingarden (1893-1970) argued that artworks are peculiar entities that exist somewhere between the mental and the physical reality, irreducible to either but dependent on both. An artwork necessarily requires a physical basis, such as pigments on a canvas, a block of marble, letters on a page, people on the stage - in short, an external object or state of affairs that the perceiver can engage with. However, the work also needs a perceiver to blossom into what Ingarden called the aesthetic object, the artwork as experienced: it is the consciousness of the perceiver that turns the letters on a page into an imagined world, sees a landscape in a painted surface, or hears sadness in a melody.
As a mind-independent object, the artwork is a skeleton to which I give flesh by attending to it. Indeed, when perceiving an artwork, we often literally overlook the artwork as a physical object; I'm not usually aware of the letters on the page or the pigments on the canvas, as my consciousness glides over them and attends to the depicted or narrated world that opens up in engagement with the artwork. This world is not localisable in physical space. No map can lead me there. The only entry goes through the artwork. Neither is the artwork's world a mere mental event inside my consciousness, like a phantasm or a memory, because I experience the artwork's world as something external to my consciousness. As the French philosopher Mikel Dufrenne (1910-95) says, the artwork 'appears in the world as something not of the world', as an irruption of a new world in the midst of the actual world.
I believe this peculiar ontological inbetweenness offers a key in understanding what happens in an immersive engagement with artworks. In everyday experience, I find myself here, in the midst of the spatially and temporally unified and meaningfully organised world, in which I can interact with objects and other people. Martin Heidegger (1889-1976) argued that this boundedness to the world defines human existence to the extent that his technical term from human existence was Da-sein, literally 'being-there'. The artwork, however, opens a heteronomous world I don't experience as belonging to the spatiotemporal unity of the actual world. Aesthetic immersion then includes a turning away from the actual world towards the world of the work without actually entering it. In my own research, I have attempted to describe the radical experiential changes in the perceiver's place-awareness that such turning involves, most noticeably changes in one's sense of time and space. Engaging with a good book or a film can lead me to lose all track of time and awareness of surroundings.
More paradoxically still, an artwork can make me forget myself as the subject of the experience, as if I somehow became part of the object. It can consume my attention to the extent that it eclipses everything in the field of my consciousness. An important aspect of aesthetic immersion, however, is that, even though immersion can feel holistic and real, there still remains at least a latent consciousness of the boundary between reality and fiction, and we usually do not mistake the artwork's world for the actual world and think that we are really inside another world. All this amounts to a peculiar, experiential dislocation, where the usual structures of my place-awareness are destabilised, so that it feels like I'm not wholly in the actual world nor in the world of the artwork, neither inside nor outside, but in a liminal space between them. From this phenomenological perspective, the 'travelling theory' of aesthetic experience is not just metaphorical speech but an actual description of the experience, while the 'travelling' in question has a much more complex nature than what a naïve interpretation of the theory suggests. We do not enter an artwork like Wu Daozi, but rather the artwork dislocates the basic experiential structures that sustain our place-awareness.
It is still not altogether clear why we find such experiences pleasurable - indeed, other similar disturbances, such as psychoses, are deeply distressing. My guess would be that the enjoyability of aesthetic immersion comes down to a combination of two factors. First, aesthetic immersion involves a holistic stimulation of mental and bodily capacities, such as cognition, feeling and imagination, and we seem to find such stimulation exciting and pleasurable. Secondly, the (at least latent) awareness of the artwork's fictionality ensures that this artwork's world does not become too real, too threatening, and we can attend to the events of the work safely from a distance, knowing that all is, in the end, mere play and make-believe.
Some critics have been quick to view immersion as a mere mode of vacuous enjoyment and escapism, where we lose sight of art's function as communal sharing of ideas, as a way of deepening our understanding of the real world and our place in it. I think such criticisms miss how radical immersive experiences and their possible ramifications are. To be sure, floating through the cosmos of flickering lights in teamLab's The Infinite Crystal Universe (2018) or getting caught up in the flow of Claude Debussy's music offers respite from the toil of everyday life, and one might even contend that we learn nothing through these experiences, at least in terms of conceptual knowledge.
Yet I believe immersive experiences can be transformative in another, more fundamental way. The dull habituality of everyday life can easily make us forget how rich and varied human experience can be. We usually live through our daily hustle and bustle with a certain automatism that stultifies our ways of relating to the world and ourselves. By altering the basic experiential structures that sustain our sense of the everyday world, immersive artworks can show us that there are more possibilities of thinking, feeling and imagining than we usually realise. Immersion mobilises the mind, and makes its gears run in a new fashion.
Though immersive experiences might not teach us anything in terms of 'X is Y', we do not necessarily return from immersion unchanged. Many are probably familiar with the way art's magic can linger after immersion itself has dissipated, and how the world appears, at least for a while, richer, deeper and more enchanting than before. I believe such experiences are vital in leading towards a more curious and nuanced relation to the world. As the German philosopher J G Fichte (1762-1814) put it, aesthetic experiences might not straightforwardly make us wiser or better people, but 'the unploughed fields of our minds are nevertheless opened up, and if for other reasons we one day decide in freedom to take possession of them, we find half the resistance removed and half the work done.'
Reader Comments
i've experience this as well, and interestingly
your comment reminded me of something i read in one of TC Lethbridge's books - he found that when an original piece of art work is dowsed the dowser can find the "rate" for gender, and thought. yet, these "rates" are not found in reproductions. TCL goes on to say that something, a form of energy from the artist, if you will, goes into the making of the piece of art, or in the hand written letter, and it lasts indefinitely.
this could be why, when some people see an original painting, sculpture, or hear live tones from a cello, that energy harmonizes and connects them with their being on a deeper or more meaningful level - and yes, maybe from a past life or future life... the first painting above, when i looked at it i thought of the character, Bruno - the painter, in the jane roberts novel Oversoul Seven.
In another instance, I drove by myself from the Bay Area down to San Diego for a vacation. As I was nearing San Diego, I began crying and sobbing as I passed the reddish southerwestern desert areas down there. I knew them well but had never been in the region. They "spoke" to something in my soul so deeply...I knew them.
Two examples.
(1) Studied acting for years because I so enjoyed the process--let loose emotions and understandings within me. Best acting teacher I had was an older gentleman who had been a member of the Group Theatre. [Link] He would often disappoint people by stopping your rehearsed scene for class that week within the first 10 seconds. I came to understand he was right. He often said that great acting was like beating a drum with your hand so that the reverberation would be felt in a second drum nearby.
(2) I was driving a group of four people--two couples--in the cab one night. They were returning from one of the many Cirque shows on the Strip. The man sitting up front with me began a soliloquy on Cirque shows describing the acrobatics and exaggerating the supposed wonders one saw with great humor. He was making me laugh so hard that I had to nearly stop several times because I couldn't see to drive. I understood his point. He said, "Once you've seen one Cirque show, you've seen them all."
Even my goosebumps got goosebumps at Tina Turner's Paris concert in the 90s. I completely received that transcendent energy she was generously giving out.
But, mostly it's Mozart and Mitsuko Uchida who do it for me - the times I've been elevated (not reduced!) to tears of sublime awe, transported to another dimension that's indescribably better than ours....
Embracing my complete ignorance, I took an Art History course for extra credits at Uni. Fascinating and entrancing though it was, sadly I didn't encounter any pictorial art that had anything like the same effect.
Artists and art historians have a whole different way of using language to talk about their creations, the connotations they evoke and their responses to art. Just recently I discovered the renowned sculptor Alexander Stoddart and watched various arty discussions in which he took part....these people are on another plane, it's like they've been permanently transported.
Ever notice how great artists take that moment, as she does, which places them in the channel to convey a sublime spirit through their human spirit? She's very adept [Link] at the entrance.
I studied literature in high school and college. I think one reason I turned away from this type of study, for me, was that an academic exercise dissecting a theme or metaphor to interpret a novel or poem's meaning seemed bland and almost pointless after many years. I didn't know then but understand now that I wanted the direct experience.
I remember studying Gerard Manley Hopkins "The Windhover."
I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
My breath was taken away. After many sessions of "studying" the poem, I was bored and tired and had lost the wonder of the poem.
Like you, I studied (first!) literature. In fact, quite appropriately for our discussion, the American transcendentalists in particular. Dickinson and Whitman are still my go to favourites, along with Frost. To be honest, most poetry irritates me though. At Uni, I very much enjoyed the dissection of both poetry and prose. That discipline alone has been immensely useful in my career. I learned that the orchestration of words is a passion whilst music is my direct connection to all that is holy (and it's very difficult to write about this transcendental experience without using words that sit well with religious sentiments.)
How lovely that you found that beautiful Bach piece. Thank you for posting it. As you say, Uchida takes the time to settle herself and connect with that 'other place' and not only opens the door for us but also becomes so part of the music that she serves it and us. Seems to me rather akin to preparing oneself for a holy communion...there is something sacred here and in all the best art of whatever form, it seems to me. Sacred in the widest of all possible senses, because the numinous is beyond time and space and profane measures and sensibilities.
"As she revealed in Time, Mozart's music is a "kind of world in itself … so complete that you can forget about the rest. Then you come out, and you are blinded." [Link]
I've been to countless of her performances and she's always transported me thus. In fact, I once had the honour of meeting her after a concert - and was still in the process of coming back to this relatively meagre dimension. I rather think I was the epitome of an awestruck, starry-eyed, dumb, deaf and daft superfan! She was warmly gracious nonetheless.
Perhaps this is the artist's real gift : that talent to reach beyond to commune with the sublime and generously invite us along with them?
(PS I stumbled upon this piano transcription of the fugue from Bach's Toccata a couple of weeks ago. It was being used as the opening music to an academic conversation on YT. It so arrested me that the discussion went by the wayside and I had to listen to this piece for the rest of the day! [Link] )
"...whilst music is my direct connection to all that is holy (and it's very difficult to write about this transcendental experience without using words that sit well with religious sentiments.)"
My mind encompasses the notion that the banal is sublime and the universal is discrete. I value all human experience and never lose sight of the fact that this 3D experience, for all its degradation, suffering, and disappointment, represents among the quintessential pathways the Universe offers to learn and achieve mastery of and become co-creators with All That Is. We are gifted with this opportunity and responsiblity. Art in 3D allows our spirit to soar above the trappings of 3D limitations and experience through the heart that which is wordless and unfathomable while in this present form.
I was struck by the lyrics of "Peace in the Valley" as sung by Randy Travis. "Well, the bear will be gentle/And the wolf will be tame/And the lion shall lay down/By the lamb, oh/And the beasts from the wild/Shall be led by a child/ And I'll be changed,/Changed from this creature that I am. " These lyrics sing the lament of the human heart for reunion with Spirit or All That Is.
The efforts of an artists amount to an interruption of what they've just witnessed ,the observer is then subjected to sensory simulation that otherwise would not have existed.
In Boston there is a whole room of Van Gogh paintings.
The intensity of the paintings is incredible, and it doesn't translate through prints.
For me, I'm really rediscovering what it means to be creative, rediscovering the joy, feeling- I cannot live without
I dated a girl who won the Cocoa Beach art show. You could give her a pencil and paper and 30 minutes and she could draw something that you would have to look very closely at to realize it wasn't a black and white photograph. Artists are too cool and too rare. She has a website and is a very successful artist etc. these days.
R.C.
When I first saw my current beautiful kitty lady, she was completely alone in that mostly fenced in place and she would NOT leave me alone whenever I parked my car and tried to walk in. I started feeding her (T) and the rest is history.
What I was amazed about was how my/that beautiful, older Maine Coon (she of my drawing and a champion gifted to me- I still have her ribbons and awards from the lady who showed her and gave her to me), well, she was generally fussy - actually instantly took to caring about and for that little orphaned waif, my current T.
I soon realized that T had a kink in her tail and it felt like she also had a piece of birdshot in her tail. However, before I could do some magnet test on it, it apparently fell out and the kink has mostly gone away. Then, the first time I cleaned a long gun around her (she has no reason to know what they do - has never heard a gun fired on my watch) she absolutely panicked at the sch-LACK sound of the bolt closing home. If I merely bring a long gun out, what she always does (and only does at such times) is be scared, and fearingly say me- ee --- ee-ow-ow (she's not very talkative at all usually) and per all that combined I think some local redneck scumbags drove into my office's parking lot one night and slaughtered the family and that T barely got away with her tail catching some birdshot. I'd call the odds of that being correct at over 70%.
Each of my three cats were about half the weight of their predecessor. From 25 lbs to 13 lbs to my current kitty who was surely a runt - she's probably 5.5 lbs now. (A runt like me I guess. <5'7" )
If I don't change my avatar, please feel free to remind me of the fact I've got a scan to do.
RC
A very disturbing incident occurred here in LV. A young man was seen walking a small bull/pit bull dog, caught on surveillance camera, and the dog was found hanging from a fence dead in back of a store.
Those of us who love animals simply cannot comprehend why anyone would simply for fun or self-righteousness hurt an animal.
When I started adopting cats in California, one was run over by a car. He had been the brother of another cat who now had no one. So, I went to the animal shelter and got a kitten. The "brother cat" had just grown through the "young cat" stage. Then, I felt sorry for the kitten who had no one to play with...so I go traipsing back to the animal shelter to get another kitten...because the remaining "brother cat" had so enjoyed playing with his brother when they were younger. So, I got this tiny kitten (after much contemplation) who wanted to be adopted so badly that he sat by the door of the cage falling asleep and then waking himself up...falling asleep and then waking himself up. He had been brought in as a stray found on a road. Several weeks later, the vet estimated he might have been 5 weeks when I got him. When he came home, he ran straight for the older cat who promptly swatted him away (all males). The little kitten tried again. Again swatted away. This happened a couple of more times despite coaching from my friend and me about being careful with the new kitten.
Finally, the miracle happened. The little kitten went running to the older cat again...and lo and behold...he started licking him and making his calm down and feel good. He let him sleep beside him. They became bosom buddies throughout their lives.
RC
Opera seems to do it for me. An unknown Welsh tenor named Paul Potts mustered the courage to go on Britain’s Got Talent. During the day he worked at Carphone Warehouse and at night he practiced his craft alone and for his wife. For his audition he sang Puccini’s Nessun dorma. Whenever I hear him sing it the hair on the back of my neck stands erect and he takes me off(as if by magic carpet)into a Netherland with soft tears in tow as emotion washes over me. The music transports me to another time and place. Great art and music does this. The why and the how are immaterial for me, at least….
RC
All of these links and conversations are moving and beautiful.
That's why I don't mind sitting for ten hours while Lynch teaches me to find the meaning behind sweeping a floor or what a nice guy Dougie is when he does nothing at all.
[Link]
Whad'ya think RC 🤔