The Inner Game of Art

By Jane Greiner
Sun staff writer
Let me be clear from the start; I have no expertise in art or art criticism. But lately I have discovered a way for the total amateur to enjoy art in a new and exciting way. And it is so much fun that I feel the need to share it with any other art amateurs who care to read this.
In the past I would look at a piece of art and make an immediate judgment. I liked it or I didn’t like it, and that was what counted. I couldn’t get much beyond that. If I didn’t like it, I was unable to understand why the artist even painted it.

Gary McClain and Eve Adamson, authors of “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Zen Living,” have a different, more Zen-like approach to art appreciation. They have an exercise in which they suggest writing a haiku-like short poem about what you see when you look at a work of art. The idea is to “look, really look,” at the art without trying to understand, analyze or compare it. Let your poem “speak of your direct experience of the art,” they advise.
OK, I decided I would try it. Having lived with an artist, my home is filled with art. I first looked at the picture I have above my writing desk. It shows two cows, huddled together, looking at you. It is called Easter Sunday and is a colored pencil “painting” by Carolyn Hudson.
I have always enjoyed the picture but could never figure out exactly why. I tried to suspend judgment and simply ask myself, “What did she see that she wanted us to see?” Then I wrote my few lines without trying to follow the strict rules for haiku. With minor revisions, here is what I see in that picture.
Two cows,
Heads together,
Staring at me,
A stranger in their field.
Wow, I thought, pretty good. That’s a description of what I see in that picture. Writing about it clarified its feeling for me.
I looked at a watercolor scene by Jeannie Reynolds, an Adirondack artist. There is a loon on a nest in the foreground, an Adirondack lake and mountains beyond.
I wrote:
Loony cove,
Blue Adirondack lake.
Boundary mountains of eternity,
‘Neath unpredictable sky.
Not bad, I thought. It captured the content of the picture (somewhat), without placing a judgment on it. Again, I felt a new connection with the picture, a different kind of bonding.
Next I tried another favorite of mine, which hangs in the living room. It’s called Oswegatchie Pilgrimage, also by Carolyn Hudson. The picture says to me:
Father and daughter start up the river
In his hand-made canoe.
It’s an Oswegatchie Pilgrimage,
A memory, of a memory, of a memory.
This was exciting. I was finally finding words to describe what the pictures conveyed to me without the interference of judging. I was seeing why the artist had been moved to draw and paint these particular scenes and not some other. Putting words to my inner-reaction, to these pictures was giving me a new-found understanding and experience of the art. It was a kind of intimacy with art that I had not experienced before.
I was having way too much fun with this. I had to find more art.
I rushed down to the Synchronicity Gallery, one of my favorite stops in Glen Arbor. The owner, Marion DeVinney, gave me permission to continue my experiment with the inner-game of art appreciation.
My first test was of an oil painting by Debra Reid Jenkins called, “My River.”
Before you read my inner-reaction Zen-ku, try mentally composing your own. Remember, no value judgements. Just think about what you see, what the artist is showing you. Here’s mine.
Still, dappled lily pads
In gently flowing river.
Earth, leaves, water,
Fusing in green harmony.
Next I was drawn to “Clouds Moving In”, an oil painting by Lynn Strough.
Again I urge you to think through your own zen-view before reading mine.
Huge clouds rush over Lake Michigan,
Excitement fills the air.
Nothing on earth can touch this grandeur,
Though even it will pass.
Finally, I studied a large watercolor by Carol La Chiusa called “Sleeping Bear Dunes.”
The picture shows a scene we have all witnessed or experienced ourselves.
I wrote:
Children out-run fear
Tripping down the vast sand face,
Suddenly needing Mom,
Who waits anxiously below at the base.
OK, so my “Zen-kus” are strictly amateur. But that is the idea. They are just a tool to help you focus on the experience of a piece of art. The object of all this verbiage is not to write great poetry. It’s a technique to help see art in a new and meaningful way.
My experience with this inner game of Zen-viewing art has made art a whole lot more fun to look at. It gives me a point of contact with each piece I use it on. It’s an exciting discovery to me. I hope you will try it and see if it changes the way you look at, and experience art.