Distant Memories: A Post on the Potential of a Natural, Mental Tool for Abstraction in One's Art

 One thing that I have identified to indicate whether or not someone knows their elements, principles, variety, and history of art is his or her understanding of the definition of abstraction, the process, or abstract art, the variety. Naturally, I debate whether or not I should really give away the definition of here but, I suppose it is necessary to do so. My coursework in Color & 2D Design taught that abstraction was a simplification of form, and this definition can be found in research as a "wider definition" (see this site's definition) but it is truly the one I prefer. Others, such as this awesome slideshow on the Elements and Principles of Visual Art on SlideShare that I found, define it as more of any departure from reality or naturalistic rendering.


Assuming I move off off of the earlier, personally preferred description, then I can then speak about what I wish. If, hypothetically speaking, one were to wish to represent something abstractly in their artwork, then he or she would have to somehow break down the essentials of that thing, whether it be the emotions one associates with a person, or the sounds heard as a train passes through your town in the early morning. One would have to break down the overall form of that person and their relationship to you, or that train's passing and its effect on you, and pull out the most important information to use to represent it, thus simplifying the form of one of those things so as to be prepared for abstraction.

In my own work, I am at the point that I wish to do this more often. I realize it is not enough to draw a precise and accurate portrait of a man of the past, because that drawing may not capture the entire form of that man. At this point, my definition of form is revealed, also, and is worth speaking on. I partially operate on the understanding of form that Plato did so long ago. Forms were eternal things existing outside our own level of reality; for each thing in our reality, such as all the varieties of chairs, there was one ultimate and original form of 'chair' in the "world of the forms." So, for a man, I want to show the original authentic form of said man, whether he be Robert E. Lee or a private from World War II, and all the facets that come with it--not just his appearance.

So, then, it becomes more difficult to abstract more complex 'things.' For example, I would like to consider the possibility of abstracting events in one's life. Events that one witnessed and has memory of having done so. What is essential out of a memory of a Christmas dinner, involving numerous conversations, foods, accidents, jokes, noises, smells, sights, and so on? Surely, what I just listed is a start, but to abstract a complex event as this could take time for the pure form of it must be obtained. What does it mean to purify the form of the unwrapping of gifts on Christmas? What do you not need? More importantly, do you really have the capacity to discard parts of a memory in their representation when they are personal to you?

I turn to my knowledge of creative writing for assistance here. My professor one quarter of a semester in my liberal studies coursework advocated the study of literature through the writing of creative narratives, specifically utilizing "S.D. & I.": Scenic Development and Imagery. Scenic Development and Imagery, as a technique, were the use of sensible details to write in a way to always place a reader in a developed scene that they could imagine. One wanted to maintain the audience's attention long enough to embed not a specifically scientifically reasoned or researched thesis in their mind, but a broadly and conceptually formed one. I would be fine admitting that this creative writing was almost like an abstract form of writing. Rather than say one, in life, cannot distinguish between the good and the bad, and therefore cannot do anything about dealing with either very functionally, outright in a logical paper, I was able to write a personal narrative. This personal narrative conveyed this thesis by touching upon specific instances in my romantic life, such as all the awkward stories behind first kisses, all the dumb things done or said in relationships, and any other outrageous aspect that could be touched upon. The result was a timeline of my romantic life consisting totally of short vignettes of kisses with girls. There was not lengthy discourse on each, but narration alone that set the reader at the scene of the kiss: whether it was indoor, under a tree, under a heavy wind, just after I got off the school bus, or in a movie theater in a row behind a little kid that was oddly curious.

"Helen was the ideal, stylish scene girl with colored hair and the perfect body. Back then, I was still energetic for school to start and got away with a lot. For example, since I was one of five or so kids to go to our private school from my public school district, we rode a short bus. It was great, I convinced the bus driver to drop me off on the side of the Tri-Borough highway and let me walk to school with her as she headed to East Junior High, the local public school. We would stop in a grove of trees outside the church by my school and hug and kiss as the cold morning air ruffled the trees, shook off its leaves, and felled them into her fake, sometimes black, sometimes hot pink hair. She loved me, and a lot of other guys. She only dated guys for a few days though, and “loved” every one of them. I stopped going to the grove of trees pretty quickly."

--From Me, Myself, and Girls, Written for IUP Course "Honors Core I" in Fall 2010

 In the above excerpt, I feel that I attempted to abstract an event in my life. The whole two weeks that I thought about this girl are attempted, truly, and authentically expressed by me personally in this passage, not in the voice of some omniscient writer, and done so relatively memorably and concisely, at least according to my professor. However, this is still distant from artwork, and not quire the point.


The point came today. On the way back from a Christmas celebration with family, I and my family tried to recall the homes of our aunts and uncles over time. I, the youngest of the group, had very hazy but still accurate recollections or at least acknowledgements of all this residences. I know before her current house, before the igloo-shaped one before it, and before the simple, small one before it that she first lived in when married for the first time, she has an apartment. I remember going there one afternoon. I remember white. I remember windows. I remember my aunt, so young. I remember a white sofa on which she reclined and read a magazine in comfortable light clothes, as I tried to drive Hot Wheels cars up her leg.

I have no idea how old I was. My parents, in assisting further illustrate the memory, guessed and attempted to add background, but I did not want any. The memory is pure. There is no needless information. The reason that memory stuck, for whatever reason, is because what I remember was meaningful, impacting, or something else. 


Most importantly, that event has been totally abstracted, I believe. Not by any forced, artistic thought process, but by the passing of time, the growth of a young man, and the development of a mind. It is natural. It is simplified to its most essential elements to allude to the event, and I would feel personally comfortable sitting and painting swathes of grays onto a canvas, beams of white over top, some fleshy figures in the center, and a small colorful dot advancing up the reclining form's apparent leg.


I feel comfortable, then, creating an abstract portrait of this artist as a young boy, playing with his Hot Wheels in a pristine place with another. And I didn't even have to think about it anymore than I would have  to call up any memory; it's just that this one has quite beautifully decayed into an abstract form.


Or at least that's my opinion.