What an interesting morning. For the first two hours of class, we discussed theories on identity and how social experience shapes meaning. Then we took a 15 minute bus ride to the National Gallery where we met in the rooms with Impressionist paintings. All my favorites (Cezanne, Monet, Degas, Van Gogh) were well represented. The Monet below was spectacular and new to me. Many of the others were at an impressionist showing at the DeJung years ago or exhibits in the past at the Art Institute in Chicago.
Of course, nothing is like being a room and seeing these up close and then from different vantage points. We explored only three rooms: # 43, 45, 46.
Following our wandering around, I posed a discussion board thread for each student to tie the Gallery experience specifically to either identity formation or symbolic interaction. My take-away--what strikes me is how painters mediate their experience of reality through one sense: the visual. That makes it more intense, but artificial, without the distractions of odor, sensation or taste. Probably obvious to everyone else, but I never considered how that particular representation and isolation of one set of sensual stimuli makes viewing so intense.
Of course, my reflection is, in part, the result of leaving the museum to a driving rain—sometimes becoming white snow droplets that melted shortly after hitting objects—and catching a bus with its intense odor parade.
Wanting to take in the London sites from Trafalger Square to Hampstead from a dry spot at the window, I could barely focus on the sights. Stale cigarette tobacco, pleasantly fragrant pipe tobacco residue, a woman’s herbal perfume, and unclean bodies were one set of things I noticed, but could tolerate. Even the mobile (Mow-BYE-L) conversations detracted from merely seeing. (They don’t say cell phone, rather, "Mow-BYE-L"). Then, the seat behind me was taken up by the intense smell of Vick’s vapor rub or a Ben Gay-type mentholatum. Of course, that was quickly followed by a barrage of coughing making me aware of potential germs—an entity that seldom occupies any space in my mind; imagining each waft of that smell carrying whatever virus or bacteria the elderly man suffered, I felt compelled to move, and did.
In all, I was aware of how all five senses together help sort out our day to day experiences, but also dilute the intensity of seeing—the visual isolated from sound, smell, taste and touch.
I am eager to see how the representations in the paintings—especially of the adult, female body—affected students’ awareness of self concept and identity. Certainly, the depictions are significantly different than those currently promoted in advertising.
There is a psychic cleansing that happens after contact with good art. Others can probably name the elements. I just know it when I feel it. I wonder it must be like for little British children to get so easily to these free museums. (There were several groups from preschoolers with docents talking about color, while taking in Van Gogh's sunflowers--to middle schoolers on guided tours.) I would have been much less bored in school had it included these kinds of exposures.
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