Monday, September 28, 2020

Landscape with Rocky Precipice 16th century Sesson Shūkei Fluid brushwork and rhythmically repeating forms characterize this imaginary Chinese landscape of mountains, a river bridged by a narrow strip of land, and lively human activity. A cluster of buildings clings to sharply rising cliffs, a forest behind them is shrouded in mist. Passenger boats glide by, travelers—one on a donkey, the others on foot—proceed from the foreground to the steep mountain path. Sesson, one of the great masters of sixteenth-century ink painting, produced varied tones of ink from rich black to pale grey which combine with diagonal brushstrokes to create the texture of rocks and crags and emphasize the peculiar concave shapes at the base of the cliffs. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/53230
Raphael School of Athens Fresco Early 1500's Dimensions: 16′ 5″ x 25′ 3″
“Channel Markers” (Miotsukushi) late 14th–early 15th century Medium:Handscroll; ink and color on paper Dimensions:Image: 12 3/16 in. x 14 ft. 8 in. (31 x 447 cm)
da Vinci 1495–1498 15′ 1″ x 29′ Mural
Mt. Dong (Grotto Mountain), 1500s.

Monday, March 18, 2019

Why drawing isn’t just an art

There's a growing understanding that drawing is much more than an art form: it's a powerful tool for learning.

  • We often think of drawing as something that takes innate talent, but this kind of thinking stems from our misclassification of drawing as, primarily, an art form rather than a tool for learning.
  • Researchers, teachers, and artists are starting to see how drawing can positively impact a wide variety of skills and disciplines.
  • Drawing is not an innate gift; rather, it can be taught and developed. Doing so helps people to perceive the world more accurately, remember facts better, and understand their world from a new perspective.
Most of us have spent some time drawing before, at the very least because of compulsory art classes. It's also likely that you've scribbled curlicues in the margins of your notes during some particularly boring lecture about how the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell or how to graph linear equations.
But at some point, most of us stop drawing. There are people who don't, obviously, and thank god for that: a world without designers and artists would be a very shabby one indeed. But the vast majority of adults quit doodling when they quit having to take notes, and the closest they get to making something visually creative is applying a wacky font in a PowerPoint presentation.
But some argue that so many adults have abandoned drawing is because we've miscategorized it and given it a very narrow definition. In his book, Stick Figures: Drawing as a Human Practice, Professor D.B. Dowd argues that "We have misfiled the significance of drawing because we see it as a professional skill instead of a personal capacity. This essential confusion has stunted our understanding of drawing and kept it from being seen as a tool for learning above all else."
Dowd argues that we mistakenly think of "good" drawings as those which work as recreations of the real world, as realistic illusions. Rather, drawing should be recategorized as a symbolic tool. In an interview with Print Magazine, Dowd said:
Drawing is an ancient human activity, practiced by all persons. How do I get to the airport? Pretend your phone is dead, so forget GPS. Anyone trying to answer that question is likely to say, "Here, let me show you…" and grab a pencil and an envelope to scribble on. That's drawing! We use it all the time. Explain the rules of hockey. Describe geology. Help me understand "The Mason-Dixon Line." These things have to be manifested visually.
(Wikimedia Commons)The cortical homunculus has body proportions based on how many nerve endings there are in the relevant body part. Notice how large (and therefore how sensitive) the hands are; this is because humans are built to handle subtle tools, like pens and pencils.Human beings have been drawing for 73,000 years. It's an inextricable part of what it means to be human. We don't have the strength of chimpanzees because we've given up brute strength to manipulate subtle instruments, like hammers, spears, and — later — pens and pencils. The human hand is an extremely dense network of nerve endings; the somatosensory homunculus (a sculpture of a human being where the body proportions correspond to how sensitive the associated nerve networks are) demonstrates this well. In many ways, human beings are built to draw.
In fact, doodling has been shown to affect how the brain runs and processes information in a significant way. Some researchers argue that doodling activates the brain's so-called default circuit — essentially, the areas of the brain responsible for maintaining a baseline level of activity in the absence of other stimuli. Because of this, some believe that doodling during a boring lecture can help students pay attention.
Evidence has shown that doodling does actually improve memory. In one study, participants were asked to listen to a list of names while either doodling or sitting still. Those who doodled remembered 29 percent more of the names than those who did not.
(Wikimedia Commons)Darwin's sketches of finches were crucial to illustrate his theory of evolutionIt's not just absent-minded, abstract doodling that helps the brain either; drawing concepts and physical objects forces your brain to engage with a subject in new and different ways, enhancing your understanding. For example, some researchers tested study participants' ability to recall a list of words based on whether they had copied the word by hand or drawn the concept — like writing the word "apple" versus drawing one. The drawers often were able to recall twice as many words.
There's also evidence that drawing talent is based on how accurately someone perceives the world. The human visual system tends to misjudge size, shape, color, and angles but artists perceive these qualities more accurately than non-artists. Cultivating drawing talent can become an essential tool to improve people's observational skills in fields where the visual is important.
In biology, for example, describing and categorizing the shape and form of living things is critical. Prior to the invention of the photograph, biologists were trained draftsmen; they had to be in order to show the world the details of a new species. Now, some biology professors are reintroducing physical drawing in their biology courses. The reasoning is that actively deciding to draw helps people see the world better.
Rather than think of drawing as a talent that some creative people are gifted in, we should consider it as a tool for seeing and understanding the world better — one that just so happens to double as an art form. Both absent-minded doodling and copying from life have been shown to positively affect your memory and visual perception, so raise hell the next time your school board slashes the art department's budget.


Source:
https://bigthink.com/mind-brain/drawing-for-education?utm_medium=Social&facebook=1&utm_source=Facebook&fbclid=IwAR2kzptpNyFdqFfASbyUtUydXW1b2jJeG6tJ3LK5yd3lJqoIJ55yPh1mv0A#Echobox=1552578943

Friday, March 15, 2019

Book of Tea, Okakura Kakuzō


This 1906 treatise, written by Kakuzo Okakura for a western audience keen to educate themselves in eastern art and custom, details the Japanese tea ceremony and the "teaist" movement stemming from it. A blend of Zen Buddhism and Taoism, teaism used the ancient tea ceremony to foster mental discipline and a kinship with nature that would, it was hoped, lead to enlightenment. The Book of Tea, which followed two previous meditations on Japanese culture by Okakura, became a central text in the orientalist movement of the early 1900s, and captivated poets like Eliot and Pound.
The book is no dusty eastern curio: Okakura's exploration of tea culture was infused with his belief that east and west could coexist harmoniously. Becoming a staple of western life, this "liquid amber" seemed to him the only stuff that could flow smoothly across cultural boundaries: "Strangely enough humanity has so far met in the teacup." He reflects on all elements of the tea ceremony, from the story of its 16th-century founder – the Zen monk Rikiu – to teahouse architecture, and the perfect water (mountain spring). His delicate verbal images are a highlight, and in his "twilight of evergreens" we share the teaist appreciation of beauty in simplicity.
Yet the book is steeped in Okakura's own cultural unease. Born in Japan but educated – at his father's wish – according to English tradition, Okakura could barely read his mother tongue; on moving to America, however, he insisted on wearing a kimono. His crisis of origin simmers below the book's surface: historical commentary boils over into bitter criticism of the west's treatment of Japan and images are interrupted by diatribes against western industry.
Okakura's tract struggles to remedy its author's identity crisis and the west's lost refinement, and may leave the modern reader, for whom tea has become rushed routine, at a loss. Yet something can clearly be taken from Okakura's commitment to international relations, and from his written display of the teaist aesthetic. Clearly, this was no mere storm in a teacup.
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