Wildness & Art

tiger_ghost

I did a series of interviews last fall, immediately after my book was published, in which I consistently got asked a challenging question: ‘What do you have against art?’

Every time I got asked this I was caught off guard and did my best to pull together a coherent response. My basic response was something like: I have nothing against art Рthat would be totally insane. In every situation I felt like there was something lacking in how I related what I was trying to say, though, because I was really just trying to do damage control, and there was actually something really profound and beautiful underlying this.

Let me explain where this strange question even comes from: I mention in my book how there are a bunch of social structures, behaviors and beliefs that traditionally arise when human societies cut themselves off from the living world – when they begin to have a closed off, hardened, oppressive relationship to life (aka domestication). Most of these are things we generally think of as universally ‘bad’: slavery, war, genital mutilation, institutionalized religion etc. One thing that appears on this list of cultural phenomena coinciding with a fractured relationship to the land and life is, strangely, more clearly defined art. Anthropologists have long observed that a class of artists and whatever classifies as lasting, refined works of art really begin to blossom and develop in more domesticated societies. In my book I just casually list art off in this list of other strange phenomena that coincide with domestication, and that’s what the interviewers were picking up on.

When an interviewer would ask/say: “You write in your book that art is inherently bad, do you really believe that?” The only thing I could really think to say was “No.” Because I don’t. And I hadn’t written that in the book, either. My thoughts are much more complicated, or maybe more simple, I’m not sure.

Here are the facts as presented by anthropology: a class of artists emerge and art becomes more and more refined in direct correlation with the level of domestication and disconnection from the land in a culture. There are some examples of extremely simple, hunter-gatherer societies (and many ‘hunter-gatherer’ societies where this is not at all the case) in which art is barely noticeable/not a major cultural institution, where there is no abstract religion, no abstract political structure; no abstraction from direct immediate reality. I think this tells us something about not just the nature of art, but the function of it.

In a sense it could be framed like this: when human consciousness steps into a territory that we might call separation or abstraction, when we disconnect from that pure essential source of life and nourishment (both physical and spiritual – a distinction not actually made by some cultures, I should add), we still need to get some of that good stuff somehow. Art, in its various incarnations, can serve as a medicine, a distilled, potent dose of connection, in this situation. This situation is so ubiquitous that I would call it being human; it isn’t something to resist or pretend isn’t a huge part of us. It’s at the root of the human journey, and I personally think that journey is really interesting and amazing. Where we, in a highly technical world, don’t have a constant connection to aliveness, the earth, the sea, the sky, the infinite¬†woven into our selves, art – something that shows up more subtly and intertwined with daily living in simple cultures – emerges in bigger, more distinct ways to feed the hunger left by this void.

At a deeper level, when I look at wild nature, I don’t see anything making art. Or, perhaps this gets to the core of it: I don’t see any distinction between art and life. A spider doesn’t paint pictures of flies, but it does weave a web, and that web is exquisite. I don’t want to say that wild nature does or doesn’t produce art, because then I’d have to define art, which doesn’t sound fun. What is clear though, is that any distinction between art and life is flimsy or non-existent in that realm. One step removed from that, you have human cultures and human consciousness. The most simple of these cultures have only tiny traces of abstract thought, and consequently barely any of the other things that accompany that shift in perception. Art as a distinct phenomena is among these things. The further consciousness travels into the realm of duality, time and other ways of seeing that fragment reality, the more art becomes something that is separate from life. In many traditional cultures these various art forms are practiced by everyone as part of daily life, but as culture becomes more domesticated, more stratified, art becomes something made by artists, produced for consumers of art. The distinction between art and life that can’t really be seen at all in wild nature, and only subtly in traditional societies, becomes a massive rift.

But there’s a layer beyond that one. This dynamic where art is how we can express and feed our essence in a way that a river or my cat does by just being, it really illuminates one of the things that make us uniquely human, something that ‘primitivist’ philosophers call symbolic thought and see as fundamentally unhealthy; as the perceptual place where humans have fallen from grace. I don’t see it quite so simple, though, and won’t be able to fully express this in a short blog post, but that shift in consciousness that drives humans to make art, I think it’s something beautiful and truly amazing. It is an intrinsic impulse in us, to create, express and feed off of the expressions of others, and it clearly is one of the most powerful things that awakens, speaks to, and allows us to express the very deepest core in us.

This is the amazing paradox: Art seems to emerge out of our separation from wholeness, and yet is one of the most powerful tools for touching and rediscovering that wholeness.

I am a huge fan art in many forms. I love listening to music, playing music with friends, drawing, and probably owe my entire life path to one or two seminal books that I picked up as a teenager. I love aesthetic beauty. Some paintings blow my mind open, some poems I’ve read have completely altered me for months afterwards. All this is to say I am not some kind of staunch intellectual who thinks art isn’t amazing on any level. That’s insane. Art seems pretty well necessary to the human journey, and even this piece of writing, although I don’t know how to define art so won’t call it that, carries the same impulse as a lot of art: the desire to understand, express, celebrate and participate with life.

BUT, I like to think about these things. It’s fun. I look at the forest and imagine a life where every moment is so beautiful, so overflowing with that connection, challenge, meaning and mystery we find in art, that its entire function has been transformed. I actually think that the best art moves us in this direction, and is probably the most effective and important tool for moving us in that direction. One of the purest functions of art could be to destroy the hunger it feeds, to mend the fracture it speaks into.

That’s pretty amazing.

If anything, this train of thought gives art more importance, since it holds the spark which activates and gives voice to that very intrinsic, wild part of us. It carries that essence where we might otherwise not have it.

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16 responses to “Wildness & Art

  1. This is what I wanted to ask you! I got your book and LOVE it but kept wondering: Why put art in the bad guy category? After all the thing that makes us human is art, No one else makes art, It’s our human skill, homo creative. (That creativity let’s us problem solve and invent technology like baskets and nuclear warships.) 70,000 years ago the first humans in East Africa were trading jewellery. Why? It has no intrinsic value aside from beauty. Probably it showed “Hey I am friendly with Fred’s tribe, see what they gave me!” All those ostrich egg shell beads. And the cave paintings in France and Spain, AMAZING. And the Australian Aborigines and the rock art of the Law. Body painting and dressing up seems to be innate in us. We like pretty things. The San bushmen who have no use for private property love their jewellery. Add bone flutes, bells, rattles, drums, etc, statues of halfanimal halfhuman, of big hipped women, of sand paintings where sick people sit in the middle and the illness is blown away as the image dissolves into the elements, the trance dance as /num rises, weavers and potters adding designs with mystical meanings, and the story tellers, a human skill, to tell cosmology, a context for life,just like YOUR book, to realign the tribe.

  2. But as my Dad is an art historian, I can see why you;d say art is part of civilization. The “artist” either as a scary sicko or an ivory tower prince (each society frames them differently, like healers, oracles, etc) is a new thing. Art is held by the few.In art history there are no women due to history of patriarchy. My Dad would teach that “crafts” were art done by women who were not allowed to be artists. As a woman I could be a muse and care taker and punching bag for a drunk with syphilis, but never the artist, never the storyteller! But in women’s weavings, women’s pottery, women’s cooking, women’s sewing, women’s daily work, women were creative. No one called it art. It doesn’t get in museums. Unless as a crafts. White men get art.

    “Primitive” people’s art is the same way. They are “artifacts.” Not art. Maps of skies, drums, patterns of animals on the move, the fear of childbirth gone wrong, the everyday spirituality artifacts. Why a lion headed man carved on a mammoth tusk? Why a stone carved pregnant woman holding a moon? Why burial with red orche in the fetal position? Why all those beads, all that decoration even if the people were naked otherwise?

    We don’t know. A lot of New Age crappy speculation.But as a civilized person I cannot know. They hint at things to me, but art reflects every day experience via societal meaning context. What was their context, what was their everyday? I cannot know.

    But to create is so instinctively human. I grew up in the 70ps Back to the Land thing. When Vermont was not frozen, we bathed in a creek with Bronners.I found soft stones that when rubbed against slate made colors and painted that slate and my (trying to sun bathe) Mom. Make up rocks, I called them. I made loose terrible weavings from flowers and sticks in the field.I hit rocks together to get the geodes inside to show themselves. I made up songs, not necessarily at first ones that this society could appreciate (the difference in what is good music worldwide always amazes me). I sewed everything I could, making better toys than could be bought. I dug in the dirt with a stick, drawing. Sometimes stones were added.

    In free play,something very few kids have today, esp free play in “nature” (I had no idea that nature was somewhere other then where I was and what I am), kids make mud pies and find feathers and neat stones. We play “make believe” which often gets more elaborate than any cosmology I have read. We long to hear stories. We love to dance and sing.

    Civilization doesn’t tell humans to do this: Human wildness tells us too. As a kid I remember hearing what I thought was the stupidest question ever: There is a fire and you can save a Picasso or kittens. I was shocked anyone would not say kittens. Those who would I suppose have this civilization idea about “what is art?”

    To ask what is art is to separate art from life. That’s sick. Art is part of living, of being a creative human, creative enough to create a new type of boat fora new bioregion, to get better at bow creating, to get better at cloud reading, to get better at mixing herbs with meat and finding who benefits from which preserving method, to waterproofing leather, I mean, humans create. When we stop following the wildness of the urge to create, we seem to destroy, to follow external control, not internal wildness. Not art made in relationship with time and place and self with it all. No, we impose “art” as our vision on time and place and self with it all.

  3. The weirdest part is you just mention art once really and it sticks out so much for so many of us. When I made my bioregional re-indigenize quiz, some people wanted me to add stuff about what you could “make art with” like native drums, paints, etc. But I thought that was seeing nature as resource and not relational. (I write about Eaarth animism, which is different from any past way but can learn from past ways,but face it, this is not Earth 50,000 years ago. Any animism that doesn’t include the 300 toxic poisons in EVERY human that did not exist 100 years ago is useless. Ditto for nuclear waste. Most animists and ecopsychologists and nature lovers appears to think nature is still some pristine place “out there” to connect to for our good, ie a resource to extract. They are working with maps,not land, metaphors not reality.)

    If people were already relational to their bioregion enough to know where their water comes from, where their food comes from, what stars mean what to plant/hunt/forage, where the local businesses are, what species have been reintroduced, what the pollution is, what the land use has been, what the illnesses are, what the herbal remedies are, what the trees are called, what foods are in the native food shed, what birds migrate when, WHEN humans are that immersed in place, then we can talk about “art supplies.” ICK the word grosses me out.

    So to conclude: I think I know what you meant by art in the book: a professional class that gives representations of life, while keeping people from life. Art that shows a culture’s ideas about “nature” a separate place. A rock concert festival to get away from it all and go “wild” before returning to the cubicle Monday. A gallery you visit and try to figure out “What are they saying?” in a cold white room of no context. Poems about nature read on the subway that give nature humancentric qualities.

    And I think that the fact that so many of us are like “ART??? Why pick on art?” shows a lot of the issues the art world has. I worked for William Burroughs Communications: I was taught that any young male artist has to sleep with the older women who own the galleries to get famous. My Dad had a gallery when I was little and I stopped being invited to openings because I would announce in front of the artist “This means nothing! I can do this! Why did the person bother?” at age 6. The surrealists and the Dadaists which I was supposed to love, I didn’t. Making fun of reality? Social statements in galleries? But I loved graffiti, social statements in public. (My Dad loved Dada and any of that “subversive art” but it was still in galleries so not subversive to me, and he taught me that impressionism was invented so girls could have posters on dorm room walls.)

    One other thing I learned at Burroughs was that any artist who wants to make it MUST put art before anything including family. Billy Burroughs short tragic life is a direct result of Bill’s commitment to Art. That’s messed up. Art removed from real life?

    So art with the expensive supplies and huge books on “movements” and galleries and price tags and role of artist (outsider who is better or worse than everyone else) yes, it is evil.

    Creativity though is human. Beauty seems to be an evolutionary good thing. We like sweet not bitter. Right now not working in our favor in the hi-fructose land, but we left evolution’s niche for us and went civilized. Our reactions to colors, to what attracts us, seem to be helpful. Disgust repels us from stuff that can kill us, like rancid meat. Creativity is wild and as long as art is from wildness and thus rooted in nature and normal evolutionary health, it must be there or we might stop creating bows and baskets.

    Does this make any sense? I just woke up.

  4. Heather,
    Thanks for your thoughts. It’s quite interesting how I do just mention art in a totally passing way in the book, but it really stands out. There is something about this subject that really does have a lot of energy around it, I think that maybe it strikes at the core of the human journey. My aim here was to clarify that I am not in any way ‘against’ art, and personally owe a lot to creating and consuming all sorts of things that fall under that moniker. I actually love it.
    Don’t know if I hit that nail on the head here, but it’s all a process…

  5. It’s interesting. Some of the most out-of-touch-with-nature people I know are extreme art lovers. They’re city people through and through and love to add paintings and sculptures to their collections. Actually, when some of them have come over in the past, one of their first reactions was, “Your walls! They’re so bare! Don’t you hang anything up?” I never really considered this idea of art being a way of connecting with beauty and art as a human need when other forms of beauty aren’t being fully connected to. I also never really felt that the walls needed any art. I always thought, “I guess that might be nice,” but it was never something I was going to go out of my way to do. I have windows. I see sparrows eating holly berries. I see hummingbirds hover at the glass and pretty, puffy clouds roll through town. Sometimes I see people arguing. I used to see a young 20-something guy walk down the street. I recognized it was the same guy because he always wore the same wool sweater. One day he was carrying flowers. A few days later I saw him walking with a girl. I see them together every time now. Why would I want to look at a canvas when I have windows? I see art and stories every day. I totally get why I don’t have art now that I think about it.

    • I moved to a new city two years ago and decided not to put anything on the walls of my apartment. My new life was a blank canvas and I felt that my walls had to reflect that. They have unexpectedly given me something else–a great sense of freedom, of being unrestricted, of openness and possibility. A real fresh start.

      Not so coincidentally, I have gone inward more and experienced a burst of creativity. The poems have been tumbling out as I sit observing nature out my windows. Poets have written poems about how important windows are to their poetic vision. Poems by Wendell Berry and Billy Collins come to mind, not to mention Wordsworth. Collins says poets must have windows. Berry is covered head to toe in nature down on his farm in Kentucky. So is Garry Snyder up in his Sierra ranch, etc.

      Even though I’m in the city, I see a lot from my windows:

      My Oak
      Shimmering neon green spring leaflets
      dance on tips of swaying branches
      from the grand old oak
      out my kitchen window,
      a front row seat
      this dark, windy, rainy morning.

      A diffused light
      glows from their shiny wet facets,
      shouting life through the gloom,
      daring me to be happy,
      to let the rain renew
      my inner light,
      release the rapture
      of pure, surging spring.

      To paraphrase an earlier comment I made in this discussion, “Nature is art.” Thank you, Miles, for helping us better appreciate and understand the greatest masterpiece.

    • Why would art be canvas? Do you enjoy pottery or woven baskets with good symmetry or designs, the colors on a quilt, the supple beauty of a deer skin jacket, beading with porcupine quills, woven blankets or rugs, a carved bone whistle or bead, etc? Does beauty matter in your choice of anything, like clothing or dishes? Are there colors or designs that make you feel better, happier, more harmonious? I know many who shop at thrift stores (I was one pre-MCS) who got funky dishes and when shopping for clothing was given a color choice. Do you have tattoos or piercings? Do you have curtains or cover the windows with toilet paper?

      I think the problem is separating Art of the Ivory Tower from art as creative wild expression of life. Decorating the world and each other is human nature. Why else were the first things we did involve making beads and dyes?

      I live in a very rural place (no GPS or cell phones here) and it boasts (as many places rural I have lived, so for what it is worth) the most artists per population. In brochures at least. Many left the cities to do art.

      Dutch hex symbols on barns, Scottish and Irish women weaving protection knots into fishermen sweaters while singing prayers, Polynesian and Pict tattoos, the Celtic obsession with color and plaid and lime in the hair to make it spike up, the Aboriginal Australians art of the Law, merging into the land it came from, gorgeous bead work by Native Americans, cave walls in France and Spain, the San who share all practical goods but have personal jewellery, the basket makers who weave in patterns, the use of henna, it;s part of the human interaction and relationship as natural beings. We celebrate nature and ourselves in our art, our visions, our story telling, our cosmology, our dance, our lovemaking, our jokes, our ceremonies, our music, our chants, our naming….

      Just as the false human-nature dichotomy must end, so does the modern Art- crafts one. All children do art, make up songs, draw on walls, dance – It is human wild nature.

      This culture has separated so much…. My arch-nemesis is Descartes.

      • Hi Heather,
        Well, the canvas to which I was referring was in specific context; i.e. the example of a very big city lover who couldn’t believe I didn’t have art (canvas) on the walls. I wasn’t trying to say that “art = paintings”, just that in that particular situation the content of this blog entry became so relevant. Your examples of art indeed include a broad definition. What is art but everything intentionally created by a love for beauty, or for ritual purposes, or by incredible precision and practice, etc.? Or unintentional, for that matter. With something that is so broadly defined that it could include potentially anything that is appreciated as such, it’s important to consider context and intended meaning. In my case, comparing canvas paintings on bare walls with having windows. No one intentionally created the scenes outside of my home for my enjoyment, but they’re stories and they’re beautiful. In this context, I feel no desire for intentional forms of art. I’m a bit of a people watcher, and I’m an introvert. I enjoy spending time with people and in groups, but I generally keep quiet and spend time on my own or with one or two people. I’m considering your examples and whether beauty makes a difference on my decisions. I think I find beauty not in a visual kind of way, but in a thoughtful sort of way. I find a well-made hide jacket beautiful not because of its suppleness, but because of the work that went into it and the experience that the maker would have had while making it. What kinds of things did they think about while they were scraping? What was the weather like? Was it easy or challenging? Who was the animal? I guess I think more about stories than the immediate visual appearance. Celts knitting knots into sweaters strikes me on two levels: first as a person of Scottish descent (my father and I both feel overwhelmed with the beauty of the stories told through bagpipes and penny whistles even having been born in N. America!), and second because it’s a story. Someone will go on a journey, and the knitter would have had thoughts and ideas along the way too. What was their relationship? As a knitter, knitting provides a very ‘zen’ time, when thoughts flow in and out freely. When I see a well-made sweater, I think of all the peace (or frustration!) that that person must have gone through. So for me, the art that strikes me nearest are stories, which sometimes present themselves as a visual form of beauty (celtic sweaters), and sometimes (most of the time) it’s just the stories themselves (out my window). That probably explains further why I don’t have forms of art on the walls at home. I’ve got a calendar (practical reasons), a herb chart (also practical), and in a drawer I have pictures of friends and family (stories that mean something to me personally, which I might occasionally take out and use to remember). Of course paintings have stories behind them too, but I don’t have a relationship with paintings in that way and I think I have never developed one because I’m preoccupied with living forms of stories and art. The other day I was in the woods and I turned around to see a doe standing there in front of me. My movement scared her and she backed up a little, but didn’t run. For a moment, we just stood there until she walked away quietly. It was really beautiful. Thanks for forcing me to think on this further, and I hope I have explained my intention adequately (that I wasn’t defining art or calling it useless, but that in a specific context my particular ‘civilized’ friends have always questioned my reasons for not displaying visual art, and that I realize now that it is because I get satisfaction from stories and ideas that mean something to me personally, so I don’t have any leftover desire for other forms of art, I guess).

      • Yeah, the sweaters (I think MIles wears one on this blog!) are woven with protection knotwork. The Irish Sea took some of my ancestors who are Scots-Irish. The chants the women sang while working, calling on Saints or Jesus (this strange version of Christianity they had) was indeed that trance like “flow” people have when in ceremony or doing what they love. I know people who get in that state cooking or tracking animals or making sand mandalas or jamming with their band. I think when I forage I get in that state, timelessness.

        I am totally down with the relational aspect. I don’t really like humans so people watching makes me nervous (they act so… rabid), but the relationship means a lot to me. As a kid my art prof Dad (whom I dislike for being a pompous jerk) would have students weaving outside with only things they found. I like to take that another step and know the “things”. But I am an animist and there are no objects only subjects.

        The stuff I consider art, like I said in my first three comments, would go under crafts (ie women’s art) or artifacts (nonEuropean descent people). Not High Art. High Art is usually removed from context, from life hidden in galleries. A woman helped me understand abstract art and now I can appreciate it, but it is weird to have to “learn” to appreciate it. The “creatives” still have this role to hold a mirror to the culture they are in. So it is still ceremonial even if not seen that way?

  6. My verrryyyy poverty level off the grid liberation theologian Priest Mom has no interest in art either. As a child I was STUNNED she did not make art. She was the only person I knew. I grew up kick throwing pottery, hand sewing, etc (I grew up very far off the grid). She did play recorder sometimes with friends, and we had tons of bluegrass and trad musician friends. But her favorite thing has always been hard labour. Hauling stones in a wheelbarrow from the quarry, 1974 yogini (when Western Hinduism came with it), gardening, tearing down old buildings, hiking and bird watching,and snowshoe tracking.

    My Dad doesn’t make art. He has the skills but no inspiration so he decided to teach people with vision the skills.It may be part of his Asperger’s?

    So neither are “creatives.” My Mom is shocked when I mix local dirt with local egg yolk from friends’ hens and make a brown or yellow tempura paint. She is shocked I write, draw and love music. I made an Amerikkkan Medicine Wheel and Nightmare Catcher recently from a broken bike wheel, tons of script med bottles and hanging down syringes (I have severe Multiple Chemical Sensitivity and cerebral palsy and long term physical illness from a psych misdiagnosis). A picture is worth a thousand words. She didn’t get it til I explained it. Medicine. Wheel. Wheel of Medicine. So she is very supportive but her brain just doesn’t work in symbols, including words (she hates writing).

    But creativity is just finding new ways to work with what is. That’s all. And I am really good at that too in ways she cannot understand. DIY rewilding and permaculture and extreme chronic illness makes everything 100 times harder than for TABs (temporarily abled bodied persons). To do anything I have to Jerry rig it. My Dad had that creativity, building cabins, all the trips wandering the landfills, finding free places for us to live. (He made almost nothing. Two highly educated broke parents.) Tent living, inventing everything possible from the5 gallon bucket -hippie kids, can I get a Hell Yeah! The 5 gallon white bucket was used for EVERYTHING. Creativity.

    As I grew up mostly outside or at the art college building, the two were the same. Beauty. I don’t see nature as loving or kind, being a homeless crip takes any romance from it. But my High Art interests were very limited to just Chagall, who is famous for NOT being a womanizing drunk. As a woman I hate High Art. My kind had to be muses and mothers for Artists. But graffiti? Kids’ chalk drawings on side walks?

    In Gaelic, Arts means Skills. The Gods were people of the Arts. Brewing, hunting, medicine, poetry that could kill a corrupt kind, fishing, shoe making. The Gods mastered them. LIkewise an artisan is someone who has mastered an art.

    When at that level we seem to personalize it. Humans always made creative markings, this is me or someone I met. A bear, a God, another human.

    Maybe art is part of human self reflection for some humans?

  7. ART is life. Our very lives are art, art of a living earth. The very mental prison of a domesticated brain is one which believes there are walls keeping things separated. Consciousness is an amazing gift. Domestication suppresses many vital impulses of the human being, but they are never truly suppressed, they come up in different aspects. One cannot define art. Paleolithic people were far more conscious then we give them credit for.

  8. The rest of my response got caught off when my wrist hit the keyboard. I wanted to say that I agree with Heather Awen’s last statement. I am only one generation removed from Tribal People in the Carpathian Mountains, where we have live for two thousand years. Everything is Spirit and Life combined. The separation doesn’t exist, therefore art is in everything…from the way ones grows potatoes to when one goes to collect wild fenugreek leaves or boletus mushrooms. There is instinct, but art is consciousness of instinct. Then there is the tricky aspect in a discussion like this of defining art. To me, all of life is art, and from trees to breathing, to basket weaving, all is art. Herb picking is an art. Making food is an art.

  9. in the bush
    in the bush
    pulling out the entrails
    of a giant sea tortoise
    his arm deep inside the shell
    the dark-skinned man
    eyes ablaze
    admires each organ
    as treasure
    remarks on the beauty
    shows it to his tribe in awe
    they eat raw
    what they have taken
    there will always be more
    because they take only
    what they need

    in the bush
    everything they see
    and touch becomes art
    by purifying consciousness
    that knows the rightness
    of all things
    the way of the world
    in the stars and in the water
    on the land of blood and hunger
    and the track in the sand
    of families feeding one another
    and dancing, singing, making peace
    and sometimes war
    all relentlessly beautiful
    onto the burning pyre
    and forever in the glyphs
    they leave on the rocks
    a trail for us to follow
    if we can read the signs

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