Writing:
AbstracT
I am nowhere near close to being qualified to talk about the complexity of abstract art. Commonly seen as immature or child-like, but isn’t that the same reason why we smile at kids? playing, anxiety free, not being anywhere but that moment. Don’t we admire that? Yearn for that state of freedom. I think there’s something primitive, raw, organic and natural about abstract art. It lacks conformity or recreation. It in itself is the creation. Just like you & me, or any other organism deep to its fundamentals. Lacks pressure to be something. instead creates anything. It’s a facet of freedom. The only reason abstraction would be looked down upon is because it’s being compared. Compared against art meant to recreate, revisit, re-explore. We’ve made up our minds, have our presets, have our preferences. Yet I believe we tend to look at art through the wrong lens. When really the right lens is none. Abstraction is complex in of itself. Raw.
The approach to abstraction is simply to be. To be nothing more than human. Like a child departing from the womb. Unaware, ignorant, confused and uncomfortable.
The idea of complexity is an idea which expands complexity in of itself. There’s so many complex ideas I wish to explore throughout this essay. I believe the complexity of each individual idea isn’t necessarily a thought formed alone. But like people, a conglomerate of everything that is. it as its own being(idea) already conformed, formed and manipulated by other complexities. If I were to talk about myself, even one specific moment, the complexity is so vast, and would take such depth. Just like a piece expressing itself through the hand of Hans Hoffman or Robert Motherwell, there’s so many unpredictable precisions, uncalculated calculations, undecided decisions which lead to each hand stroke. It’s almost as if our unconscious has a consciousness of its own. It’s debated in every aspect of life.
Art, being an interpretation of conscious and unconscious is simply the easiest to judge, critique and enjoy. The idea of being free is imprisoning. You wouldn’t judge an emotion, yet we judge all the ways emotions are explored. Are we to really define emotions? Yes we can conclude a cause and effect, but can we ever truly define?
We can express our emotions, but can others fully interpret the same value? We have all shared palpable, vivid emotions. But have we? Has someone else really experienced tantamount emotions to yourself? Are we then to be alone? Not because others are too selfish to indulge in our own senses but only because there’s only such depth that another person can truly feel from something that’s so artificial
