when art transports us

where do we actually go?

this week’s Thought (singular)

haven’t been able to stop thinking about a post that called aquariuses people with large egos and a low self-confidence

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a very warm welcome to all new readers. i love new readers so much that whenever i get an email about a new reader, i manifest that they don’t have to step out in the boiling, blistering heat. thank you for joining us. may all your activities be indoors, may your fan work, and may you have enough cross-ventilation in your room. why is it so hot.

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a very warm welcome to old readers as well. may good sense continue to prevail.

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hi

i’ve been thinking about the physical reactions to beautiful art. off the top of my head -

• the unsettling tingling at the base of your neck

• something ballooning in your chest during a buildup of a song and slowly deflating, leaving everything altered

• goosebumps

• a tear appearing at the corner of your eye, one you hadn’t even realised was being formed

i did a little reading about the science behind these bodily responses to art that move you, and then that got me thinking about the very idea of art moving you. transporting you, taking you away or towards something. it reminded me of this essay on Psyche that i had read a few years ago, titled ‘When art transports us, where do we actually go?’.

Sometimes, artworks have such a magnetic pull that we forget the actual world around us and lose our sense of time and place, of other people – and sometimes even of ourselves.

two aspects stand out to me in the above excerpt - the added dimension of time, and the mention of ‘other people’.

it’s true that time seems to take on a sort of mystical quality when we consume lovely art. hours could pass at a concert in the blink of an eye, and then the music could stay with you for days after, slowing down as you relive it. almost magically, just when a good book starts to get really good, the time to read ten just-one-more-chapter-s seems to manifest itself. i came across this drawing by Lynda Barry on a twitter thread and stared at it unblinking far longer than i’ve ever willingly looked at a tweet before.

the second thing–the ‘other people’–ties in so neatly with the idea of art being a largely solitary activity. about a year ago, in one of my favourite editions of this newsletter, i had written about the deep solitude of reckoning with our responses to art, and how personal an activity it is.

art consumption as a solo activity

at the time, i had written -

i may not know anything about oil on canvas, but i do know about solitude. and i know that being in a space that displays the physical manifestations of something visceral, a space dedicated to celebrating an artist, a painter, a photographer’s work is sacred. the consumption of art, like prayer, is a solo activity.

i stand by this comparison, this prayer x art similarity. there is absolutely a sacredness and intense privacy to art consumption, and your relationship to a piece that evokes strong and stirring feelings–like your relationship to divinity–is one that is so nuanced, visceral, intimate, and largely unspoken.

the capability to remove you from time, from space, and from other people is a testament to the power of art. the capability to transform you at a fundamental level and bring you back - that speaks to its healing and holding.

another excerpt from the essay mentioned above -

Though immersive experiences might not teach us anything in terms of ‘X is Y’, we do not necessarily return from immersion unchanged. Many are probably familiar with the way art’s magic can linger after immersion itself has dissipated, and how the world appears, at least for a while, richer, deeper and more enchanting than before. I believe such experiences are vital in leading towards a more curious and nuanced relation to the world.

i do believe that art can act like a cocoon. i find that i am much happier and engaged in my daily life when i’m reading, writing, and singing consistently. i find that listening to new music regularly simply keeps me more alert and willing to sit in my surroundings without feeling the need to change them. and i find that all these creative pursuits inform each other in subtle ways within me. reading more pushes me to write more. listening more makes me sing more. and they all keep me awake to the beauty that the world has to offer, cleaning my glasses and allowing me to see the vibrancy that is available around me. this is why it’s so important to make time for art. (as somebody who has been AWOL from your inbox for the last two weeks, it’s a lesson i am still trying to learn.) there’s enough to bog you down, enough circumstances to make everything seem very difficult and make you feel very small, but these little private transformations that only art can bring about provide a shelter.

when art transports us, we don’t go anywhere, i think. we stay rooted to the spot as another layer of calm, another layer of joy, another tender layer of protection softly cocoons us from the elements, a veritable shield that calcifies the more we interact with it.

ps: happy march!

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A Picture!

the second floor landing at blossoms book store, church street, bangalore

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English Recitation Competition

1. Faith, Louis Untermeyer

   What are we bound for? What’s the yield
   Of all this energy and waste?
   Why do we spend ourselves and build
   With such an empty haste?
   
   Wherefore the bravery we boast?
   How can we spend one laughing breath
   When at the end all things are lost
   In ignorance and death? . . .
   
   The stars have found a blazing course
   In a vast curve that cuts through space;
   Enough for us to feel that force
   Swinging us through the days.
   
   Enough that we have strength to sing
   And fight and somehow scorn the grave;
   That Life’s too bold and bright a thing
   To question or to save.
   

2. Always Bring a Pencil, Naomi Shihab Nye

   There will not be a test.
   It does not have to be
   a Number 2 pencil.
   
   But there will be certain things—
   the quiet flush of waves,
   ripe scent of fish,
   smooth ripple of the wind’s second name—
   that prefer to be written about
   in pencil.
   
   It gives them more room
   to move around.
   

3. Enough, David Whyte

   Enough. These few words are enough.
   If not these words, this breath.
   If not this breath, this sitting here.
   
   This opening to life
   we have refused
   again and again
   until now.
   
   Until now.
   

4. How to forget, Susan Denning (read the full poem here)

   The hem of my coat is singed,
   but I sing anyway. I haven’t failed at being human,
   if being human means breaking
   what you mended and mending it again.
   
   I don’t imagine I’ll be carried up
   into the sky. Someone will walk
   over me. On the soles of someone’s sneakers,
   I’ll see the world again. I’ll love it a little harder.
   

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The Good Side of the Internet

… has been permanently shifted to The Good Side of the Internet. subscribe for many many links at the end of each month, and tell your friends about it :D

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this week’s Song

Oru Vezham by Krithika Nelson

find all shared songs here.

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thank you for reading, and see you next week <3