Vision and Art: The Biology of Seeing, by Margaret Livingstone (Abrams, 2002)

I've read a fantastic book on the science of art. I'm so impressed that I even submitted my customer review to Amazon.co.uk. Before Amazon publishes it, let me publish it myself below.

The content of the book is fantastic. In a way, the book is about the history of European paintings from the neurobiology viewpoint. Although I wasn't a big fan of paintings, this book has made me start appreciating the works by Leonard da Vinci, Michelangelo, Impressionist painters (especially Claude Monet), and Pointillism painters. It also taught me the tricks behind the departure from representationalism by Fauves and Picasso. In addition, the book is useful to understand several principles of design. Design textbooks often mention that contrast and repetition are eye-pleasing, without explaining why. Color theory textbooks claim that complementary colors (red and cyan, yellow and blue, green and purple) enhance each other when placed side by side, without explaining why. This book provides the neurobiological reasons behind these design principles. Finally, the book also taught me scientific reasons why line drawings can represent what we actually see, which gave me confidence that I could be good at drawing from training.

What's unfortunate about this fantastic book is, however, the exposition. The structure of the book is quite confusing. The author's writing style is also sometimes confusing. I have to read three times to really understand what's written. I've figured out that the book has three big themes, repeated throughout the book. First, our vision is sharp only at the center of gaze while its resolution is quite coarse for the surroundings. This first theme explains why Mona Liza's smile is elusive. Second, the brain processes visual information in two parallel chains, one for only using luminance to recognize depth and motion (what is called the Where system in this book) and the other for using hues in addition to luminance to recognize shapes and colors (called the What system). The second theme explains why water looks flowing and simmering in Monet's paintings. Third, our visual system is responsive to sudden changes in luminance and hues while it is irresponsive to gradual changes. This last theme explains why we perceive the sunlight, incandescent light, and fluorescent light as all white while the iPhone camera does not. The neurobiological reasons for each of these themes are scattered around in the first six chapters. The description of how these three facts were recognized and exploited by painters throughout the history is also scattered around across Chapters 5, 6, 8, and 10. In Chapter 11, all these three themes turn out to be relevant for the sensation of Pointillism and Chuck Close, although the author does not explicitly says so. (Chapters 7 and 9 deal with additional materials, that is, perspective and stereopsis, the latter of which seems to explain why repetitive patterns are eye-pleasing.)

It's a bit like American sitcoms: three different stories are going on in parallel, and the scene busily alternates across the three to keep the viewer interested. Here in this book, it can cause an opposite effect: the reader may stop reading because he or she gets confused.

Having said that, reading this book three times taught me a lot. It has even enriched my life. Due to the poor exposition, I cannot give five stars. But I still recommend this book highly to everyone. It would be a great gift to your partner if you're into art but he or she is more of a scientific type. Once your partner has read this book, then you two can visit museums and galleries to appreciate art together.

V&A Medieval and Renaissance Gallery

The much-hyped medieval and renaissance gallery, opened last December, at the Victoria and Albert Museum (aka V&A) indeed beautifully showcases European design from the Middle Ages. Or I should not use the term "showcase" because they do much more than simply putting items in showcases.

Enter the museum from Cromwell Road and take the staircases on the right downstairs. Here you learn Romanesque and Gothic styles of design visually, because the first thing you will see is:

Then in the next room you encounter:

 

Like other newly-renovated galleries such as The Jameel Gallery on Islamic art and The Dorothy and Michael Hintze Galleries on sculpture, the V&A is very good in this gallery, too, at displaying objects in a way that enhances their attractiveness: 

Go upstairs to the ground floor. There the V&A has transformed the gallery space into a medieval court yard with the glass roof letting the sunlight fall. The view from the first floor balcony (pictured right) is elegant. 

The first floor gallery rooms feature Renaissance art. Here I do feel a completely different atmosphere, and I personally find it uneasy. The Renaissance style is too well-organized. It even feels a bit pretentious. That's my personal take, but it also means that the V&A succeeds in transforming the general theme underlying Renaissance into the gallery's vibes before explaining what Renaissance is about in words.

Before encountering the V&A during my life in London, I didn't understand the merit of visiting museums at all. The V&A changed my idea of a museum completely. They display objects as if they were decorating the living room. They present the whole gallery space as something pleasant to stay in. That helps visitors really appreciate the displayed objects. If you hate museums, think again when it comes to the V&A.

Tokyo National Museum

Ueno is a unique area of Tokyo. To the north-east of Ueno railway station, a number of museums are surrounded by trees and grass. To the south-east spreads Ameyoko, very Asian market streets full of food and clothes shops.

One of the museums in this area is Tokyo National Museum. The museum consists of four buildings, one of which is the Gallery of Horyu-ji Treasures designed by Yoshio Taniguchi before(?) he became famous for his redesigning of the MoMa in New York. I'm struck by his modernist approach to architecture. These days, new buildings almost always feature some curvature in them. Taniguchi's design escapes from it. Although foreigners (Wallpaper* City Guide, an FT columnist) praise this building, I'm not particularly impressed. But that's probably his aim: a building that does not obstruct or intrude into your mind just like kaiseki cuisine, which is actually quite difficult to achieve.

The exhibition inside is a bit disappointing. The explanation for each set of items on display is rather confusing. But some pieces of art are impressive.

Gallery 2 houses nearly 30 gilt bronze statues of sexy Guan-yin (Avalokitesvara in the female form). Local warlords in Japan back in the 7th century possess and worship these statues (about 50cm tall). 1400 years on, some Japanese people today possess figures of anime characters. Our preference does not seem to change much over the long history of Japan. :)

Another impressive piece is Kaikikyo (in gallery 5). This is a mirror given to Horyu-ji temple by Empress Komyo in 736. It depicts a sea with four islands at the edge in a 90 degree interval. The center is the sky while the edge is the ground. Within waves of sea and islands, animals and human beings are inserted. This is a piece of art back in the 8th century of Japan. It's beautiful. Its pictures on the web do not do justice to its beauty. You have to look at it with your own eyes.

The Museum Shop is unexpectedly good. Various items featuring pieces of Art in the museum are on sale. Dancing People catches my eyes. These figures (called haniwa) are made of clay and buried in the tomb of important figures back in the 6th century. I buy a keyholder of this pair of haniwa.

Then I go to the gallery where the Dancing People is on display. On the way is a gallery of Japanese art in the early 20th century. The gallery is spacious without too many objects so viewers can watch pictures from a distance. There are quite a few good and interesting pictures drawn by artists like Yokoyama Taikan. These guys take the Japanese drawings to a next level by incorporating Western ways of painting. One of Yokoyama's paintings draws Buddha preaching his followers in two hanging scrolls side by side. Buddha is in the the left scroll, and all the followers in the right, suggesting the difference in the level of enlightenment between the two. Although the way these figures are drawn is quite traditional Japanese, Yokoyama uses very vivid color of green, unusual for traditional Japanese paintings, to paint tree leaves above Buddha and the followers. The mixture of previously incompatible things, and the use of canvas (scrolls in this case) to suggest something more than what the picture itself tells, is very much like today's contemporary art.