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.

21st century Japanese calligraphy

One of the traditional things to do in Japan on 2nd January is kakizome or the first calligraphy of the year. So I'd like to share with you a 21st century form of Japanese calligraphy (named "kuhsho" or spatial calligraphy) invented by Team Lab in collaboration with professional calligrapher Sishu. Enjoy.

美の壺(ｂｉｎｏｔｓｕｂｏ) from TEAMLAB on Vimeo.

Magasin 3

Part III of my "Rediscover Stockholm Spring 2011" campaign targets at Magasin 3, Stockholm's reputedly best contemporary art gallery. I always wanted to visit this place, but every time I had an opportunity, Magasin 3 was closed (like this) or I caught cold due to cold winter. Finally I manage to arrive today.

I planned to have lunch at a cafe nominated for Gulddraken 2011 award nearby which turns out to be closed over the weekend. Yes, it's Stockholm.

The entrance of Magasin 3 is perplexing at first glance:

It turns out both of these two doors are the lifts which take you to the first floor on which Magasin 3 gallery spaces are located. And the left lift is a big one, looking like the one for lifting stuff, not people. This is a nice prelude to the world of contemporary art.

The first thing I do is to have lunch. Cafes and restaurants in museums and galleries are not particularly impressive in this (self-claimed) capital city of Scandinavia. And so I avoid having coffee. But a baguette sandwich and a Sicilian lemonade imported from southwest England are both pretty good. Another pleasant surprise.

This weekend Magasin 3 hosts a contemporary dance performance. I imagined it would be performed in the middle of art gallery with art works in the background. No. It takes place in an empty gallery space, which is a bit disappointing. But the dance itself is of high quality. With no music in the background, two female dancers, one of them looking boyish, the other wearing a rather nerdy sweatshirt (even though she looks very beautiful), interact with each other by body movements as if they were one person and his/her own self, trying to identify with each other. After lots of trial and error for about 10 minutes, they finally get connected. I've never watched contemporary dance as seriously as I do today. But I like it.

The exhibition features the best pieces of work collected by Magasin 3 and its associated partners throughout Europe in the past decade or so. The way the curator puts these pieces together in the gallery space is sometimes nerve-disturbing, which is great as the role of a gallery is to add value to art works with the way they display. After being exposed to contemporary art during my five years of life in London, I think I have more discerning senses in contemporary art than the average person. And I can tell you many works are pretty good. My favorite is a video installation which shows the artist obstructing a queue of several lorries from moving forward at night for about 10 minutes (Person Obstructing A Line Of Containers, by Santiago Sierra). Lorry drivers, of course, get frustrated, honking a horn repeatedly and flashing the light, which becomes a kind of sound and visual art. A giant heap of black confetti (Sans titre (Le Terril), by Stéphane Thidet) creates a sense of uneasiness, because it looks like a heap of coal, suggesting something heavy, but each piece of the heap is a very tiny piece of paper, unnerving your commonsense. Another video installation showing street demonstrators in Albania carrying mirrors instead of protest banners (The Landscape Is Changing, by Mircea Cantor) also distorts your commonsense as you start wondering what these demonstrators try to demonstrate. Do they protest against what the city looks like (which mirrors reflect) or do they actually support what the mirrors reflect?

But other works are more disturbing. One video installation (Barbed Hola, by Sigalit Landau) shows the artist herself, naked and standing on an Israeli beach, playing a hola-hoop with the barbed wired hoop... Another video installation (History of the Main Complain, by William Kentridge) is a black-and-white (and red) animation made of a series of hand-drawing cartoons, showing a person is beaten up or hit by a car. An animal-looking sculpture (Animal, by Peter Fischli & David Weiss) has an ass hole (literally) through which you can peak into this animal's stomach (which is completely empty), and this behavior itself starts making you feel uneasy (Why am I looking into an ass hole only to find nothing?).

You can see the images of all the works in the exhibition, including those mentioned above.

Overall, the exhibition is of great quality. But I got mentally tired when I got home. There is a tendency for contemporary art exhibition in Stockholm to get gloomy, perhaps because ordinary people in this country are more or less happy.

The building that houses Magasin 3

Lars Kleen at Sven-Harrys Art Museum

I visited the Sven-Harrys Art Museum, the latest addition to Stockholm's landscape. From outside the museum building looks a bit tacky with its golden panels. Once I get inside, however, the atmosphere is more modest and minimalistic. White walls are typical of art museums these days, but the wooden, rather than concrete, floors reflect a sense of Scandinavian roots.

The museum's opening exhibition features a Swedish artist named Lars Kleen. There are two massive sculptures on display on the ground floor, which at first glance look like an industrial architecture using disused materials like metal bars, wires, ropes, veneer boards. A fad in contemporary art these days is the recycling. So far nothing surprising.

When a museum clerk slightly pushed the second gigantic structure with his leg, I saw the structure swinging. I realized what I see is no "nothing surprising". I started investigating how the sculpture is assembled. A few minute's study revealed that 75 percent of this massive structure is actually hanging by just four ropes from the central part.

Displayed on the way upstairs are two miniature sculptures, both of which again consist of one part suspended by another part. I started feeling some sort of dangerous dependency.

And the last sculpture on the upstairs floor is this:

(The photo is taken from vastrasicklao.se.)

I sat down on the bench and looked this up for a while. It looks impossible. The center of gravity of this structure looks so high. It's not hanged from anywhere. It's just standing. And the thin legs of the house-looking structure, which seems to me a sort of Shinmei-zukuri (Japan's oldest architectural style used for shinto shrine such as Ise Jingu), touch the lower part with tiny pieces of wood in between. How can this be supported?

And for no reason (or perhaps for obvious reasons) I started thinking about the massive earthquake and tsunami that destroyed many coastal towns and nuclear power plants in Japan three weeks ago. I started seeing Japan in this structure. For whatever trick it may be, something unthinkable is realized with human creativity. But its basis looks so fragile. If the 20-meter tsunami wave hits this structure, it will break down for sure, no matter how ingenious the way to construct it is. And what's worse, we don't know why this is possible, just like we don't really know what radioactive radiation really does to human health. Without knowing its exact mechanism, our life heavily relies on it. The electricity to Tokyo this coming summer will be expected to be severely under supplied.

I wondered if I should ask why this structure actually is standing. Perhaps leaving it unknown is the whole point of this art. But I couldn't resist. The museum clerk told me it's a sheer act of balance. Still I cannot really believe it.

I imagined what if the artist used brand-new materials to make this, instead of recycled ones. I would feel just impressed and perhaps praise the skill of the artist and human creativity in general. The use of rubbish to construct this act of balance is probably crucial here. The museum clerk said some visitors, especially men, felt like doing something similar by themselves, by collecting rubbish. (That's quite Swedish a way of reaction, by the way.) This episode even makes it scary. People think, "Well, I can do it."

It's a well-thought-out installation. I tip my hat to the artist and the museum curators who pick his works as the opening exhibition.

I now have one more favorite place in Stockholm.

Isao Hashimoto (2003) "1945-1998"

A work of art can be more powerful than any social science studies or any politician's speech.

Chris Blattman's blog post took me to this video today. Please watch this with sound.


The video shows when and where which country conducted nuclear weapon tests (and the two actual uses of the weapon) in the periods 1945-1998.

After slowly showing three explosions in 1945, each second of the video represents a month and locates nuclear weapon tests conducted in that month (if any) on a map of the world. Each test comes with a tone (different for each conducting country), which is particularly effective to create a sense of something chilly going on when many tests are shown to be conducted in successive months.

You could convey the same information by listing these tests this way. But Isao Hashimoto's work is way more powerful to convey the message.

Kate Gilmore (2009) "Blood from a Stone" showcased at Crystal Palace

Instead of Magasin 3, which is already on summer vacations (see yesterday's post), I visit Hudiksvallsgatan, known by some as Stockholm's Chelsea, referring to the area of New York well-known for the clustering of art galleries. (For details about this area, see the post in my other blog Stockholm4Foreigners.)

Crystal Palace, a gallery that only recently moved to Hudiksvallsgatan, showcases video installations by a New York-based artist Kate Gilmore. Her work entitled "Blood From A Stone" catches my eyes. (A clip of this video can be seen on the artist's website.)

The video begins with the dark grey wall with ten shelves (also in dark grey) at the height of a person's head. The artist herself, dressed in a red top and a white skirt with little pink patterns at the hem, starts putting a white cubic box on one of the shelf. By watching her struggling to lift up the box, we learn she's trying to do a job that appears to be too tough for a woman. Once she manages to place the box on the shelf, white blood splashes at the back of the box and flows down the dark grey wall. She keeps lifting up white heavy boxes, one by one, and every time she places it on the shelf, white blood splashes and flows down the wall. She repeats this ten times until all the shelves are complete with the white box. The video ends.

Her movement in this video essentially goes against two laws of nature: gravity and the fact (or the artist may say everyone's perception) that female human beings are born to be physically weak. Each time she overcomes these two challenges, white blood splashes as if it suggested going against nature would hurt. But she places white boxes against the grey wall, and the color of blood is white, not red. It seems what she is doing is morally correct if the color of white represents purity

A few walks away, Galleri Andersson Sandström features another New York-based artist Barton Lidice Benes. His 2005 work entitled Painting attracts my attention. It consists of five picture frames in green, blue, brown, orange, and purple, respectively, which showcase dozens of tiny items the artist collects around the world, ranging from a fragment of a banknote of some country (a recurrent motif in his works) to a tiny toy doll, from a used condom package to a case of drawing pins. Since each item's color matches the picture frame's color, each set of junk looks very pretty as a whole. This is perhaps a nice way of displaying your own tiny, junky objects that you accumulate over your life.

Hudiksvallsgatan really appears to be Stockholm's Chelsea this weekend.

Graffiti in Clifton Street Car Park

This is the kind of vibes in Hoxton.

2x4 versus Herzog and de Meuron

This is how Graphic artist group 2x4 transformed Herzog & de Meuron's Prada Omotesando in Tokyo:

(Photo source: Nikkei Woman)

Portikus

A mill house on a sandbank of the Main, which is actually a gallery space for contemporary art called Portikus.

This is a brilliant location for contemporary art exhibition. It doesn't belong to anything else in Frankfurt due to its position on the River Main. People driving or walking on the Alte Brucke bridge (including my friend) won't notice this is a gallery, rather than an abandoned mill house, unless they are curious. I love its solitude in this busy city.

Maman

I think this photo, taken from www.trekearth.com/gallery/photo984310.htm, is exquisite. The color of the sky creates some anxiety in your mind, which tightens the impression of this photo of lit-up Maman, Louise Bourgeois's famous sculpture, and the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. If only the camera-shooting guy were absent from the picture...

Two things about myself

I discovered two things about myself.

Number one. I like reading a text that describes what's going on in very detail. I realized this when I was reading "Collectors" by Raymond Carver. I rarely read a novel in English because I need to look up words in dictionary several times per page (expressions like "lift up" when you are laying on the sofa and "put out his hand" when someone meets up someone else are the kind of English phrases I don't perfectly understand). But this short novel came with a Japanese book on translation from English to Japanese written by Haruki Murakami, who did a lot of translation of English novels for Japanese readers. So I had an opportunity to read it (along with Haruki Murakami's translation into Japanese). And I found myself enjoying reading it when a sentence describes people's movement or landscape in a bit too much detail. I did know this when I read Haruki Murakami's novels in Japanese whose sentences are also too much in detail with tons of adjectives (and most of them are dropped when his novels are translated into English). But I didn't know this would work for English novels until today.

Number two. I like watching a video with good sound that is rather difficult to understand. Today I went out to the area around Industricentralen, a former residential building for factory workers located in north-western Stockholm (off the beaten track for tourists), which now houses a cluster of contemporary art galleries. I needed to refresh myself by facing hard-to-understand pieces of contemporary art. More than 90 percent of contemporary art works are rubbish (and they often use rubbish as ingredients, by the way). It's important to visit a cluster of galleries. Then you will encounter at least one not-too-bad piece of art. This time, Galleri Flach+Thulin did a job to me with Twan Janssen's 20-minute video installation entitled "The Stockholm Syndrom". While all the other visitors left within five minutes, I sat down on a chair (provided by the gallery) to watch the film all the way. It's an abstract one created by computer graphics. It just keeps on showing white stuff whose shapes and movements are inspired from clouds, water waves, smokes, and the like. This continues for 20 minutes with abstract music of repetitive kind composed by Jasper TX. It's not too bad at all. Much more enjoyable than normal movies, television programs, or music videos from uninspiring rock and hip hop musicians. I do not watch films or TV, but this is not because I don't like videos as a means of expression. I do like videos that are not easy to understand (like this one that I wrote about before or the one that I saw at the List Visual Arts Center at MIT).

East End Art Zone B

Although it is still an interesting area to explore, the Beijing 798 Art District (see the post below) has become too commercial for some serious contemporary artists. Such artists, also grumpy with rising rent in the 798 District, have migrated to the northeast, by crossing the Fifth Ring Road, and settled in a village named Caochangi. I'm amazed by the fact that Beijing's contemporary art scene has already reached such a second stage. The Caochangi village indeed has no commercialism at all. No billboard. No cafe or restaurant.

East End Art Zone B is a walled area in Caochangi. Inside the premises spreads out a surreal settlement. Every building looks the same: two-story, gray bricked walls, and with a garden surrounded by wooden fences. If you turn more than once, you will lose the sense of direction. No signpost.


On one alleyway sits a giant art piece, possibly thrown away by an artist.


There are two art galleries in the Zone. One of them turns out to be a Japanese one named Mizuma & One Gallery, which displays a work by Jun Nguyen-Hatsushiba.

Beijing 798 Art District

After flying back to Beijing yesterday, I spend two nights in the Chinese capital city before heading for Tokyo. The aim is to see how far Beijing has developed to be a modern city.

Taking a taxi from the city center to the northeast for about 20 minutes, I arrive at the much-hyped Beijing 798 Art District (its official website only in Chinese).

The district used to be a place for secret weapon factories back in the 1950s, after communists took over mainland China. The factories were then abandoned until contemporary artists started colonizing the area, because of its cheap rent, in the 1990s.

If the description of the area stops here, it's not particularly unusual. Many cities in the West have such a contemporary artist colony in post-industrial chic. (The most notable is probably Tate Modern in London, the contemporary art museum housed in the former power station.) What's unique about the 798 Art District is that it is located in China, the country with long history and distinct culture, the communist government, billions of people, and "cool" Japan as a neighbor.

Therefore, art galleries are housed in the former factories with occasional appearances of communist slogans on the wall. Chinese letters on the signage look as if they are part of art and design. In an area of 800 meters in width and 400 meters in length, you cannot stop finding more galleries, with even more under construction. The popular art form is painting, often with influences from Japanese manga and socialist propaganda cartoons. Funny-looking giant sculptures stand along streets. In addition, the area is peppered with cafes and restaurants, some in style. One event space in a former factory exhibits the latest autumn/winter collection from several top luxury brands such as Comme des Garcon and Alexander McQueen. All of these make it interesting to explore the district. One day is certainly not enough to see everything.


The red letters say, "Hooray for the Communist Party!"


Chimneys with a giant red-star mug


More chimneys with a giant fly.


With Maoist slogans intact, this unused space in a former weapon factory looks as if it is a piece of art.


The main street in the District


Behind these iron doors spread the latest collections from Comme des Garcons and other luxury brands.


:phunk studio's exhibition at Art Seasons Gallery.


A gallery advertisement in post-industrial chic.


The Artkey 798 Showroom.


Bai Shi Tea House (白石茶館), housed in the Artkey 798 showroom, with piano music in the background. I'd frequent this cafe if I were a Beijing resident. The vibe is perfect.


An unused square in the district


A corridor to galleries

Gallery Show

The first gallery I visit in the 798 Art District is Gallery Show. The pathway to the gallery is already surreal.


The gallery's entrance. Notice a Maoist slogan in Chinese letters on the wall below the broken windows.


The gallery can be reached by walking up the staircase full of graffiti. Letters featured in this graffiti are Korean. This gallery appears to be owned by a Korean.


Above the graffiti remains the floor map used when the building was a weapon factory.

The gallery itself is well-curated. Below are two of the paintings that I like:


Wang Xiao Jin (2007) "Sister No.4"


Tang Jie (2007) "I'm not afraid No.1"

An abandoned bus in the Beijing 798 Art District

Li Gang (2008) "Pink"

From a gallery in the Beijing 798 Art District.

Desire, Believe, and Love

From an art gallery's entrance in the Beijing 798 Art District. I forgot the name of this gallery, but it's located on Seven Star West Street.

Iberia Center for Contemporary Art

On the southern edge of the 798 District stands the Iberia Center for Contemporary Art. (E10 in the District map.)

The Center features a Chinese artist Li Qing.


Li Qing (2007) "Images of Partial Unity - Nanjing"

Displaying two pictures side by side with a few differences between the two characterizes most of Li's works.


Li Qing (2008) "Ping-pong No.2"

Red dots on the ping-pong table indicate where red-inked ping-pong ball landed during the ping-pong play between a player on the side with a map of China and the other player on the side with a map of the world.

The Iberia Center also houses a cafe with nice decor, great food that is NOT Chinese (including Spanish omelets, Thai chicken curry, and a decent cup of coffee), and wireless internet connection for free of charge.

Pan Dehai (2008) "Performing the Loyalty Dance"

From a gallery in the Beijing 798 Art District

Zhang Weijun (2008) "Lotus Pond"

From a gallery in the Beijing 798 Art District.