One of the most interesting aspects of drawing, its the connection with language. Language is drawing, and drawing is language. Not only because drawing is a language in itself, with its set of rules, but also because in historical terms language was created after drawing. This means that, in Paleolithic terms, men would create drawings and paintings out of the world around him, and only afterwards language was created. In the beginning, language was a collection of symbols/pictograms and only afterwards language, as we know it today – an abstracted code of symbols was invented. For this reason, some of the letters of the latin alphabet were created after physical objects. For instance, the letter ‘A’ comes from the Phoenician alphabet ‘Aleph’, which in turn was inspired in the horn of a ‘ox’.
During my studies in drawing, last year, I created a lot of experiments in drawing/language, as a form of expanding my knowledge on these two fields. I was interested on how language can be expressed through drawing, and on how drawing impacts our understanding of language. All letters are drawn, of course. And drawing the letters – the so called – handwriting is one of the activities that may impact long and short-term memory.
For artists, the possibilities of playing with language and drawing and endless. Thus, I tried to experiment with visual poetry, one of the most interesting forms of translating drawing into language. The rhythm, form and aesthetics of language, can be perfectly matched with the imagination, fantasy and plasticity of drawing.
One of my collaborations was the project ‘The Little Book of Germany’, an artist book and video, created together with the visual artist Albert Barbu, which plays with the potential of language as an open system, which conveys endless meanings, associations and systems. This new project will finally be produced in 2019, after the incubator year of 2019. More soon…
In this post, I spoke with Alexander Rosenberg, artist and neuroscientist about the perspective of neuroscience as the white cube of the brain. This interview follows my collaboration with Rosenberg over the last months, in which we interchanged emails, skyped and shared many ideas about drawing, arts, science and education. Rosenberg expressed his view of neuroscience as a lab, where we can display our knowledge of the brain, similar to an art exhibition, which comes with a concept and fictional setting. The interview is published verbatim to be truthful to his ideas.
Ana Mendes (AM): How/why did you come up with the idea of neuroscience as the white cube of the brain?
Alexander Rosenberg (AR): After a BA in fine art at Central St. Martins, it’s hard not to consider any kind of observation without considering the role context has to play. Once you put those goggles on, everything becomes ‘site-specific.’ So, by the time I was studying neuroscience, I was struck by the parallels between the spaces used for observing art and those used for observing the brain. The ‘white cube’ as an exhibition space arguably aspires to be a kind of contextless context; a place to experience art in a vacuum. Of course, that’s not really possible. In the same way as any other space does, it acquires its own baggage over time. We see it in the way the white cube became a stimulus for artists to respond to, rather than just a place to display the art. As such, you cannot separate the exhibition space from the viewing of the work. In a comparable way, I struggled with formal critiques at art school; not because of the brutal feedback, but because of how the setup provided a very specific lens through which we were allowed to view the work. It didn’t feel like we were allowed a ‘real life’ interaction with the art (whatever that might be). Similarly, the spaces used for conducting neuroscientific paradigms fail to be the neutral spaces they aim to be. That’s not a criticism of the field – it’s just the nature of looking at functioning brains in real time. Cognitive neuroscience is all about observing how the brain behaves in given situations or how certain human experiences are underpinned by neural activity. But how do we know we are observing the authentic experience when it’s being simulated in the gigantic, noisy, magnetic donut of fMRI (functional magnetic resonance imaging) machines? This is not a new idea – the Observer Effect is a theory within Physics that states that the simple act of observation of any phenomenon, actively alters the phenomenon being observed.
AM: To what extent do you think that people in general are aware of the fragility of the studies developed in science?
AR: I think people often don’t appreciate how fragility is fundamental to science. In my experience, scientists relish uncertainty more than anyone else. And yet, maybe because of of its formidable image in people’s minds – particularly neuroscience – science can easily be misrepresented, misunderstood or exploited. You see the prefix, ‘neuro’ everywhere now, used to sell products and justify dodgy ideas. The icon of the brain looms large in people’s imaginations. But I think the mistake works both ways: some see science as infallible dogma and others are wary of it as arrogant or elitist. In my understanding, (though I don’t really consider myself a scientist – I suppose I’m a scientifically literate artist) the scientific process is a game with certain rules, by which we can figure out how seriously to take any given claim, explanation or observation of nature. The last few decades have seen fMRI bring neuroscience along in huge strides, but I think people would be surprised to know more about the fragility of this method of understanding the brain. First of all, it’s the perfect example of how misconceptions about brain science can be exploited. It’s easy to find sloppy research and even easier to find sloppy reporting, where claims are made about specific brain regions being responsible for specific experiences. If you pop someone in an fMRI machine and show them a picture of Donald Trump, observing activity in certain parts of the brain, you’ll see a headline, ‘Scientists Find Evidence for the ‘Donald Trump Lobe’ in the Brain.’ This is obviously rubbish. But there’s a more interesting issue with fMRI, being that it only observes a correlational relationship between brain regions and experiences, rather than a causal one. I’ll explain this in a nutshell: when you use a part of your brain, this requires energy. This creates a demand for oxygen in that part of the brain. fMRI observes the increase in oxygen-rich blood rushing to that part of the brain after the activity has taken place. Not only is there a delay, but there are other reasons why the brain may demand more or less oxygen at different times, making the observation less reliable. This doesn’t make fMRI invalid as a technique, but it definitely relates to the fragility of scientific studies. Like I said, it’s more about weighing up how much the evidence allows us to reasonably take a claim or observation seriously, not about cementing things into the realm of objective, undeniable, irreversible fact.
AM: What do you think that artists as thinkers could share with scientists that could be of good use?
AR: I think it’s always positive when people take an interdisciplinary approach and listen to minds from different fields. My masters in neuroscience was in relation to language and communication and so I find it fascinating how different native languages influence/dictate the ways in which people perceive the world. Just as an example, languages that use feminine and masculine words (like Spanish and German) shape the attitudes speakers have towards the things those words represent. It informs their understanding of their surroundings. This makes it very useful when thinkers from different parts of the world get together to solve problems and share ideas. However, when it comes to the meeting of art and science, I often feel that great opportunities are lost by simply using art to describe science, or using science to explain or justify art. For example, the field of neuroaesthetics, which looks at art to understand the brain and its perceptions, is fascinating and gives lots to the pursuit of cognitive understanding. But does it contribute much to the making of art? Equally, ‘Sci-Art’, which sees artists inspired by science and nature, is often beautiful and thought-provoking. But does it contribute much to the endeavours of science? I think there are ways of artists and scientists collaborating in interesting ways and learning from each other. Scientists are often profoundly creative and artists can work empirically. Equally, there are lots of interesting ways in which intuition and data can work for both. But I’m comfortable in their different objectives. For me, when art or science function comparably in achieving their objectives, that’s when the relationship is most curious. When science elegantly uncovers understanding, it has an aesthetic beauty of its own. When art engages truth elegantly, it has a revelatory effect.
AM: How do you think that technology will affect the brain in the future?
AR: Unfortunately, I’m not aware enough of the fast moving steps in technology and research to feel confident making predictions. But technology is already affecting the brain: in the ways it has adapted how we read, learn, interact socially, and understand the world. So we could talk about it in terms of how everyday, accessible technologies are changing us. Or, we could look at research methods like TMS (transcranial magnetic stimulation) which literally alter the firing of neurons – both to inhibit and enhance brain activity and therefore, our abilities – in real time. Or, maybe more abstractly, we could discuss how we will use technology to simulate new kinds of brains through the development of Artificial Intelligence. This is increasingly thought of as the fast-approaching, most pressing issue of our time. With all we have learned about the brain, we truly have barely scratched the surface – the question of consciousness is still one of the greatest mysteries. The merging of science and philosophy has perhaps more to say about this than art, although that’s not to underestimate the value of art as a means to articulate what it is to be a conscious creature. Then again, there are artists whose work functions as visual philosophy and ‘philosophy of mind’ is a hot topic. I look at all art as language, with the underlying aim being to somehow bridge the gap between consciousnesses. We use our flimsy words, objects, images, gestures and interactions to make an attempt at plugging in to each others’ minds. It’s arguably a drive to share ‘qualia’ (moments of conscious experience). Research into mindfulness is very interesting on this topic, as it seems to have more and more to say about notions of free will, individuality and a sense of self (when I spent two months in Boston, shadowing researchers at Harvard’s neuroimaging lab, I was lucky enough to learn about cutting-edge research being done in this area and there is lots of reason to take mindfulness seriously). Maybe if we can dissolve the experience of the self, through techniques in mindfulness and/or neuroscience, perhaps we can get to that essential goal of sharing qualia?
AM: Nowadays the NHS considers to use art as part of their medicine treatments – do you think that it can be useful?
AR: I’m sure it can, although I must admit, I don’t know the specifics. My studies in neuroscience had very little direct connection to clinical neurology. However, I have friends who are art therapists and I know they do great work. My first experience of neuroscience and considering how our perceptions can be altered, were as a 17 year old, visiting a relative with a brain tumour in a neurology unit. I met people with different types of brain lesions, resulting in all sorts of interesting malfunctions. There were two ladies, named Doris and Angela. Doris could speak, but often failed to find the right words and spoke in a kind of muddled mix of English and gobbledygook. Angela had full access to language and could string normal sentences together mentally, but had lost her ability to form the words orally – she could only grunt. The two of them formed a kind of double-act, each with a complementary aspect of communication they could share with the other. If Doris couldn’t find the right word, Angela would type it out on her speaking machine for her. If Angela couldn’t get a nurse’s attention or struggled type an answer quickly enough, Doris would step in and speak it for her (I now know about the two brain regions – Brocca’s Area, used for speech and Wernicke’s Area, used for semantic language – which are what were respectively damaged in Angela and Doris, resulting in different types of Aphasia). My experiences with these kinds of people influenced my interest in neuroscience and, when a tutor at art school introduced me to the writing of Oliver Sacks, things really spiraled into obsession. My point is, my curiosity about neuroscience came about through case studies and the clinical side of things, so I am aware that looking at these things through the lens of art meeting medicine is very interesting. I know that methods in mindfulness are finding popularity in schools, showing great results in calming and focusing students. I’m sure the same is true of art therapies. I’m also sure that engaging in art has therapeutic and mindful qualities, but I can’t say I have had first-hand experiences of it.
AM: In conceptual terms, how are artists and neuroscientists are alike? Meaning, to be a neuroscientist requires some abstraction skills, the ability to think behind the problem. Also artists deal with a certain level of representation, translation of reality into a concept that exceeds everyday life.
AR: In my experience, artists and scientists are strikingly similar. Particularly those at the avant-garde of their fields. Both require an ability to ‘play’ in the most creative sense of the word. There’s an inherent creativity in wanting to understand stuff and I have always found it frustrating that education systems talk about people with artistic inclinations as ‘creative’ and those who are scientifically minded as ‘academic.’ I’m not suggesting they use the same processes or play by the same rules, but the best scientists are highly creative, with an ability to bounce between ‘diffuse modes’ of thinking, where free-association and lateral thinking can flourish, and ‘focused modes’, where their mind is more concentrated on particular tasks in problem-solving. This is also true of artists: famously, Dali used to hold a bunch of keys in his hand as he fell asleep in an armchair. When he dozed off, the keys would fall and clatter against a metal tray he had placed on the floor. This, he knew, was time to go to work and start painting. It was his tenchique for entering a diffuse mode of thinking, in order to access his best ideas. Although this seems like quirky behaviour reserved only for eccentric artsy types, it is consistent with what we know about how the brain best learns and produces prolific, creative work. As an analogy, think of the brain as a pinball machine, with the pinball being a thought and the bumpers separating areas of the brain. The two modes of thinking have a different number/concentration of bumpers. In focused modes of thinking, the thought can only bounce around one, tightly-packed region of the brain. In focused modes, it can fling itself freely around and make use of many, disparate parts of the brain. There are many stories of accomplished thinkers, both in the sciences and humanities, that developed techniques in toying between these different modes when working. The ‘eureka’ moments come for those who are good at this interplay between brain states. This is where I think scientists and artists are similar.
What role do accidents play in the artistic process?
Like many artists, I feel that I have a bit of a “schizophrenic” mind. On the one hand, I am an obsessive planner; before beginning a project, I undertake extensive research, think the work through in every detail – making drawings here and there – buy all sorts of materials, daydream and generally fry my brain. And throughout all this, the fear of failure hounds me (although most people would not guess that).
On the other hand, once I start to create, I seem to develop a penchant for chaos. Apparently, I attract all sorts of unexpected events and what was once a beautifully clear plan becomes a complete mess; at the very least, I end up changing my mind halfway through. Indeed, it is this notion of an artistic “u-turn” which has prompted my investigation into the role that chance plays in the creative process.
Like many artists, once I start to create, things always change, and quite often I end up taking a different direction. This is normal, I would say. Nevertheless, not all artists are able to accommodate change – perhaps because they feel challenged by it. A lot of artists would rather backtrack, correct a mistake and carry on as per the plan. But I feel that making mistakes helps shift my mindset, and failure itself can provide clarity and pave the way for improvement.
In many cases, the accident becomes the work itself. For instance, in 2011, during a residency in Ireland, I had set out to write a play about the identity of two brothers; I was interested in the concept of “otherness” and was certainly not in the process of using self-reflection as part of this journey. However, during this period, I was approached and advised to do just that. After a day of consideration, I found myself making a complete “u-turn” and ended up writing a play called Self-Portrait, based on a collection of personal anecdotes.
I guess that the reason for this occurrence stems from the fact that, ultimately, I am interested in art as a process rather than an outcome. I was not formally trained as an artist; rather, I learned by “doing” – acquiring different skills as and when they were needed – so, in this sense, my work is the result of this very process, rather than a taught methodology.
Thus, in the case of my video On Drawing, which is the basis of this blog and research project, it all started by chance. In 2014, I spent almost two months on an artists’ residency in a small village in France. Upon my arrival, I immediately noticed the presence of a Moroccan cleaner, and wanted to work with her. I asked the director of the gallery if I could photograph her (I was cautious as I knew that in some Arab cultures the act of capturing someone’s face with a camera equates to the theft of their soul). Surprisingly, the director of the gallery said that the cleaning lady would be delighted to work with me, as not all the participants of the residency had been kind to her. So I set about speaking with her, explaining the concept of the photography project, which, at the time, was still very vague, but she got it straight away, even suggesting ideas of her own, which enabled us to begin work right away.
The following day, she came to my studio and said that she wanted to show me something: I, naturally, was very intrigued. She then proceeded to show me an address book and when I saw it, my mind was blown away – since she can neither read nor write – her address book is composed of a collection of drawings and phone numbers. That night, I could hardly sleep, so much was I thinking about the address book, and I suddenly had the idea of making a film based on the book. I called the gallery and they managed to book another appointment with her. She visited me and we filmed the video.
Over the next two years, the editing process was rather stilted as I was very busy and often on the move. I really wanted to spend some quality time with footage, and to fully dedicate myself to it. Although the video is simple, that decision of keeping it simple was only possible because I took the time to let the work sink in, instead of rushing to finish it. It seemed only appropriate to dedicate a decent amount of time to something that had been such a personal and profound offering. I would watch the raw files from my laptop, whenever I could, if only to make sure that I still had it. It was my music box: I would watch it to feel happy.
After editing the video, I decided to create my first blog On Drawing, (this one is the second), in order to be able to visually present the discoveries I had gathered. I thought that by displaying information online, I could create an imaginary map that would be ingrained into the back of my mind. Through this work, I could somehow throw my ideas into the World Wide Web, without having the pressure of writing an essay or publishing a paper.
Now, two years later, and with the support of A-N and Arts Council England, I finally have the time to pursue some of these ideas, allowing certain projects to flourish: not only my new trailer for On Drawing but also the creation of digital illustrations, such as those that decorate this article!
All in all it has been an incredibly productive period – I just need another accident to happen now, so that I can set off on a new challenging journey!
One of the first works that I created while researching for my project On Drawing was the durational performance series Drawing I, II and III. I was not trying to create a new performance, but it just happened that I got the idea, while undertaking the research. I guess that is one of the virtues of conducting artistic research is that, at some point, it rewires your brain.
Thus, one of the subjects that I researched about was the lateralisation of thinking – this means that, according to neuroscience, our brain is divided in the right and left hemispheres. The right hemisphere is associated with emotions, creativity, intuition and similar. The left hemisphere is reportedly responsible for logics, language and science. This distinction between the right and left side of the brain has been contested by different scientists, thinkers and researchers, because it is considered obsolete nowadays. Similar to the differences between multidisciplinary, cross-disciplinary and interdisciplinary art, it is understood that, nowadays, all knowledge involves a combination between different skills, and therefore it is not possible to isolate different sources. Yet, there are also reports that mention that there are a higher rate of creative people who are left-handed for the reason that their brains are more wired – i. e., their brains have more connections between the right and left hemispheres. Another curiosity is that, over the centuries, many artists tried to rewire their brains by using the left hand instead of the right one. In this manner, they would be less skilled, and their works would be rawer.
Thus, out of this reflection/research, once I woke up to the idea of creating a performance, in which I would draw, first with the right arm, and afterwards with the left one one circle, using one graphite pencil, until it finishes. So, in the end of the performance, I would have two circles, created with each arm, using two complete graphite pencils. Funny enough, everyone thinks that the circle drawn with the right arm was actually created with the left one. The reason for this is because my left arm is stiffer, as I use it less, therefore, that circle is more round and perfect, whereas the circle created with the right arm is more bouncy because I move the arm around, while doing the performance.
Drawing I was performed at Akademie Schloss Solitude, and used two pastel pencils. Drawing II was made in Berlin, at Gallerie Lage Egal – a very hard job, which took me five or six hours, as I used an hard pencil. Drawing III was at Agency Gallery, London, February, 2018. The video can be watched online: https://vimeo.com/292623246
Part of the research for my project ‘On Drawing’ deals with the connection between drawing and the digital world. In an increasing virtual society, one of the most obvious questions is: what will happen to experiential/physical activities such as drawing?
We know from neuroscience studies that our brain changes according to the environment where we live, the tasks that we perform, genetics, age, etc. That brain plasticity is more common in the first years of your life. As we age, it becomes extraordinarily more difficult, because the neuronal pathways are already shaped. Therefore, it takes an extraordinary event or a continuous action on time to eventually be able to change them.
As the neuroscientist Zoe Morris explained in an interview: ‘I would define neuroplasticity as the ability that the brain has to strengthen and weaken, as well as form and get rid of synaptic connections. However, it can also involve alterations in the myelin sheaths which surround neurons. This is often in response to learning. For example playing the piano and learning to juggle have been shown to strengthen connections and alter the white matter distribution in areas associated with fine motor movements in our hands (piano) and areas associated with reaching and grasping in our periphery vision (juggling).’
Evidence of the brain plasticity has already been found in the case of taxi drivers (Woollett & Maguire, 2011), as well as with people who practice piano extensively (Bengtsson et al, 2005, p. 1148-50)[1]. In practical terms, through functional magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), it is possible to scan the brain, and to evaluate a possible increase of activity in some areas of the brain associated with the new skill – for instance, a study developed by Woollett & Maguire (2011) showed that London taxi drivers have a higher rate of grey matter on the posterior hippocampus and lower on the anterior hippocampus than non taxi drivers.
Thus, and to go back to the subject of drawing in the digital world, we can easily predict that the digital culture in which we live now will have an impact on the functions and structure of the brain. That is to say that, because we are now using a different set of skills to perform activities that are increasingly digital, some of the functions of the brain associated with analogue activities will disappear gradually. But, don’t worry, it will take generations to happen!
If we look to the development of the human species, we see it clearly – changes in the size of the brain, fingers, hair, etc. In fact, we only developed past other species, because our brain is able to adapt itself accordingly to the environment where we live: As Bruce Wexler (2014)[2] points out: The most fundamental difference between the human brain and those of other mammals is the greater extent to which the development of its structure and function is influenced by sensory input.’(p. 142-167)
Therefore, one may ask: what will happen with drawing? How will we draw in the future? I am a paper and pencil maniac. Wherever I go, I buy a new pencil and notebook. They are never too good to me! Nevertheless, recently, I also started to draw digitally with the bare finger – as I don’t like digital pens – and it feels very organic. Somehow, it seems that a new organicity was born, because the contact between the screen and the finger feels very soft. The same does not happen with the digital pen, because the object intermediates the connection with the material.
Nevertheless, not all artists think the same way. Recently, I spoke with Daria Jelonek, an artist, researcher and designer based on London, who uses digital technology. She has her own views on this matter:
‘I was thinking about drawing, what you are looking at: back in the day, I used to draw more with a pen, but now, I am doing everything digitally. I draw in computer software. But I also think we draw in different ways. For example, a minute ago I showed you this augmented reality drawing, I think that it actually represents how your brain thinks about lines in the everyday. So, let’s say if I’d look around in this room to create a new artwork about this room, I would think: how would I draw a line through this space? I wouldn’t take a pen and a paper and literally do it. I think that I would rather virtually create a line to sketch and draw this room.’
Thus, for Jelonek drawing is a process born digitally, as she works in new media. That is perhaps related with the fact that, for people, born after 1989, the digital is the new real. As the project 1989 plus, by Hans Ulrich makes proof of.
The artist goes as far as to say that for her all projects are 3D. 2 D no longer exists as such – ‘If I for instance create 2D video material, I actually implement 3D objects in the two dimensional space of my computer. There is an interesting and shifting connection between 3D and 2D nowadays. I think that is why, when I am thinking about drawing, I am not thinking about it as a 2D image anymore, but more as a 3D sketch. ‘
Nevertheless, it is also true that many artists born in the digital era still take organic materials as a reference. It is not by chance that so many artists have turned to analogue photography, 8 and 18 mm film or even traditional crafts, such as sewing, woods, paper or glass. As Jelonek recognises:
‘If you think about drawing, the material is possibly the most beautiful thing. If you draw by hand – the material is the beauty. If you do virtual drawings, you could explore how to actually bring materiality into the process. Maybe you could feel the virtual drawing somehow through vibration.’
Therefore, it seems clear that for humans, real experiences are somehow essencial to their existence. If part of the process becomes digital, a new balance needs to be created, in which real experiences need to be put in place. Following Jelonek intuition, one may conclude that indeed ‘I think that we cannot replace real nature experiences. What I realise through my research and artworks is that you really need tangible and vivid materials; you need to touch real grass. So, you may have virtual experiences but it is important to have some real materials that you touch. I think that touch is generally very important.’
Daria Jelonek: digital artist, designer, and researcher who lives and works in London. Her work is situated in the field of interactive design and immersive art installations, with a focus on the relationship between nature and technology. She graduated from the Royal College of Art in Information Experience Design in 2017 and has worked as a researcher with Microsoft Cambridge,
Zoe Morris: graduated in Neuroscience by the University of Cambridge, she finished a Masters at Mountview in Theatre Directing. Morris is looking at how we can use our knowledge of Neuroscience in order to improve how we rehearse actors and is fascinated in the connection between Neuroscience and the Arts.
Note: This project has been supported using public funding from Arts Council England, as well as an Artist Bursary 2018, by a-n (Artist Information Company).
[1] Bengtsson, S. L, Nagy, Z., Skare, S., Forsman, L., Forssberg, H., Ullen, F. (2010) Extensive piano practicing has regionally effects on white matter development. Brief Communications. Nature neuroscience, vol. 8, number 9, 1148-50.
[2] Wexler, B. (2014) Shaping the Environments that Shape Our Brains: A Long Term Perspectiv,« in: Cognitive Architecture Designing Respond Environment, New York, pp. 142–167.
