Drawing and the present moment

Dr. Maryanne Coutts is a Sydney artist and Subject Leader in Drawing at the National Art School. Maryanne.coutts@gmail.com See http://www.maryannecoutts.com.au Now: Memory, Drawing, and the Present Moment Through a discussion of the nature of the present and its duration I will consider the diversity of ways that ‘nowness’ is experienced and highlight the capacity of the drawing process to act as a temporal record. This paper investigates ways that drawing engages directly with that point of transition between past and future. Paul Ricoeur’s discussion of memory (Ricoeur 2006) and his considerations of the presence of absence - the lingering, often visual existence of the past through memory - will be applied to the tangible immediacy of the drawn mark and its capacity to embody experiences of the ‘now’. The focus is on drawing’s powerful capacity to evoke memory. It seems to engage with a fluid, temporal experience as well as a conceptual fragmentation of time that can characterise contemporary experience. Using examples from Elizabeth Cummings, Jennifer West and William Kentridge, I will argue that this fragmentation has a practical and metaphorical relationship with technologies of film. My interest is in drawing as a process for thought and decision making, as an object which embeds the experiences or perceptions of those thoughtful events and as a practice which, by being present, entertains the subtleties of ways that the present is experienced. (Ricoeur 2006: 32) 1 Drawing Now: Memory, Drawing, and the Present Moment Drawing and the present moment ‘What is it for something that endures to remain?’(Ricoeur 1984: 32) asks Paul Ricoeur. John Constable, Seascape study with Rain and Clouds, 1827 The painter John Constable hoped to give ‘one brief moment caught from fleeting time a lasting and sober existence.’(Gombrich 2002: 325) In the immediacy of his painted sketches and drawings of clouds I feel that brief moments of two hundred years ago, rain that swept the British coast long before anyone even thought of climate change are somehow still here; they remain. I find this mnemonic power of drawing extremely potent. In this paper I explore this capacity of drawing to embody a ‘present’. I am curious about drawing’s duration, the ways that it contains that duration and the types of ‘presents’ that it can hold. I will suggest that drawing, in capturing those present 2 moments can act as a type of ‘public’ memory which is sensual and subjective. This is significant in that the mechanics of that capturing, especially since the advent of film, do not only hold a trace of moments that are now past, but reflect specific contemporary ways of experiencing the present. The mnemonic capability of objects is, of course, not the sole property of drawing. For instance, Tania Kovats, like many others sees parallels between drawing and handwriting. She writes that ‘to trace by drawing a pencil or pen or the like across a surface – is the first and simplest definition of the word.’ (Kovats 2007: 9) So, the handwritten texts of old novels can have a significant substance to them and historical signatures seem to hold a powerful connection with past events. But a good drawing is usually more than an idiosyncratic mark, or a signature; it needs to be a conduit for something else; some experience relating to the world. Having taught drawing for many years I have noticed that it is clear when students’ drawings are honest responses to perceptions rather than assumptions about what those perceptions might be. This honesty or directness reflects the presence of the drawer to the drawing process. It records their ‘here and now’ of making and consequently refers to something beyond arbitrary mark making. Drawing enables this exploratory, searching, investigative mode of visual thinking to remain as a material thing. This object, whether it is a hand made mark or a video, embodies its own making; a transformation that moves through the present of decision from curiosity to something more substantial, from anticipation to memory. Through the process of drawing, drawings come into being which manifest elements of the moments of their making. The ‘thing’ functions as a ‘trace’ of a decision, an event, a moment, an experience or a thought and makes the ‘here-and-now’ material. For instance, in the work of Elizabeth Cummings the immediacy of the interaction between her body and the work is apparent in the way she stains and scratches. The surprise of her marks and the sense of space that they respond to, let us know that here is a response to a lived moment. (See http://www.kingstreetgallery.com.au/artists/elisabeth-cummings/2010-exhibition- 3 paper-trail-30-years) Kerrie Poliness, on the other hand supplies instructions for other people to execute her drawings. While the marks do not have a direct material relationship with her body, they do come into being as a result of her thought and are therefore her marks. These wall drawings, then, challenge the conventional temporal relationship between making and producing a work. Rather than in the finished works it is in this distance between thought and execution, thinker and maker that the un-anticipated decisions might occur. If the decision, the awareness, the moment of drawing is the distance between thought and marking how long is that moment? How does it endure? Ricoeur’s question, ‘what is it for something that endures to remain?’ is distinctly analogue. It considers our experience of time as organic: not made of discrete measurable components but sliding seamlessly between future and past. This uncompartmentalised conception of time is akin to the smooth trace of a mark on paper, of a direct response to a thought, of the transition of a line or shade. Unlike the mechanics of film all is present at once and a drawn line is evidence of an intangibly smooth transition into memory. Conversely, film functions in what might be described as a digital manner. It fractures time into discrete frames which can be separated and viewed as distinct points in a narrative or movement. When viewing film these frames are undiscernible due to their speed and yet they have a great deal more material retention in that they never cease to exist as independent images. These fleeting moments are modular, digital. And yet there is a persistence of hand made marks in both still and moving contemporary drawing practice. This indicates a continuing engagement with and curiosity about ways that we experience time as organic, analogue beings. In particular, film technology enables many vital approaches to drawing. For me the 4 most interesting ones highlight the modular nature of film by working directly with individual frames in ways that reflect on, challenge and embody the present moments of making. For instance, William Kentridge uses film to capture the evolution of the lines that are intrinsic to drawing. By letting the drawing unfold in time before us, the ways that the process of drawing is embedded in a drawing is literal. Following in the traditions established by Len Lye and Stan Brakhage, Los Angeles artist Jennifer West treats her 16mm film with domestic materials such as Jack Daniels, espresso coffee, purple metallic eyeliner and cleaning materials. This ‘Direct’ or camera-less approach tends to work with the overall film stock rather than individual frames. It generates random abstractions which cut across the segmentation of time that is characteristic of film. Paradoxically the time flow in camera-less films is often more fractured than in conventional film, highlighting again the temporally modular nature of film. (See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qr4rR292yBQ) The duration of the present Charlie Gere (Gere 2006: 27) suggests that Samuel Morse made a more significant contribution to the direction of art by inventing Morse code, than he did through his profession as a painter. The modern movement towards subdividing the world into modular, readymade components is wide-reaching and impacted on the nineteenth century as mass-produced paint colours and the typewritten word emerged alongside photography. He cites Fred Kittler’s suggestion that ‘writing was no longer the handwritten, continuous, transition from nature to culture. It became a countable, spatialized supply’. (Kittler 1990: 54) Like writing, the contemporary urban experience of time is characterised by a fragmentation of the second which, with ever-increased speed becomes progressively more countable; modular, like the film which records it. While in Galileo’s age the day was measured from the variable, but actual, sunset (Sobel 1999), today, the atomic clock gives an illusion of absolute, universal time, which can be measured in 5 nanoseconds. If then, time is so quantifiable, how long does ‘now’ last? One might consider a length for the present based on, say John Cage’s 1952 work, 4’ 33”. Gere points to a parallel between this work and the advent in 1953 of the Early Warning System. Four minutes was roughly the length of time between confirmation of a soviet nuclear attack on the United Kingdom and the impact of that attack. (Gere 2006: 103) Four minutes between prescience and event. Or shorter still is Dan Graham’s 1974 work Time Delay Room which incorporates an 8 second time delay into a video surveillance. His reasoning for the delay is that ‘eight seconds is the outer limit of the neurophysiological short-term memory that forms an immediate part of our present perceptions and affects this ‘from within’’. (See http://www.medienkunstnetz.de/works/time-delay-room/ In neurological terms, it takes a certain amount of time for our brains to process information from our eyes. This means that there is necessarily some time delay between an event and our perception, suggesting that it is impossible to experience anything instantaneously, let alone, ‘now’. If, as Arthur Schopenhauer wrote: “the most insignificant present has over the most insignificant past the advantage of reality, ” (Davies 1996: 70) is it the ‘atomic-clock-like’ actuality of an event that dictates its ‘reality’ or the point when we actually experience seeing / hearing /sensing it? The physicists complicate it even more. Given Einstein’s discovery that time passes at different relative paces according to the speed of movement, Davies points out that Unless you are a solipsist, there is only one rational conclusion to draw from the relative nature of simultaneity: events in the past and future have to be every bit as real as events in the present. In fact, the very division of time into past, 6 present and future seems to be physically meaningless. To accommodate everybody’s nows… events and moments have to exist “all at once” across a span of time. (Davies 1996: 71) Being an artist, not a physicist, my interest is not in Einstein’s rationale but the relevance for art which is this; if it is possible that the present is not a unified cohesive moment spread throughout the universe, then the present, ‘now’ must be a fluid, subjective temporal point of view, just as ‘here’ is a subjective spatial point of view. Memory and Drawing It would seem that however fleetingly we may experience this ‘now’, the present or temporal ‘point of view’, we can re-experience it through memory, as well as, I am arguing, by looking at drawings. How, then, does this subjective temporal point of view, that we know as ‘now’, become embedded in a material object as drawing? If drawing is a record of events as they happened, it functions as a kind of public memory. Ricoeur’s discussion of memory and imagination (Ricoeur 2006: 12) could, on many levels, be translated into a discussion of drawing. Indeed Ricoeur’s text overflows with visuality. It is full of words like inscribe, imprint, impression, copy, mark, image and representation, just as Aristotle uses drawing as a metaphor for the representational qualities of memory (Ricoeur 2006: 17). He suggests that We can read this drawing in two ways: either it in itself, as a simple image drawn on a support, or as an eikon (a copy). We can do this because the inscription consists in both things at once: it is itself and the representation of something else. (Ricoeur 2006: 17). The relationship between drawing and representation is a difficult one. The thing being represented can only ever be experienced through the ‘here and now’ of someone, a witness. No matter how accurate an observation seems, drawing will 7 always be subjective. In Memoires of the Blind Derrida uses the idea of blindness to illuminate the problematic exercise of taking an impression of an event or capturing a ‘fleeting time’ in terms of this experience of vision and sight. “the draftsman who trusts in sight, in present sight, who fears the suspension of visual perception, who does not want to be done with mourning it, who does not want to let it go, this draftsman begins to go blind simply through the fear of losing his sight.” (Derrida 2007: 48) Ryan and Trevor Oakes are grappling with this blindness when they build a curved easel in an attempt to be able to trace the vision of a single one of their eyes (each eye is so individual that one easel has to be designed to suit one particular eye.) The fragmented nature of the finished drawings highlights the impossibility of completely recording what one sees. (Archibald 2009: 30) This impossibility of grasping all that a drawer sees or thinks or imagines is what becomes concrete in the moment of perception, or non-perception. The resultant drawing as an object becomes the repository for the trace of the search. Just as it is impossible for the drawer to fully realise, perceive or experience a subject, when looking at a drawing we can never enter the exact moment of that making. However, whether it is with the fluidity of painterly (analogue) processes or the modularity of the (photographic), drawing might act as a conduit between presents. Conclusion Keeping, containing some experience in a material object as drawing does, brings past presents into the present. The question is ‘How?’ What are the visual mechanisms that enable the decisions, thoughts, experiences and perceptions that are lived in a present moment? When the materials of the work’s evolution are tangible, like memories they bring us into the moment of making. For Kiki Smith ‘Drawing is something where you have direct, immediate relationship with the material, … whereas with a lot of my sculpture, I have a concept, and then it’s labor. With drawing, you’re in the present. In drawing you take physical energy 8 out of your body and put it directly onto a page’. (Smith 2007: 250) Unlike more formal practices like painting and sculpture, then, drawing is not necessarily about producing a finished object; it is about what happens while it is being made. Whether the drawing records someone trying to find something out or explain how to do something, the marks that make it up tend to have an immediacy that gives us a sense of the hand, or body or mind that directed the mark. That mark connects drawing with its moment of making. That mark happens in the present and is most alive when not anticipated. As Derrida writes, when ‘one anticipates the future by predetermining the instant of decision, then one closes it off’. (Derrida 2002: 231 -2) Drawing then, when it directly engages with the present without anticipation is, in Derrida’s terms, about decision. This instant of decision making, which can only take place in the present, is the temporal site of art making and in its rawest, most immediate mode, drawing. I am then, defining drawing by its ways of engaging with the temporality of making, rather than by its materials. Its materials, however, record that process, make it physical. Drawing, comes into being between event and trace; it embeds memory through its materiality. A drawn mark can contain or hold a moment of decision. It can embody a persistent experience or perception. This embodying of the transition between future and past is varied and exploratory. Drawing can explore, engage with and capture the nature of the present; the ways that it might either have distinct durations or flow fluidly between the past and the future in intangible and otherwise unmeasurable ways. Drawing enables the present to ‘endure, persist, remain.’ 9 Maryanne Coutts, Forgetting, 2009 Archibald, Sacha “Double Vision”, Modern painters, May (2009): 30. Augustine, (Trans. R.S. Pine-Coffin) (1961) TheConfessions, New York: Penguin, cited in Paul Ricoeur, (Trans. Kathleen McLaughlin and David Pellauer.)Time and Narrative, Volume 1. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984) p32 Davies, Paul About Time, (1996) New York: Simon and Schuster, p70 Derrida, Jacques, Negotiations, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002) Pp231-2 in Charlie Gere, Art, Time and TechnologyOxford: Berg, (2006) p27 Derrida, Jacques (trans. Pascale-Anne Brault and Michael Naas) (2007) Memoires of the Blind: The Self Portrait and Other Ruins, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 10 p48 E.H. Gobrich, (2002), Art and Illusion: A study n the psychology of pictorial representation London: Phaidon Press. Gere, Charlie (2006) Art, Time and Technology Oxford: Berg, p27 E.H. Gmobrich, (2002), Art and Illusion: A study n the psychology of pictorial representation London: Phaidon Press, Kittler, F. (1990), Discourse Networks 1800 /1900, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 191. in Gere 54 Kovats, Tania, (Ed) (2007) The Drawing Book: A survey of Drawing as the primary means of Expression, London: Black Dog. p9 Le Goff, Jacques (Trans. Steven Rendall and Elizabeth Claman) (1992) History and Memory, New York: Columbia University Press, p1. Paul Ricoeur, (Trans. Kathleen Blamey and David Pellauer) (2006), Memory, History, Forgetting, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, p32 Paul Ricoeur, (Trans. Kathleen McLaughlin and David Pellauer.)Time and Narrative, Volume 1. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984) p32 Schopenhauer, Arthur (Trans. E.F.J. Payne) Parerga and Paralipomena: Short Philosophical essays, Oxford: Clarendon Press, (1974) Quoted in Davies. p70. Smith, Kiki, in Kovats, Tania, (Ed) (2007) The Drawing Book: A survey of Drawing as the primary means of Expression, London: Black Dog. p250 Sobel, Dava (1999) Galileo’s Daughter, New York, Penguin. 11