By Mariam Sidani | Staff Writer
My drawing professor once said that the pursuit of perceiving with the eye is much different than with the camera. One student spoke up then, saying it’s exactly the same— it yields an identical result. The camera has a lens. It sees the exact same way. The professor didn’t really have an answer to that despite him being quite right. Perhaps because the student was quite defensive about the camera lens being identical to the eye, he wanted to let it go and avoid delving into a philosophical debate. But now that I’m thinking about it, the journey of perception is what defines the difference. It’s similar to the notion of AI formulating a quick decision in contrast to wading through the process of acquiring the ripe fruit of conclusion by oneself. It’s more about the chase of understanding rather than the simple answer that comes by. So when one takes in something, it’s the internal journey that yields perception. It’s the workings of the mind that spark and ignite while scrutinizing an object’s features. The camera gives the answer, yes, but it’s devoid of the details and nuances that the raw, beautifully flawed, and hopelessly subjective intellect of ours forms.
The very reason art has value is because we produce it. It’s because we are souls in a mortal shell. It might seem like something overwhelmingly commonplace, but we don’t really understand how utterly amazing the very nature of our souls is. It’s so feeble, eternal, and utterly undefinable.
Our experience as humans through this life is poetry and art in of itself. That’s what makes a camera lens different from your eyes. When an object is looked at, everyone perceives it according to their experiences and genetics. It’s the synapses firing. It’s the way the light hits at this specific spot this very moment that evokes a sense of nostalgia, perhaps? Or be it anger, or yearning. Maybe fear? It’s not just a moment captured, but a feeling captured. And though a camera can serve to remind, I think looking at it then and there is unique, for it comes from the sensitive spontaneity of our souls. Such vibrance and complexity that man-made objects can only mimic.
Art is valuable because it comes from the rawness of the world around us. That clumsy but infinitely constant course of nature flows and ebbs from the very tips of your fingers, and drips down your teeth like honey as you read poetry. It’s more than a product. It’s not a result. It’s about feeling through the process and savoring every moment of it. From the moment an idea is born to the execution and result, it’s not just about analysis and defining the core elements of it, but it’s feeling it rush through your veins. Feeling can encompass so much, perhaps too much. It’s working with and against conventions. It’s spiteful, it’s harmonious— it’s art.
We need art because we are art. It’s not pretension, it’s truth. I find that everything we do is an artistic endeavor. To appreciate art is to remember one’s humanity. Every idiosyncrasy and slip of the tongue, every synapse, even the rhythm of your lungs, is a marvel. The distinct curve of the figure, the softness and rigid rippling of flesh, how are we so accustomed to such wonder? Seeing such majesty as customary may be the biggest sin of all; How lucky we are to live amidst such brutal brash beauty. And perhaps if we are indeed in luck we might have the chance to perceive and truly, finally feel it.