The Art of Seeing Differently

By MAIA SCOTT

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

 

During a recent visit to Yosemite, I turned off the road to encounter… a lovely figure with up stretched arms, or a stumpy old tree? My love of dance, ritual, and spirit made that answer pretty obvious. And the camera and paints did tell the same tale of her quiet dance in the woods. (Photograph and painting by Maia Scott)

Color, shape, and movement play an important role in my creative process. I am also visually impaired, somewhere in the no-mans-land between “Legally Blind” and “Totally Blind." I count on a guide dog to help me stay safe. Yet, I appreciate a good art exhibit or dance performance as much as the next arts enthusiast. Early on, I learned not to count on sighted people to describe for me cold, hard facts about what they’re seeing at shows and exhibits. I went through an exhibit several times; once with a family member, docent, work friends, and audio guide. Each pointed out to me different elements of the works, causing me to “See” the collection as if from each of their points of view. In this, I discovered that our vision, like many other aspects of life, is subjective; and everyone (including me) sees things differently.

 

Remember sprawling in the fragrant summer grass looking up and identifying pictures in the clouds? Or, how about gazing at a cracked wall long enough that it reveals hidden images? And then there are such magical places as the North Bay’s Mount Tamalpias that turns out to be a sleeping princess when you stop to admire her quiet presence.

When I go hiking, I am rewarded with scene-scapes that are reminiscent of Monet’s impressions of his surroundings. And an evening at the ballet offers up a living Degas painting, complete with soft edges and supposed depth of space. Riding the underground during commute time feels like a Salvador Dali painting choreographed for the Rockettes.

 As a partially sighted visual artist and performer life is rarely mundane.  Color and motion conspire to provide me with randomly helpful cues to my surroundings, while simultaneously stirring up bits of fantasy to tempt my every creative whim.  The beauty of my limited sight is just that.  Do I feel like playing with shadow or light today?  I’m going to notice everything that goes up… or sparkles… or swirls like a dervish of crunchy leaves.

Life, art, and seeing hold similar properties; For certain, they are all open to interpretation.  As one who could easily talk to a mailbox, recycle the rent check, and proudly slam-dunk an empty bottle into an old lady’s lap while waiting for the bus to take me to work, I am well aware of how much I rely upon the art of interpretation and filling in the blanks on the fly.  Seeing with my other senses, including intuition, along with canine (guide dog) sensibility provide me with a greater part of that which informs my art processes – and just what I need for a graceful exit stage left should the above scenario occur.