Written by Eva Milne, title design by Heidi Le.
How do you feel when you look at a breathtaking painting? Is it awe, curiosity, a completely overwhelming feeling you can’t quite describe? A desperate need to stay in the moment and never leave it?
Although all physical interactions with art are fleeting and transient on some level, I do believe that the experience of viewing a masterpiece leads to something lasting in the mind.
Art and transience have a complicated relationship because, on one level, we consume a piece, it is over, and we continue with an awareness that all experiences are ephemeral. However, art attempts to capture and express something meaningful against the backdrop of this impermanence. A painting, a piece of music, or a poem can preserve the essence of a particular time, place, or emotion, allowing it to be experienced by future generations. In this way, art serves as a bridge between past, present, and future.
Art is perhaps one of the only permanent things in human history where we have physical remains to support the study of our past civilisations. Art is part of our historical and cultural legacy, surviving long after the original context or the artist has passed. Ancient sculptures, paintings, and literature still speak to us today, carrying forward the beliefs and aesthetic sensibilities of long-gone civilisations, allowing us to understand the past and navigate the presence. This endurance implies art’s rejection of transience.
Back in December I visited the Art Institute of Chicago, and I still think about it most days. What made it particularly special was the French Impressionism exhibition which hosts the works of Van Gogh, Monet, and Renoir. What it felt like to view the works of Monet on such a grand scale is indescribable. Although the physical attributes of the paintings were astounding, it is the enlightening memory which lives with me. To quote an interpretation of John Dewey’s Theory of Art, it woke me up ‘from the dream-like state of daily repetition and forced me to confront life consciously and non-automatically.’ Perhaps it was the fact I was in a new city at one of the world’s major museums, or that I experienced it with friends, or that this affirmed my love for impressionism (yes, I now have two coffee table books)—but it did snap me out of mundane reality into a colourful revelatory experience, which Dewey says is what makes life worth living.
In general, paintings often try to deceive transience. By being presented in grand frames, the assertion of its physical presence means that consumers do not realise that their interaction with the object will later become a memory. There comes a point whilst viewing a masterpiece where you need to blink and walk away, no matter how long you want it to last. I do find it depressing that all I have left of viewing Monet is just a memory, however, it wouldn’t be so sacred if I could relive the experience perpetually.
The relationship between experience and memory is complicated, as we can have multiple interactions with the same work of art. Our immediate experiences come to mind when thinking of art, although it is fluid, dynamic, and often multi-sensory. Experiencing art is not just about visual observation, it involves other senses, particularly with immersive and interactive art forms. This holistic experience combines the physical presence of the piece with emotional reactions, creating a lasting memory.
Memory and experience intertwine when viewing a piece more than once. For example, when I am back home in (depressingly grey) Aberdeen, one of my favourite things to do is visit the Art Gallery. All the artwork remains the same, except from exhibitions, yet I engage with the works in a new way each visit. The combination of multiple experiences and memories leads to a deeper understanding of a work of art. With each visit, my perception of an artwork becomes a blend of the immediate experience and the accumulated memories of past interactions.
The Digital Age we find ourselves in slightly disrupts transience because it means that we can view photos of our experiences over and over again. Although this doesn’t match up with the real moment, it does mean it can be relived to some extent. Once digitised, all art loses its sanctity and is just another form of electronic information.
W.H. Auden describes the frustrating nature of time perfectly—‘O not let Time deceive you, you cannot conquer Time’—and basically mocks my theory all together. Although we can relive interactions with art through memory (to some extent), this isn’t a defiance of the all-consuming doom that time is always moving, that all experiences are transient. As much as we consume art, or food, or any experience, we are only left with the lasting memory of that interaction afterward.
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