How I’m still so fascinated by the sign of nature reclaiming abandoned towns. Whenever my eyes glaze over at the only painting on my wall – my reproduction of the iconic cover of Yokohama Kaidaishi Kikou – the flowing thoughts all reflect the same crystallized distinction between the animosity towards insect-like humans and the admiration for noble trees, which is time and again strengthened by numerous other imagery to help develop a kind of aesthetics that glides among the green, the worn-off, weary tranquility, dreamy desolation – and perhaps most important of all – that is devoid of explicit human elements.
It would seem rather unrelated that on one summer afternoon, in a hazy daydream I read that even when I listen to music alone, it is a social experience*. The evoked thoughts and emotions may or may not be what the artists hoped to convey. But the process creates a sense of connection, as if I found someone with whom I share something in common – I’m sure I don’t appreciate music purely through its sound design. To achieve the sense, of course, requires some imagination, but it doesn’t render it false**. The same goes for reading, and… looking at paintings. The only thing that makes this idea seem a bit odd to me at first sight is – apart from the implication that everything I do is a
balloon craving for social interaction – that the communication is not real-time and often one-way. But that’s all there is to it once I see it.
The soul searching was prompted following a regrettably brutal declaration during a conversation:”Humans are ugly; trees are beautiful; if I was to choose only one species to preserve, I’ll gladly let the human beings die.”*** It seemed to me so true that I could be easily delighted in nature motifs in paintings however they are portrayed, whereas I could hardly appreciate any human figures. But it’s actually because I’m more sensitive to human facial/body recognition than to anything else; I never developed that kind of nuanced standards for trees to differentiate the charming from the lesser among them. I am just like anyone else in this regard, however the opposite I strive to be. Habitual behaviors betray my nature when the thoughts didn’t notice. And the irony rose to the middle of my consciousness conspicuous and hot.
What am I really seeing in me when I gaze up into my bedroom painting? I gradually recall the primal reason was that I wish for a slow-mo, buoyant type of life with infinite time at my disposal, just like Alpha does. This could only happen after the colony size of the “human-insects” starts to decline. And why have I always shied away from depicting humans in my drawings? For I fear my skills could not live up to my picky eyes for human figures. In other words, straightforward cowardice.
Indeed, one who appreciates art cannot, by definition, be misanthropic. What’s more, one who seeks seclusion might in fact be addicted to socializing, in a certain sense.
* I had always thought I read it in one of Boards of Canada’s interviews. But I reread all what bocpages.org has and found no evidence. Apparently I was dreaming.
** M.A. van Bemmel, ‘We are Superjews, Ajax is the name’ – A study of the Jewish identity of Ajax supporters, Universiteit van Amsterdam, 2012.
*** It is regrettable that things I say in conversations always tend to be an oversimplification of what I really think. But in this case I guess the statements didn’t deviate too much from my long-held beliefs.