Using Buddhism to Understand Abstract Art--and Vice Versa

"Convergence" by Jackson Pollock (1952)

We've all heard the common saying about many famous pieces of abstract modern art--"my five year old could paint that," someone comments. The attitude seems to be one of utter disappointment, as if someone has wrongly received recognition in a field that has a clear aesthetic standard. Then there are those who seem to stare away at these canvases so curiously decorated by the likes of Henri Matisse, Jackson Pollock, or Wassily Kandinsky. "I don't understand it," they say, searching for meaning. Then there are students of art history, who study Italian Futurism and the Cubism of Picasso and Braque, reading commentaries from the artists themselves, from their contemporaries, from critics, and comparing the art to the social environment that surrounded the art, influenced it--or perhaps produced it some may say. And when finally someone stands before a perplexing painting and says "ah, I get it," can any of us really help but wonder if they are only pretending? Does it seem, perhaps, rather arrogant, to proclaim to understand all the subtlety, the complexity, or the simplicity, or to even derive meaning where there may never have been any intended? Thus is the enigmatic effect of abstract art. We see it no less psychologically than we do aesthetically or visually.

Pablo Picasso stated in an interview that "we all know that Art is not the truth." He continued, "Art is a lie that makes us realize the truth, at least the truth that is given to us to understand." Such an ambiguous statement seems fitting for much of Picasso's later work, and furthermore perhaps in tune with the times. Transcendentalism was ages old by Picasso's time, but a Western interest in Buddhism, along with Taoism, Hinduism, and Eastern Philosophy in general was on an unrelenting rise. Many of these modes of thought floated the idea of the world as an illusion. The idea is hardly new in Europe, however--Plato's "Allegory of the Cave" presents a similar idea, explaining that in a sense humans are only seeing the shadows cast on a wall by a burning fire, rather than that which actually produces the shadows. In other words, again, the world is an illusion. Existence is not real, or not what it appears. We don't truly see. And hence, we are like that variety of standers-by who gaze on abstract art and belt out our conclusions on the experience.

Plato's Cave (by Allen Koontz)

The very same sort of dilemma, however, is presented in Buddhism across the centuries--whether it is ancient Mahayana scriptures, or more recent--and cryptic--Zen Buddhism from Japan to San Francisco. Zen Koans particularly come to mind. These short, poem like scripts aim to teach a lesson through an indecipherable parable. The mystery is whether there is really some hidden meaning to a Koan, or whether the silliness of it is intended to drive the learner toward or away from some idea. All that can really be concluded, from our laymen perspective, is that a Koan serves to nudge one toward finding truth. The whole concept is oddly similar to Picasso's statement. The controversy around Koans is similar to that around abstract art.

A fine example of a Koan is as follows:

A monk told Joshu, "I have just entered the monastery. Please teach me."

Joshu asked, "Have you eaten your rice porridge?

The monk replied, "I have eaten."

Joshu said, "Then you had better wash your bowl."

At that moment the monk was enlightened.

The interpretation is open to all. While these Koans often tell the story of legendary Zen masters, even more traditional sutras following the more familiar Buddha can convey a similar lesson, and leave the reader just as puzzled. In fact, the Flower Sermon seems to have the very raw intention of highlighting the entire experience of trying to understand the indescribable, whether it is Zen philosophy or Fauvist art. It reads, in one translation:

Toward the end of his life, the Buddha took his disciples to a quiet pond for instruction. As they had done so many times before, the Buddha’s followers sat in a small circle around him, and waited for the teaching.  But this time the Buddha had no words. He reached into the muck and pulled up a lotus flower. And he held it silently before them, its roots dripping mud and water.The disciples were greatly confused. Buddha quietly displayed the lotus to each of them.  In turn, the disciples did their best to expound upon the meaning of the flower: what it symbollized, and how it fit into the body of Buddha’s teaching.When at last the Buddha came to his follower Mahakasyapa, the disciple suddenly understood. He smiled and began to laugh.  Buddha handed the lotus to Mahakasyapa and began to speak.“What can be said I have said to you,” smiled the Buddha, “and what cannot be said, I have given to Mahakashyapa.”  Mahakashyapa became Buddha’s successor from that day forward. 

The ending seems to be similar in both the Koan and the sermon--the one who understands does so suddenly, and it is more than understanding. It is enlightenment, it is bliss. In Buddhism, such a bliss is a result not so much of the teaching, but of the individual overcoming the obstacle of self. Furthermore, Buddhism sees enlightenment as something one keeps within, rather than expressing outwardly. It is not an achievement to brag of, and it is said that one who claims enlightenment is not truly enlightened, but rather the truly enlightened are hidden among us.

The Flower Sermon

And so we come back to abstract art. The very arrival at understanding of a piece of abstract art can be likened to the idea of Buddhist enlightenment--it is a realization that does not call for a monologue. The meaning of the art may be indecipherable, or it may simply depend on the mind of the observer. The mind of the artist also seems to matter quite a bit, but really the accomplishment of such works of art is the way they influence viewers to search for interpretation and find some meaning that is fundamentally human rather than sophisticated and complex. And that meaning does not have to be ubiquitous, universal among all, but is open to interpretation. Such is Buddhist philosophy, and in the end it is true that in neither art nor Buddhism is there any indesputable authority besides your own. Understanding what the art truly means is as difficult to grasp as who you and I truly are, both independent of one another and as an inseparable whole.

Does your brain hurt yet? At the very least all this talk should have you thinking, examining yourself and the meaning of all that you perceive, and that is the essence of art, self, and existence.