I Stare At Paintings And Feel Nothing. Help!

A thought experiment on art as therapy — or a scam

Browsing the Alte Pinakothek in Munich, I realized I didn’t know how to do it. Everyone around me was doing it, and at quite a clip. They had to, seeing as there are over 700 pieces in this collection alone.

And then there’s the nearby Neue Pinakothek and the Pinakothek der Moderne. They house works from the 17th-century on up to the present-day— but pump the brakes. I was still stuck in the 14th-century at the Alte Pinakothek.

Era didn’t hold me captive. Technique did. And not the technique of the artist. The technique of myself as an audience member, a viewer. I hadn’t ever learned to be a viewer of creative achievement as I did something as forgettable as Fibonacci’s sequence.

What gives? Mustn’t it beg the question:

How does one appreciate art?

Is it possible to be both a TV watcher and an art buff, even a casual? Can interests from such distant times in history come together in one person?

Most of those around me were well into their fifties and looked the part. It couldn’t have been a coincidence they were all confidently moving from section to section, while I was moving in motion.

Maybe it was an act, and they were experienced enough to play along. Maybe it boiled down to generational differences.

Or so I thought until I spotted an elderly gentleman in the corner resting his hand in his palm. Here was a beautiful canvas before him depicting a lonely flea-catcher, and he wasn’t enchanted?

I questioned whether everyone else was consciously faking their way through the process. You know, Asch’s Conformity Experiment. Peer pressure to do as others do for fear of being mocked or considered weird.

But their gazes were so steadfast, their comments so poetic, it couldn’t be. They were legitimate buffs all right. Not casuals.

I’d recently read Alain de Botton’s The Architecture of Happiness. He’d found charm in a symmetrical façade. Surely a Titian from the 1500s could get me close to the modern sensation Drake described: To be put “in my feelings”.

I returned to my hostel and sat on my bunk for a couple of hours.

There were other things to worry about, like if it was more economical to take a bus or tram to Schloss Nymphenburg tomorrow. But I couldn’t live out the rest of my life avoiding museums because I didn’t know how to do it. Or worse, pretending I did know how and lying about the effect such and such a gallery had on me.

20+ galleries and five years later, however, I’ve accepted these general guidelines as pretty handy for when I’m confronted with art.

Ignore the exhibit label

Don’t mind that little plaque of information. It’s usually the artist’s name and sometimes a descriptive blurb. Keep your eyes off it.

By looking at it, you’ve already biased your mind.

“It’s a Picasso? Picasso’s supposed to be one of the greats,” is what you’ll tell yourself.

And you’ll either a) automatically give your stamp of approval because it’s a Picasso or b) automatically write it off because it’s a Picasso.

Just the name Picasso will send subliminal messages straight to your mind. Whether you love or hate famous artists is totally up to you. The point is you’ve lost all objectivity.

Skip that and go in raw. Step up and focus on what’s in the frame.

Once you’re ready to move on, have at the exhibit label. As it sinks it, see if your opinion’s changed. Mine usually does.

Don’t overanalyze

Believe it or not, counting the number of petals on a flower probably won’t end in an “a-ha!” moment. Staring and staring may also not be super fruitful.

This isn’t to say the artist didn’t pay attention to detail. But digging too deep and parsing apart too much might lead you to believe there’s significance where there isn’t. The technical term is pareidolia, which is when, for instance, you perceive a face in a rocky, pitted surface.

Try to observe broadly. If something stands out, home in on it. If a memory or association is triggered, explore it.

The bottom line: Let the artwork freely flow into you and don’t force anything.

Mix it up

Kill your darlings. Sort of.

By this I mean get out of your comfort zone. Test the limits of your aesthetic. If you’re devoted to Impressionism, bring yourself to at least have a glance at other schools and movements (I recommend Surrealism). If you normally go for self-portraits, experiment with landscapes, and vice versa.

I’ve discovered (without planning to) treasures that were under my nose the whole time. What prevented me from enjoying them was the “consensus crowd”. This is the crowd that distracts you from nearby masterpieces.

Just take The Wedding at Cana. Never heard of it? That’s because it’s across from the Mona Lisa.

So if you can, stretch those legs some more and have a walk around every square foot of the place. You might strike gold.

Have (a little) theory of mind

Some argue that attempting to figure out what the artist was up to is counterproductive. We’ll never know. Why bother?

With books as well. For all the literary analysis of novels out there, will we ever truly have a definitive idea of what was in the writer’s head?

But, having theory of mind isn’t about facts. It’s about possibility. Of course certainty is out of the question. That’s the fun of it. Interpretation is in our ballpark and we call the shots. Isn’t the subjective element what distinguishes the humanities from other disciplines?

What mood could the artist have sought to evoke with a lavender field? What is a lavender field to me?

How about a battle scene in the country? Was it just violence the artist had in mind, or the inevitability of human conflict? What are they to me?

Being open-minded is essential. I’m most comfortable when I acknowledge the possibilities of a work. Whichever vibes with me is my unique perspective, and I run with it.

While this isn’t a foolproof, airtight, surefire way to understand art, it’s worked for me.

To put a finer point on it: Approach art as you would anything else — with open arms and without an agenda. If you can manage that, you’ll stare and maybe, just maybe, feel something.