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A feeling for words: Arnheim on language
The Arts in Psychotherapy, Vol. 21, No. 4, pp. 261-267, 1994 Copyright 0 1994 Elsevier Science Ltd
Pergamon
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0197-4556(94)00031-X
A FEELING FOR WORDS: ARNHEIM
MARGERY
B . FRANKLIN,
ON LANGUAGE’
PhD*
(b) sees perception as the “lower” process, bound to the immediate and particular and (c) views reasoning, concept formation and related operations as the higher mental processes-generalizing, rational, abstract. Arguing that the traditional view misconstrues both the nature of perception and the nature of thinking, Arnheim proposed that the operations of thinking-exploration, grasping of essentials, selection, abstraction, problem solving, analysis and synthesis-are operations that can be, and are, carried out in and through visual perception. Thus we have visual thinking. Seeing is thinking. Three points are important here. First, under perception, Amheim includes visual imagery that occurs in the absence of an external stimulus. He thus extends the meaning of the term beyond its traditional usage in psychology.
In a recent seminar concerned with relations between language and thinking, we talked about the idea that language interpenetrates with thought, that language is the medium through which thought is embodied and given form. An articulate student responded with some doubt: “I understand that idea, but it’s not my experience. I think in images. When I’m thinking through something-whether it’s choreographing a dance or solving a math problem, or even differences between theories, it’s as if there were shapes and I move them around in my mind. . . . ” “What you’ve just said supports Amheim’s ideas,” I responded. Following the seminar, the student approached me. “I’ve been trying to understand, and to explain to others, how I think . . . and now it’s as if a door is about to open. The class today has changed my life. What did you say the person’s name is? And what can I read? . . .” “His name is Rudolf Amheim. You could begin with two essays (I gave her the references) and then you could go to his book, Visual 1947/1966a, 1969, Thinking . . . ” (Arnheim, 1986a). “Thank you,” she said. “No,” I said to myself, “you’ll have to thank Amheim. You will be joining those legions of students who have been instructed and inspired by him. ” In Visual Thinking, Amheim developed an idea that is prefigured in much of his earlier work. At the risk of oversimplifying (and I am oversimplifying here), Amheim suggested that we are victims of a tradition that (a) separates perception from thinking,
Some take the term [perception] very narrowly to describe only what is received by the senses at the time when they are stimulated by the outer environment. This definition is too narrow for the purposes of this book [Visual Thinking] because it excludes the imagery present when a person, with eyes closed or inattentive, thinks of what is or could be. (1969, p. 16) Second, visual imagery can be specific, particular (the image of a particular thing), but it can also be schematic, generalizing, abstract-the kind of imag-
* Margery Franklin, Professor of Psychology at Sarah Lawrence College, Bronxville, NY, has written on children’s language and play, developmental theory, and psychology of artistic development. Her most recent work is a co-edited volume, Development and the Arts: Crirical Perspectives (1994). She is past President of the Division of Psychology and the Arts of the American Psychology Association. ’ This paper is based on a talk, “Leitmotifs in Rudolf Amheim’s Psychology of Art,” presented at the meetings of the University Council on Art Education, New York City, April 11, 1992. I thank Charlotte Doyle for a series of enlightening conversations about aspects of Amheim’s work. 261
MARGERY ery I believe my student was describing when she said that she moves shapes around in her mind. Indeed, shapes have a particular place in Amheim’s theory of visual thinking. They are the stuff of visual concepts: “Thoughts need shape, and shape must be derived from some medium” (1969, p. 226). Images vary in level of abstractness, but even the most abstract must be “structurally similar (isomorphic) to the pertinent features of the situations for which the thinking shall be valid” (1969, p. 227). Third, Amheim proposed that “vision is the primary medium of thought” (1969, p. 18, italics added). As suggested, to understand Amheim’s claim that vision is the primary medium of thinking, one must first grasp that under vision he includes visual imagery that occurs in the absence of external stimulation, and an array of activities or operations (see above). It is important to keep in mind that the term rhinking is used broadly but selectively. It does not refer to the kinds of mental processes generally described under the heading of feelings or emotions. On the other hand, Amheim’s idea of thinking is not limited to the kinds of logical analysis and problemsolving that take center stage in many discussions of so-called “higher mental processes.” Rather, it refers to activities that range from my attempt to construct a mental map of my immediate surroundings, to my student’s use of imagery in choreographing a dance piece, to the artist’s development of representational equivalents for ideas. In the process of developing his theoretical position, Amheim repeatedly attacks those who see language rather than vision as the primary medium for thinking, the means through which we formulate and clarify ideas, not merely communicate them. For example, in the essay “The Myth of the Bleating Lamb” (1966b), he dismissed the view that how we categorize things in the world is strongly influenced by the linguistic terms our culture provides for a particular domain of experience. In Visual Thinking, we find out more about the deficiencies of language as a medium of thought. Language, unlike visual imagery, does not lend itself to the formation of structural equivalents. Words and sentences do not convey meaning in and through their form. Purely verbal thinking is the prototype of thoughtless thinking . . . It is not useless but sterile. What makes language so valuable for thinking, then, cannot be thinking in words. It must be the help that words lend to thinking
B. FRANKLIN while it operates in a more appropriate medium, such as visual imagery. (Arnheim, 1969, p. 232) More specifically, language functions indirectly by “pointing to the references of words and propositions, that is, to facts given in an entirely different medium” (p. 228). We could stop here, with the idea that Amheim gives language a role but views it negatively as a medium for genuine thinking. However, if we delve further into Amheim’s work, we find another leitmotif&-one that initially seems quite at variance with the theme just identified. First, we cannot help notice that Amheim is a superb writer, and we suspect that only someone who loves the medium can write with such strength, clarity and grace. Only a person deeply attuned to language can use it so effectively to bring forth the contours, textures and nuances of ideas. Continuing our travels on this path, we find that Amheim has a deep and abiding interest in poetry. In the essay, “Abstract language and the Metaphor” (1948/1966c), he traced changes in successive drafts of poems by several poets. This microdevelopmental analysis is akin to the analysis of Picasso’s work on Guernica (Amheim, 1962). Amheim discussed two versions of part of a poem by Stephen Spender. The first version: What is the use now of meeting and speaking: Always when we meet I think of another meeting Always when we speak 1 think of another speaking
This was transformed
into:
Oh what is the use now of our meeting and speaking Since every meeting is thinking of another meeting Since all my speaking is groping for another speaking
the first version Arnheim wrote: “Although makes the situation quite clear, it stresses, in the syntactic structure of its second and third lines, practically relevant aspects instead of the poetically pp. 272-273). He crucial ones . . .” (1948/1966c, continued: [T]he analysis of poetic manipulation suggests . . . that linguistic form is not obtained directly from the primary experience but must be considered a re-creation within the medium, sub-
ARNHEIM ON LANGUAGE ject to the particularities of the medium. (19481 1966c, p. 273) Poetic language, then, escapes the criticism levelled against some other kinds of language-the language of “practical usage” and, perhaps, the usual kind of academic writing. The poet, in Amheim’s view, draws deeply on the expressive properties of language-properties of sound and rhythm that directly convey feelings such as happiness or sadness. The poet draws also on the structural possibilities of syntactic arrangement and rearrangement, as seen in the example of Spender’s work cited above. In the poetic mode, the meanings of words interpenetrate with sensuous properties. And the poet, like the visual artist, works toward creating structural equivalents of ideas and feelings in a medium. Amheim suggested that by “reformulating his description in a fashion that is strange to practical usage, the poet achieves a closer correspondence of form and meaning” (1948/ 1966c, p. 273). It seems that the use of language for getting things done in the everyday world, and for labelling and hanging abstract scientific concepts, may pull against the exploration and use of language as an expressive medium. Re-reading Parables of Sunlight (1989), Arnheim’s selection of his journal writings, I found that Amheim not only writes about poetry but has explored some of its forms. Two of the many haiku included in Parables of sunlight (Arnheim, pp. 13,101): Ears and eyes at night Pattern of wooden sandals But I see no street Quite early the thrush After the silence of night Made the longest speech Finally, we discover that Amheim has written about writing. In “Writers’ Pointers” (Arnheim, 198911992)) he encouraged the writer to “recover the sensuous tangibility” of words, and to use metaphor to drive “an issue home in the abstract medium of conceptual language.” Drawing upon these resources
of language, the writer will be able to maintain (and, in fact, to build) connections between “verbal abstractions . . . [and] . . . the concrete matters they intend to elucidate” (p. 56). We see, then, that Amheim’s view of language in relation to thinking is complex, not uniformly negative as we might have thought at first, but not uncritical. Amheim casts a skeptical gaze on purely “practical” language as a source of ideas and warns against over-valuing “scientific” language as a medium for thinking. He acknowledged that the “conceptual medium of language is a most human gift” (198911992, p. 56) and grants that, in its labelling function, it can contribute significantly to creating order. But Amheim values most highly the language of poetry, and expressive language more generally. Language rooted in a concrete, sensuous base is a language of possibilities. The puzzle or surface inconsistency in Amheim’s view of language is thus resolved by seeing that Amheim distinguishes three modes of using language: the practical or pragmatic, the scientific or purely conceptual and the poetic. The latter includes, but extends beyond, the use of language in poetry per se. Practical or pragmatic language is used to get things done and to report simple events in the everyday world. Scientific or conceptual language enables us to label, categorize and arrange abstract ideas, and so contributes to theory building.* Only poetic language provides a medium for productive thinking, a medium through which ideas and feelings are given body and transformed, through which relations among parts are displayed and understood.3 Before taking a closer look at Amheim’s concept of poetic language, let me suggest that the different modes of using language are not simply options that are casually assumed or dropped at whim. Rather, they are linked to fundamentally different orientations that a person may take in accordance with his or her intentions and the various demands and possibilities of a situation. Cassirer (1979) commented on the changed stance toward language that occurs when one enters the aesthetic sphere: . . . as soon as we enter the aesthetic sphere all our words seem to undergo a sudden change.
’ At one point, Amheim suggested that categoty naming diffe~ntiates levels of abstractness (e.g., animal, m~mai, feline, domestic cat, etc.) as perhaps imagery does not (1969, pp. 238-239). ’ At some points, I use the phrase “poetic language” as shorthand for “poetic use of Ianguage.” As suggested above, I am not referring to the language of poetry per se, but to a certain mode of using language.
MARGERY They are not only significant in an abstract way; they are, so to speak, fused and melted with their meanings. If a practical man, say an engineer, who wishes to construct a railway or a canal, gives us a description of a certain area, or if a geographer or geologist describes the same region in scientific terms and for theoretical purposes, they are very far from any aesthetic mode of expression, from a lyrical poem or the painting of a landscape .” (p. 159) Although Arnheim does not map the mind in terms of different spheres of experience, or tend to ascribe changes in experience to shifts in intention, we find some significant points of convergence between his statements and Cassirer’s.4 First, we note that Cassirer’s distinction among practical, scientific and aesthetic modes of expression parallels Amheim’s designation of practical, scientific and poetic modes. Second, Cassirer grouped poetry and painting together under the aesthetic, suggesting that however different these forms, they are amenable to some similar analyses. Third, Cassirer’s point that in the aesthetic sphere words are fused with their meanings is consonant with Amheim’s emphasis on the sensuous base of poetic language. A distinction among different modes of using language was also proposed by Jakobson (1960) who identified referential, emotive, conative, contact, metalingual and poetic functions. The poetic function promotes the “palpability of signs” (p. 356), the sensuous aspect of words, which Jakobson illustrated outside the realm of poetry as well as within it. For example: A girl used to talk about the horrible Harry. Why horrible? Because I hate him. But why not dreadful, terrible, frightful, disgusting? I don’t know why, but horrible fits him better. (p. 357) In this case, it may be the alliteration of “horrible” and “Harry” that governs choice, rather than some “fit” between the sound of the word and the sense of a person. Amheim provides us with a clear example of connection between the sound of a word and its referent:
4 This should not obscure their fundamental (see Amheim, 1969, Ch. 13).
disagreement
B. FRANKLIN When the meaning of a word is not known, its sound and its ingredients of particular connotation may conjure up a distinct referent. Antimacassar is to me a mastodontic battlewagon, and the dictionary’s assurance that the word designates a delicate backrest cover is not strong enough to dispel the barbarous vision. (1989, P. 96) What is it about the word antimicassar that conjures up one image rather than another? Perhaps the sharp sounds of “t” and “c” as well as the word’s syllabic structure. The idea that particular sounds, or patterns of sound, fit some meanings better than others is linked to the more general idea that forms have inherent expressive qualities. When piness in the 1974,
we watch a dancer, the sadness or hapof the mood seems to be directly inherent movements themselves. (Amheim, 1954/ p. 428)
Amheim’s point is not only that forms are, or can be, expressive but that apprehending expression does not depend on a history of learned associations. We do not see the downward bending movement of the dancer as sad simply because of cultural convention: there is something in the shape, tempo and rhythm of the gesture that shows sadness. This is not to deny that cultural leamings, as well as individual experience and proclivities, play important roles in the construction of meaning. Further, every form exists in a field of actual or potential forms that brings forth certain qualities and obscures others (so, for example, how jagged a line appears depends on its place in a total configuration). In a famous passage, Kohler quoted the German poet Morgenstem: “All seagulls look as though their name were Emma.” The sound of “Emma” as a name and the visual appearance of the bird indeed seem similar, remarked Kohler (1947, p. 224). But how can a sound be similar to a visual appearance? In Kohler’s view, such apprehended similarities are grounded in shared expressive or physiognomic properties. Such properties are, by their nature, not specific to a given sensory domain. Dimensions such as rough/smooth, tense/relaxed, hard/soft, clear/vague
on the role of language in relation to thinking and mental functioning
more generally
ARNHEIM
ON LANGUAGE
can be applied to different kinds of materials, and cross-modal equivalences or matchings readily made. Perhaps the name “Emma” suits the seagull because sound and object share qualities of smoothness, grace and rhythm. In numerous studies cited by Amheim it has been shown that adults have the ability to make matches, to form equivalences, between stimulus patterns from diverse domains-such as abstract line patterns and concept terms, series of dots and series of tapped sounds and so forth. The ability to make such matches with a high degree of consensuality provides support for the idea that connections are not made only on the basis of shared qualities, but in terms of corresponding pattern or structure. Such correspondence should not be thought of as a cool, point-to-point alignment between forms and meanings. Rather, Arnheim would emphasize the dynamic forces, the tensions and stresses, that are an inherent part of perceptual organization.5 In the process of constructing an appropriate form to convey his or her meaning, the poet-like the artist-shapes the meaning he or she seeks to present. In one version of a Spender poem, the first two lines read: Like a skater Who with sweeping
silk
Amheim tells us that in an earlier version, the first line was “Like dancers” (1948/1966c, p. 274). He suggested that the shift was guided by the realization that “dancer” was ambiguous, too encompassing, and that the partly submerged connotations of “skater” better conveyed a sense of distance or lack of emotional involvement. Perhaps “skater” also sounds colder and sharper, more emotionally detached, than “dancer’‘-and so, for double reasons, was deemed more effective. We see, then, that in poetry as in visual art, representation is a complex back-and-forth process between inventing forms in a medium and shaping the content to be conveyed.
’ On theories of expression, see Amheim, 1966d, pp. 6 In Amheim’s words: The approach of behaviorist psychology inquiry with the other person, observed more than thought. To account for such
51-73,
[Rlepresentation does not consist in the mere selection and combination of reality elements but rather in the construction of a fitting pattern drawn from a system of pre-existing forms. An experience meets an artistic medium, which possesses specific capacities of expression. The two have to put up with each other as best they can. (1948/1966c, p. 274) ***** Many people in the fields of psychology, art education and art therapy have been profoundly inspired and guided by the work of Rudolf Amheim. I have heard more than one visual artist remark that Amheim is the only psychologist whose work they find relevant to their concerns. To attempt any summary of Amheim’s contributions is far beyond the scope of this paper. However, I would like to point to some aspects of Amheim’s approach that I believe have been central forces in re-shaping psychology of the arts in our time. For too many years, psychology as an academic and scientific discipline suffered under the illusion that scientific knowledge could be advanced only through the use of laboratory experimentation involving manipulation of isolated variables under controlled conditions. This enterprise necessarily involved reducing complex phenomena to their simplest form. Suspicion about the reliability of subjects’ reports, and general disinterest in the question of how people experience their worlds, promoted an antiseptic and artificializini approach to the study of perception and thinking. It is not surprising that in this climate the development of psychological approaches to the arts and the study of aesthetic phenomena were sharply curtailed. Amheim is among the few psychologists who dared to stand outside the mainstream of American psychology in the 1940s and 195Os, to take a critical stance and to pursue the development of alternative theory. Like a naturalist or an astronomer, he held to the view that observation of naturally occurring phenomena is the starting point of scientific inquiry and analysis.
and 1954/1974,
Ch. X.
points conspicuously to a particular philosophical and social ideology. It starts its externally, rather than with the self, experienced internally. It values physical action bias, one must look beyond the arguments of science. (1989, p. 30)
266
MARGERY
Even as psychology became a more open field of inquiry, psychologists tended to assimilate phenomena of the arts to pre-established categories of theory, and continued to view the work of both child and adult artist primarily as an indicator of something presumably more basic. So, for example, psychoanalytic views interpret choice and use of materials, as well as selection and representation of subject matter, as clues to the artist’s emotional life and inner conflicts. From another perspective entirely, children’s drawings have been systematically treated as indices of intelligence (as measures of IQ) or intellectual development . These approaches, however useful in certain contexts, seriously limit our understanding. Amheim has been the central force in developing a view of art-making as an aesthetically and cognitively grounded activity that is characterized by complex interplay between use of a medium (or, to paraphrase Amheim, “inventions in a medium’ ‘) and articulation of themes or ideas. Amheim draws on Gestalt psychology as a conceptual framework, but shapes and re-invents theory to do justice to the phenomena with which he is concerned. In doing so, he provides an alternative to neo-behaviorist, cognitive-developmental and psychoanalytic approaches to the arts. Perhaps more than any other psychologist, Amheim has pointed to the centrality of the medium in artistic work and to the nature of the connection between the evolution of form and meaning. His study of Picasso’s work on Guernica is an exemplary microdevelopmental analysis of interaction between thematic material and visual representation. Recognizing that events of the outside world, as well as the artist’s personal concerns, may play an important role in the origins of a painting or other work of art, Amheim focuses on how change is generated within the work, showing how one move sets up conditions that lead in an understandable way to the next. Three interrelated aspects of this study have been highly influential. First, intensive study ofa single instance makes clear how effective a case study method can be for psychological studies of the arts and creative work more generally (Gardener, 1993; Gruber, 1989). Second, Amheim’s analysis of the development of the work shows us how to look within the work, rather than outside it, to understand its origins and evolution. It should be noted that this constitutes an alternative to
B. FRANKLIN traditional cause/effect models of change. Third, in Genesis ofu Painting (1962), as in other places, Amheim conceptualizes development in terms of movement from one phase to the next, but does not cram phenomena into the categories or sequences of readymade stage theory.7 Rather, he shapes theoretical conceptualization to fit the phenomena and leads us to re-think developmental trajectories. Over many years, Amheim has been a significant voice in my work as a psychologist interested in the arts. As a graduate student, I explored how nondepictive line patterns can be used for the representation of concepts. My teacher, Heinz Werner, a psychologist of the European school who knew Amheim as well as his work, steered me to Amheim’s writings. I recall first reading “The Gestalt Theory of Expression” (1949/1966d) and then, on my own and no doubt impelled by my interest in the arts, discovering Art and Visual Perception (1954/ 1974). Many years later, I conducted, in collaboration with two colleagues, a study on how titles affect the interpretation of paintings. In the course of this work, we carried on an imagined dialogue with Amheim. Our findings showed that when people viewed the same painting with different titles, their descriptions of the painting changed but their patterns of attention did not. Attention was tracked by asking subjects to use a pointer to show where they were looking. In our paper, we wrote: Our data on pointing patterns indicate that change of title does not affect where viewers look or, by implication, how they organize the visual array. In other words, the spatial organization of the visual array seems to remain fairly stable across changes of title. Such findings lend support to the view that visual qualities and forces of organization inherent in the artwork determine how it is perceived, a view most eloquently articulated by Rudolf Arnheim. (Franklin, Becklen, & Doyle, 1993, p. 108) I am now doing a study of how artists see the development of their work over time (Franklin, 1994). My approach to this project has been informed by what I see as Amheimian themes: focus on the artistic work; consider how the artist works within a
’ Piaget, Erikson and Freud provide what I refer to here as “ready made” stage theory. See Amheim, 1954/1974 on the development children’s artwork, and Amheim, 1986b, for conceptualizations of development of artists’ work and the “late style.”
of
ARNHEIM medium; look for interactions between development of ideas and representational forms; seek sources of change within the work process; improvise conceptualizations of development that fit the phenomena. Amheim teaches us how to find patterns by searching with an exploratory spirit. For Amheim, respecting phenomena in their wholeness does not mean forsaking analysis but executing it with special care, with attention to the grain of the wood. References Arnheim, R. (1962). The genesis of a painting: Picasso’s Guernica. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1966a). Perceptual abstraction and art. In R. Amheim, Toward a psychology of arr (pp. 27-50). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1947) Amheim, R. (1966b). The myth of the bleating lamb. In R. Amheim, Toward a psychology of art (pp. 136150). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1966c). Abstract language and the metaphor (excerpt from essay). In R. Amheim, Toward u psychology of art (pp. 266282). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1948) Amheim, R. (1966d). The Gestalt theory of expression. In R. Amheim, Toward a psychology of art (pp. 51-73). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1949) Amheim, R. (1969). Visual thinking. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press.
ON LANGUAGE Amheim, R. (1974). Art and visual perception. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1954) Amheim, R. (1986a). A plea for visual thinking. In R. Amheim, New essays on the psychology of art (pp. 135-152). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1986b). On the late style. In R. Amheim, New essays on the psychology of art (pp. 285-293). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1989). Parables of sun fight. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1992). Writers’ pointers. In R. Amheim, To the rescue of art (pp. 53-58). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1989) Cassirer, E. (1979). Language and Art I (1942). In E. Cassirer, Symbol, myth, and culture (D. P. Verene, Ed.) (pp. 145-165). New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Franklin, M. B. (1994). Narratives of change and continuity: Women artists reflect on their work. In M. B. Franklin & B. Kaplan @is.), Development and the arts: Critical perspectives. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Franklin, M. B., Becklen, R. C., & Doyle, C. L. (1993). The influence of titles on how paintings are seen. Leonardo, 26, 103-108. Gardener,
H. (1993). Creative minds. New York: Basic Books.
Gruber, H. E. (1989). The evolving systems approach to creative work. In D. B. Wallace & H. E. Gruber (Eds.), Creutivepeople at work (pp. 3-24). New York: Oxford University Press. Jakobson, R. (1960). Concluding statement: Linguistics and poctits. In T. Sebeok (Ed.), Style in language. Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press. Kohler, W. (1947). Gestalt psychology. New York: Liveright.
Pergamon
Printed in the USA. All rights reserved 0197.4556/94 $6.00 + .oO
0197-4556(94)00031-X
A FEELING FOR WORDS: ARNHEIM
MARGERY
B . FRANKLIN,
ON LANGUAGE’
PhD*
(b) sees perception as the “lower” process, bound to the immediate and particular and (c) views reasoning, concept formation and related operations as the higher mental processes-generalizing, rational, abstract. Arguing that the traditional view misconstrues both the nature of perception and the nature of thinking, Arnheim proposed that the operations of thinking-exploration, grasping of essentials, selection, abstraction, problem solving, analysis and synthesis-are operations that can be, and are, carried out in and through visual perception. Thus we have visual thinking. Seeing is thinking. Three points are important here. First, under perception, Amheim includes visual imagery that occurs in the absence of an external stimulus. He thus extends the meaning of the term beyond its traditional usage in psychology.
In a recent seminar concerned with relations between language and thinking, we talked about the idea that language interpenetrates with thought, that language is the medium through which thought is embodied and given form. An articulate student responded with some doubt: “I understand that idea, but it’s not my experience. I think in images. When I’m thinking through something-whether it’s choreographing a dance or solving a math problem, or even differences between theories, it’s as if there were shapes and I move them around in my mind. . . . ” “What you’ve just said supports Amheim’s ideas,” I responded. Following the seminar, the student approached me. “I’ve been trying to understand, and to explain to others, how I think . . . and now it’s as if a door is about to open. The class today has changed my life. What did you say the person’s name is? And what can I read? . . .” “His name is Rudolf Amheim. You could begin with two essays (I gave her the references) and then you could go to his book, Visual 1947/1966a, 1969, Thinking . . . ” (Arnheim, 1986a). “Thank you,” she said. “No,” I said to myself, “you’ll have to thank Amheim. You will be joining those legions of students who have been instructed and inspired by him. ” In Visual Thinking, Amheim developed an idea that is prefigured in much of his earlier work. At the risk of oversimplifying (and I am oversimplifying here), Amheim suggested that we are victims of a tradition that (a) separates perception from thinking,
Some take the term [perception] very narrowly to describe only what is received by the senses at the time when they are stimulated by the outer environment. This definition is too narrow for the purposes of this book [Visual Thinking] because it excludes the imagery present when a person, with eyes closed or inattentive, thinks of what is or could be. (1969, p. 16) Second, visual imagery can be specific, particular (the image of a particular thing), but it can also be schematic, generalizing, abstract-the kind of imag-
* Margery Franklin, Professor of Psychology at Sarah Lawrence College, Bronxville, NY, has written on children’s language and play, developmental theory, and psychology of artistic development. Her most recent work is a co-edited volume, Development and the Arts: Crirical Perspectives (1994). She is past President of the Division of Psychology and the Arts of the American Psychology Association. ’ This paper is based on a talk, “Leitmotifs in Rudolf Amheim’s Psychology of Art,” presented at the meetings of the University Council on Art Education, New York City, April 11, 1992. I thank Charlotte Doyle for a series of enlightening conversations about aspects of Amheim’s work. 261
MARGERY ery I believe my student was describing when she said that she moves shapes around in her mind. Indeed, shapes have a particular place in Amheim’s theory of visual thinking. They are the stuff of visual concepts: “Thoughts need shape, and shape must be derived from some medium” (1969, p. 226). Images vary in level of abstractness, but even the most abstract must be “structurally similar (isomorphic) to the pertinent features of the situations for which the thinking shall be valid” (1969, p. 227). Third, Amheim proposed that “vision is the primary medium of thought” (1969, p. 18, italics added). As suggested, to understand Amheim’s claim that vision is the primary medium of thinking, one must first grasp that under vision he includes visual imagery that occurs in the absence of external stimulation, and an array of activities or operations (see above). It is important to keep in mind that the term rhinking is used broadly but selectively. It does not refer to the kinds of mental processes generally described under the heading of feelings or emotions. On the other hand, Amheim’s idea of thinking is not limited to the kinds of logical analysis and problemsolving that take center stage in many discussions of so-called “higher mental processes.” Rather, it refers to activities that range from my attempt to construct a mental map of my immediate surroundings, to my student’s use of imagery in choreographing a dance piece, to the artist’s development of representational equivalents for ideas. In the process of developing his theoretical position, Amheim repeatedly attacks those who see language rather than vision as the primary medium for thinking, the means through which we formulate and clarify ideas, not merely communicate them. For example, in the essay “The Myth of the Bleating Lamb” (1966b), he dismissed the view that how we categorize things in the world is strongly influenced by the linguistic terms our culture provides for a particular domain of experience. In Visual Thinking, we find out more about the deficiencies of language as a medium of thought. Language, unlike visual imagery, does not lend itself to the formation of structural equivalents. Words and sentences do not convey meaning in and through their form. Purely verbal thinking is the prototype of thoughtless thinking . . . It is not useless but sterile. What makes language so valuable for thinking, then, cannot be thinking in words. It must be the help that words lend to thinking
B. FRANKLIN while it operates in a more appropriate medium, such as visual imagery. (Arnheim, 1969, p. 232) More specifically, language functions indirectly by “pointing to the references of words and propositions, that is, to facts given in an entirely different medium” (p. 228). We could stop here, with the idea that Amheim gives language a role but views it negatively as a medium for genuine thinking. However, if we delve further into Amheim’s work, we find another leitmotif&-one that initially seems quite at variance with the theme just identified. First, we cannot help notice that Amheim is a superb writer, and we suspect that only someone who loves the medium can write with such strength, clarity and grace. Only a person deeply attuned to language can use it so effectively to bring forth the contours, textures and nuances of ideas. Continuing our travels on this path, we find that Amheim has a deep and abiding interest in poetry. In the essay, “Abstract language and the Metaphor” (1948/1966c), he traced changes in successive drafts of poems by several poets. This microdevelopmental analysis is akin to the analysis of Picasso’s work on Guernica (Amheim, 1962). Amheim discussed two versions of part of a poem by Stephen Spender. The first version: What is the use now of meeting and speaking: Always when we meet I think of another meeting Always when we speak 1 think of another speaking
This was transformed
into:
Oh what is the use now of our meeting and speaking Since every meeting is thinking of another meeting Since all my speaking is groping for another speaking
the first version Arnheim wrote: “Although makes the situation quite clear, it stresses, in the syntactic structure of its second and third lines, practically relevant aspects instead of the poetically pp. 272-273). He crucial ones . . .” (1948/1966c, continued: [T]he analysis of poetic manipulation suggests . . . that linguistic form is not obtained directly from the primary experience but must be considered a re-creation within the medium, sub-
ARNHEIM ON LANGUAGE ject to the particularities of the medium. (19481 1966c, p. 273) Poetic language, then, escapes the criticism levelled against some other kinds of language-the language of “practical usage” and, perhaps, the usual kind of academic writing. The poet, in Amheim’s view, draws deeply on the expressive properties of language-properties of sound and rhythm that directly convey feelings such as happiness or sadness. The poet draws also on the structural possibilities of syntactic arrangement and rearrangement, as seen in the example of Spender’s work cited above. In the poetic mode, the meanings of words interpenetrate with sensuous properties. And the poet, like the visual artist, works toward creating structural equivalents of ideas and feelings in a medium. Amheim suggested that by “reformulating his description in a fashion that is strange to practical usage, the poet achieves a closer correspondence of form and meaning” (1948/ 1966c, p. 273). It seems that the use of language for getting things done in the everyday world, and for labelling and hanging abstract scientific concepts, may pull against the exploration and use of language as an expressive medium. Re-reading Parables of Sunlight (1989), Arnheim’s selection of his journal writings, I found that Amheim not only writes about poetry but has explored some of its forms. Two of the many haiku included in Parables of sunlight (Arnheim, pp. 13,101): Ears and eyes at night Pattern of wooden sandals But I see no street Quite early the thrush After the silence of night Made the longest speech Finally, we discover that Amheim has written about writing. In “Writers’ Pointers” (Arnheim, 198911992)) he encouraged the writer to “recover the sensuous tangibility” of words, and to use metaphor to drive “an issue home in the abstract medium of conceptual language.” Drawing upon these resources
of language, the writer will be able to maintain (and, in fact, to build) connections between “verbal abstractions . . . [and] . . . the concrete matters they intend to elucidate” (p. 56). We see, then, that Amheim’s view of language in relation to thinking is complex, not uniformly negative as we might have thought at first, but not uncritical. Amheim casts a skeptical gaze on purely “practical” language as a source of ideas and warns against over-valuing “scientific” language as a medium for thinking. He acknowledged that the “conceptual medium of language is a most human gift” (198911992, p. 56) and grants that, in its labelling function, it can contribute significantly to creating order. But Amheim values most highly the language of poetry, and expressive language more generally. Language rooted in a concrete, sensuous base is a language of possibilities. The puzzle or surface inconsistency in Amheim’s view of language is thus resolved by seeing that Amheim distinguishes three modes of using language: the practical or pragmatic, the scientific or purely conceptual and the poetic. The latter includes, but extends beyond, the use of language in poetry per se. Practical or pragmatic language is used to get things done and to report simple events in the everyday world. Scientific or conceptual language enables us to label, categorize and arrange abstract ideas, and so contributes to theory building.* Only poetic language provides a medium for productive thinking, a medium through which ideas and feelings are given body and transformed, through which relations among parts are displayed and understood.3 Before taking a closer look at Amheim’s concept of poetic language, let me suggest that the different modes of using language are not simply options that are casually assumed or dropped at whim. Rather, they are linked to fundamentally different orientations that a person may take in accordance with his or her intentions and the various demands and possibilities of a situation. Cassirer (1979) commented on the changed stance toward language that occurs when one enters the aesthetic sphere: . . . as soon as we enter the aesthetic sphere all our words seem to undergo a sudden change.
’ At one point, Amheim suggested that categoty naming diffe~ntiates levels of abstractness (e.g., animal, m~mai, feline, domestic cat, etc.) as perhaps imagery does not (1969, pp. 238-239). ’ At some points, I use the phrase “poetic language” as shorthand for “poetic use of Ianguage.” As suggested above, I am not referring to the language of poetry per se, but to a certain mode of using language.
MARGERY They are not only significant in an abstract way; they are, so to speak, fused and melted with their meanings. If a practical man, say an engineer, who wishes to construct a railway or a canal, gives us a description of a certain area, or if a geographer or geologist describes the same region in scientific terms and for theoretical purposes, they are very far from any aesthetic mode of expression, from a lyrical poem or the painting of a landscape .” (p. 159) Although Arnheim does not map the mind in terms of different spheres of experience, or tend to ascribe changes in experience to shifts in intention, we find some significant points of convergence between his statements and Cassirer’s.4 First, we note that Cassirer’s distinction among practical, scientific and aesthetic modes of expression parallels Amheim’s designation of practical, scientific and poetic modes. Second, Cassirer grouped poetry and painting together under the aesthetic, suggesting that however different these forms, they are amenable to some similar analyses. Third, Cassirer’s point that in the aesthetic sphere words are fused with their meanings is consonant with Amheim’s emphasis on the sensuous base of poetic language. A distinction among different modes of using language was also proposed by Jakobson (1960) who identified referential, emotive, conative, contact, metalingual and poetic functions. The poetic function promotes the “palpability of signs” (p. 356), the sensuous aspect of words, which Jakobson illustrated outside the realm of poetry as well as within it. For example: A girl used to talk about the horrible Harry. Why horrible? Because I hate him. But why not dreadful, terrible, frightful, disgusting? I don’t know why, but horrible fits him better. (p. 357) In this case, it may be the alliteration of “horrible” and “Harry” that governs choice, rather than some “fit” between the sound of the word and the sense of a person. Amheim provides us with a clear example of connection between the sound of a word and its referent:
4 This should not obscure their fundamental (see Amheim, 1969, Ch. 13).
disagreement
B. FRANKLIN When the meaning of a word is not known, its sound and its ingredients of particular connotation may conjure up a distinct referent. Antimacassar is to me a mastodontic battlewagon, and the dictionary’s assurance that the word designates a delicate backrest cover is not strong enough to dispel the barbarous vision. (1989, P. 96) What is it about the word antimicassar that conjures up one image rather than another? Perhaps the sharp sounds of “t” and “c” as well as the word’s syllabic structure. The idea that particular sounds, or patterns of sound, fit some meanings better than others is linked to the more general idea that forms have inherent expressive qualities. When piness in the 1974,
we watch a dancer, the sadness or hapof the mood seems to be directly inherent movements themselves. (Amheim, 1954/ p. 428)
Amheim’s point is not only that forms are, or can be, expressive but that apprehending expression does not depend on a history of learned associations. We do not see the downward bending movement of the dancer as sad simply because of cultural convention: there is something in the shape, tempo and rhythm of the gesture that shows sadness. This is not to deny that cultural leamings, as well as individual experience and proclivities, play important roles in the construction of meaning. Further, every form exists in a field of actual or potential forms that brings forth certain qualities and obscures others (so, for example, how jagged a line appears depends on its place in a total configuration). In a famous passage, Kohler quoted the German poet Morgenstem: “All seagulls look as though their name were Emma.” The sound of “Emma” as a name and the visual appearance of the bird indeed seem similar, remarked Kohler (1947, p. 224). But how can a sound be similar to a visual appearance? In Kohler’s view, such apprehended similarities are grounded in shared expressive or physiognomic properties. Such properties are, by their nature, not specific to a given sensory domain. Dimensions such as rough/smooth, tense/relaxed, hard/soft, clear/vague
on the role of language in relation to thinking and mental functioning
more generally
ARNHEIM
ON LANGUAGE
can be applied to different kinds of materials, and cross-modal equivalences or matchings readily made. Perhaps the name “Emma” suits the seagull because sound and object share qualities of smoothness, grace and rhythm. In numerous studies cited by Amheim it has been shown that adults have the ability to make matches, to form equivalences, between stimulus patterns from diverse domains-such as abstract line patterns and concept terms, series of dots and series of tapped sounds and so forth. The ability to make such matches with a high degree of consensuality provides support for the idea that connections are not made only on the basis of shared qualities, but in terms of corresponding pattern or structure. Such correspondence should not be thought of as a cool, point-to-point alignment between forms and meanings. Rather, Arnheim would emphasize the dynamic forces, the tensions and stresses, that are an inherent part of perceptual organization.5 In the process of constructing an appropriate form to convey his or her meaning, the poet-like the artist-shapes the meaning he or she seeks to present. In one version of a Spender poem, the first two lines read: Like a skater Who with sweeping
silk
Amheim tells us that in an earlier version, the first line was “Like dancers” (1948/1966c, p. 274). He suggested that the shift was guided by the realization that “dancer” was ambiguous, too encompassing, and that the partly submerged connotations of “skater” better conveyed a sense of distance or lack of emotional involvement. Perhaps “skater” also sounds colder and sharper, more emotionally detached, than “dancer’‘-and so, for double reasons, was deemed more effective. We see, then, that in poetry as in visual art, representation is a complex back-and-forth process between inventing forms in a medium and shaping the content to be conveyed.
’ On theories of expression, see Amheim, 1966d, pp. 6 In Amheim’s words: The approach of behaviorist psychology inquiry with the other person, observed more than thought. To account for such
51-73,
[Rlepresentation does not consist in the mere selection and combination of reality elements but rather in the construction of a fitting pattern drawn from a system of pre-existing forms. An experience meets an artistic medium, which possesses specific capacities of expression. The two have to put up with each other as best they can. (1948/1966c, p. 274) ***** Many people in the fields of psychology, art education and art therapy have been profoundly inspired and guided by the work of Rudolf Amheim. I have heard more than one visual artist remark that Amheim is the only psychologist whose work they find relevant to their concerns. To attempt any summary of Amheim’s contributions is far beyond the scope of this paper. However, I would like to point to some aspects of Amheim’s approach that I believe have been central forces in re-shaping psychology of the arts in our time. For too many years, psychology as an academic and scientific discipline suffered under the illusion that scientific knowledge could be advanced only through the use of laboratory experimentation involving manipulation of isolated variables under controlled conditions. This enterprise necessarily involved reducing complex phenomena to their simplest form. Suspicion about the reliability of subjects’ reports, and general disinterest in the question of how people experience their worlds, promoted an antiseptic and artificializini approach to the study of perception and thinking. It is not surprising that in this climate the development of psychological approaches to the arts and the study of aesthetic phenomena were sharply curtailed. Amheim is among the few psychologists who dared to stand outside the mainstream of American psychology in the 1940s and 195Os, to take a critical stance and to pursue the development of alternative theory. Like a naturalist or an astronomer, he held to the view that observation of naturally occurring phenomena is the starting point of scientific inquiry and analysis.
and 1954/1974,
Ch. X.
points conspicuously to a particular philosophical and social ideology. It starts its externally, rather than with the self, experienced internally. It values physical action bias, one must look beyond the arguments of science. (1989, p. 30)
266
MARGERY
Even as psychology became a more open field of inquiry, psychologists tended to assimilate phenomena of the arts to pre-established categories of theory, and continued to view the work of both child and adult artist primarily as an indicator of something presumably more basic. So, for example, psychoanalytic views interpret choice and use of materials, as well as selection and representation of subject matter, as clues to the artist’s emotional life and inner conflicts. From another perspective entirely, children’s drawings have been systematically treated as indices of intelligence (as measures of IQ) or intellectual development . These approaches, however useful in certain contexts, seriously limit our understanding. Amheim has been the central force in developing a view of art-making as an aesthetically and cognitively grounded activity that is characterized by complex interplay between use of a medium (or, to paraphrase Amheim, “inventions in a medium’ ‘) and articulation of themes or ideas. Amheim draws on Gestalt psychology as a conceptual framework, but shapes and re-invents theory to do justice to the phenomena with which he is concerned. In doing so, he provides an alternative to neo-behaviorist, cognitive-developmental and psychoanalytic approaches to the arts. Perhaps more than any other psychologist, Amheim has pointed to the centrality of the medium in artistic work and to the nature of the connection between the evolution of form and meaning. His study of Picasso’s work on Guernica is an exemplary microdevelopmental analysis of interaction between thematic material and visual representation. Recognizing that events of the outside world, as well as the artist’s personal concerns, may play an important role in the origins of a painting or other work of art, Amheim focuses on how change is generated within the work, showing how one move sets up conditions that lead in an understandable way to the next. Three interrelated aspects of this study have been highly influential. First, intensive study ofa single instance makes clear how effective a case study method can be for psychological studies of the arts and creative work more generally (Gardener, 1993; Gruber, 1989). Second, Amheim’s analysis of the development of the work shows us how to look within the work, rather than outside it, to understand its origins and evolution. It should be noted that this constitutes an alternative to
B. FRANKLIN traditional cause/effect models of change. Third, in Genesis ofu Painting (1962), as in other places, Amheim conceptualizes development in terms of movement from one phase to the next, but does not cram phenomena into the categories or sequences of readymade stage theory.7 Rather, he shapes theoretical conceptualization to fit the phenomena and leads us to re-think developmental trajectories. Over many years, Amheim has been a significant voice in my work as a psychologist interested in the arts. As a graduate student, I explored how nondepictive line patterns can be used for the representation of concepts. My teacher, Heinz Werner, a psychologist of the European school who knew Amheim as well as his work, steered me to Amheim’s writings. I recall first reading “The Gestalt Theory of Expression” (1949/1966d) and then, on my own and no doubt impelled by my interest in the arts, discovering Art and Visual Perception (1954/ 1974). Many years later, I conducted, in collaboration with two colleagues, a study on how titles affect the interpretation of paintings. In the course of this work, we carried on an imagined dialogue with Amheim. Our findings showed that when people viewed the same painting with different titles, their descriptions of the painting changed but their patterns of attention did not. Attention was tracked by asking subjects to use a pointer to show where they were looking. In our paper, we wrote: Our data on pointing patterns indicate that change of title does not affect where viewers look or, by implication, how they organize the visual array. In other words, the spatial organization of the visual array seems to remain fairly stable across changes of title. Such findings lend support to the view that visual qualities and forces of organization inherent in the artwork determine how it is perceived, a view most eloquently articulated by Rudolf Arnheim. (Franklin, Becklen, & Doyle, 1993, p. 108) I am now doing a study of how artists see the development of their work over time (Franklin, 1994). My approach to this project has been informed by what I see as Amheimian themes: focus on the artistic work; consider how the artist works within a
’ Piaget, Erikson and Freud provide what I refer to here as “ready made” stage theory. See Amheim, 1954/1974 on the development children’s artwork, and Amheim, 1986b, for conceptualizations of development of artists’ work and the “late style.”
of
ARNHEIM medium; look for interactions between development of ideas and representational forms; seek sources of change within the work process; improvise conceptualizations of development that fit the phenomena. Amheim teaches us how to find patterns by searching with an exploratory spirit. For Amheim, respecting phenomena in their wholeness does not mean forsaking analysis but executing it with special care, with attention to the grain of the wood. References Arnheim, R. (1962). The genesis of a painting: Picasso’s Guernica. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1966a). Perceptual abstraction and art. In R. Amheim, Toward a psychology of arr (pp. 27-50). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1947) Amheim, R. (1966b). The myth of the bleating lamb. In R. Amheim, Toward a psychology of art (pp. 136150). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1966c). Abstract language and the metaphor (excerpt from essay). In R. Amheim, Toward u psychology of art (pp. 266282). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1948) Amheim, R. (1966d). The Gestalt theory of expression. In R. Amheim, Toward a psychology of art (pp. 51-73). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1949) Amheim, R. (1969). Visual thinking. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press.
ON LANGUAGE Amheim, R. (1974). Art and visual perception. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1954) Amheim, R. (1986a). A plea for visual thinking. In R. Amheim, New essays on the psychology of art (pp. 135-152). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1986b). On the late style. In R. Amheim, New essays on the psychology of art (pp. 285-293). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1989). Parables of sun fight. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Amheim, R. (1992). Writers’ pointers. In R. Amheim, To the rescue of art (pp. 53-58). Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. (Original work published 1989) Cassirer, E. (1979). Language and Art I (1942). In E. Cassirer, Symbol, myth, and culture (D. P. Verene, Ed.) (pp. 145-165). New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Franklin, M. B. (1994). Narratives of change and continuity: Women artists reflect on their work. In M. B. Franklin & B. Kaplan @is.), Development and the arts: Critical perspectives. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Franklin, M. B., Becklen, R. C., & Doyle, C. L. (1993). The influence of titles on how paintings are seen. Leonardo, 26, 103-108. Gardener,
H. (1993). Creative minds. New York: Basic Books.
Gruber, H. E. (1989). The evolving systems approach to creative work. In D. B. Wallace & H. E. Gruber (Eds.), Creutivepeople at work (pp. 3-24). New York: Oxford University Press. Jakobson, R. (1960). Concluding statement: Linguistics and poctits. In T. Sebeok (Ed.), Style in language. Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press. Kohler, W. (1947). Gestalt psychology. New York: Liveright.