This is my final blog post at Wellesley College ever. Instead of a traditional reflection post, I wanted to share with you one of my favorite paper submissions. I wrote this paper for my Philosophy Seminar on the Meaning of Life and thought it summed up what I learned at Wellesley quite well. I’m still in disbelief that it’s all over so soon, but I know the lessons I learned from Wellesley and the friends I made will stay with me forever. So, without further ado – the last post.
Greetings to President Johnson, Wellesley faculty, trustees, honorees, family, and friends.
And to all my bad-ass, inspiring siblings that make up the Wellesley graduating class of 2021: Congratulations!
Today, I wanted to speak about how art might aid in our quest for attaining a meaningful life post-graduation. You might ask, Shreya, why art? Well, one of my favorite classes in college was the history of modern art. It was certainly impactful and helped me see the world in a different way: Art is all around us. Art is life. Life is art. So, I ask, why not art?
Art is also an important part of the human experience…can you imagine life without it? It’s beautiful, complex, takes a while to understand – just like us. It’s also a meaningful metaphor as a way to make sense of the messiness and complexity of life.
While thinking about art, I’ve realized that I learned four important lessons from it that I want to share with you all today.
The first lesson is the importance of being present, which I know is easier said than done. One of the most peculiar assignments I had during college was to stare at an artwork for one full uninterrupted hour, before I was able to start writing my paper. I wasn’t allowed to pick up the phone, talk to a friend, or do anything else besides stare. Equipped with a piece of paper and a pen, I went to the Davis Museum, where I had to learn the importance of deceleration and immersive attention. For an outgoing, extroverted person like myself (who never stops talking), trust me when I say that it was challenging!
One hour doing absolutely nothing but gawking might sound crazy at first, but that’s similar to what portrait painter John Singleton Copley did! Due to the long distance between Boston and London, Copley experienced frequent and excessive delays receiving feedback for his paintings (Roberts). However, these delays were formative, leaving a large impact on him and the rest of his career (Roberts). In a time when we are inundated with information, and many around us are always in a fast-paced mindset, it’s valuable to pause and look harder and deeper.
In a chaotic and busy world, lingering can be impactful. New details arise and revelations can occur, which both take time to perceive (Roberts). It also involves immersing yourself in the present: looking at something does not necessarily mean that you’ve seen it for what it is (Roberts). Of course, there’s a fine line between reflection and overthinking. It’s also important to note that lingering isn’t for the past or for the future. It’s for the here and now, focusing on what’s in front of you and determining how you chose to react and respond to the world around you. It allows you to introspect and gain deeper knowledge which might not have been possible if you hadn’t taken more than five seconds to think about it. Processing and critical attention come from patience. I’d like to think the closest thing to pausing time and being fully present is lingering.
So, lesson one: take time to meaningfully and intentionally linger.
Lesson two: there are quite a few parallels between the art of painting and the art of living. Inspired by philosopher Pedro Tabensky, this worldview compares and contrasts the skilled artist and moral expert, in order for us to see that the two share a lot in common.
Remember those grand plans some of us had when we first came to Wellesley? I’m talking about those meticulously color-coded four-year plans on google sheets. You know the ones? Chronic over planners, brace yourselves for what’s to come.
According to Tabensky, a skilled painter doesn’t create magnificent works of art by following a set of rules, or a given manual (Tabensky, 59). Instead, they use their own unique manner of approaching the canvas (an acquired skill) to produce their works (Tabensky, 59). They don’t have a set plan that details every aspect of the successful artwork, but rather, the work of art is determined during the process of making (Tabensky, 59). Thus, a skilled artist has the ability to integrate new elements (conflicting or not) into the whole painting and adjust as they go along (Tabensky, 59). One mess up, accident, or splatter isn’t going to ruin anything: instead, it will be incorporated into the work.
For example, think of a watercolor painting: as soon as the brush filled with pigment touches the paper, the pigment takes on a life of its own – it’s unpredictable, affected by a multitude of factors such as the humidity, environment, wetness of the paper. For the artist to have control, they don’t need to micromanage the pigment/watercolor medium and make it what it is not naturally suited for – no, having control involves having the capacity to adapt to the unpredictable nature of the medium (Tabensky, 59).
The skilled artist is able to use indeterminacy to their advantage (Tabensky, 60). I think that phrase is worth repeating: use the indeterminacy to your advantage. Ease and confidence in the face of unpredictability is a secret superpower that I want you all to hone.
Like a skilled painter, a moral expert (which I hope will be all of you!) is a master in the art of living and has the ability to integrate new circumstances into their already existing life (Tabensky, 61). Like an artist develops the skill of good painting, they have developed the skill of good living.
Moral experts don’t view their lives in a completed form. Instead, moral experts give form to their lives by perfectly balancing and counterbalancing the new elements into their life with the general form of their life up to the present (Tabensky, 62). This skill requires the task of adapting to new, unpredictable, and disruptive circumstances: moral experts have a capacity to overcome and integrate conflict (Tabensky, 63). The moral expert has mastered the technique of good living, a skill learned through practice and experience (Tabensky, 63).
Thus, lives are not well lived by following a set manual, guide, or plan. We must use our skills to get us through the uncertainty that threatens to topple everything that we have achieved so far. An expert in the art of living will be equipped to deal with unforeseen circumstances into their overall composition of life, just like a skilled artist does with their painting.
If this past year has taught us anything, it’s the importance of resilience. Acquiring the skill of embracing the uncertainty that awaits you and all that is to come is an advantage. Your paint might splatter on your canvas and get on your clothes and make a mess but integrating that into the total work of art is a powerful next step. I encourage you, fellow graduates, to be like the moral experts and skilled artists and integrate that into your own futures!
Of course, you might not be so easily convinced: Art and living are two hugely different things. The stakes are higher with life compared to art: art is something that can be done over and over again, but you only live once! In response, I say, life and art may be two different things (Tabensky is not saying they’re synonymous) but lessons from one can be applied to the other. Even though we can’t redo our entire lives or start over like a canvas, we have the ability to, since every day could be considered a new start. Graduates, consider this your new start!
Lesson three: Critical thinking – easy in theory, hard in practice.
When an art historian approaches an artwork, they usually have a question in mind. Why did the artist make the decisions they did? How did they incorporate social commentary into their work? Where was it made? What inspired them to create the piece? By having a question to begin with, the process of understanding the artwork became easier. Questioning what seems obvious at first glance is a good way to springboard into thinking about it critically.
I am a cognitive science major. Cognitive science is an interdisciplinary study of the mind and its processes. It examines the nature, the tasks, and the functions of cognition. One thing cognitive science especially focuses on is decision making – and as humans, we make millions of decisions everyday: from inconsequential ones like what we wear in the morning to life-altering ones like which career path to pursue.
According to a prevalent theory of decision making, there are two systems of decision making: System 1 and System 2 (De Neys, 428). System 1 is your automatic, quick, unconscious way of thinking (De Neys, 428). Susceptible to biases, it’s your brain on autopilot. System 2 is your logical, rational, analytic way of thinking – and it takes more effort (De Neys, 428). A lot more effort.
We’re sometimes inherently lazy creatures – our default decision-making mode tends to be set to System 1. We get stuck in the mundane. In a way, during college, you’ve been practicing ways to overturn your System 1 thinking. You’ve been reflecting, questioning, musing. You’ve been taught to do so! In art history, when you linger, analyze, ponder, you’re working to overturn System 1. Critically thinking negates System 1. The challenge for you, now, graduates, is to continue doing that, out of the classroom. Not in theory, within the safe walls of college, but in practice, in the “real world.
Humans love routines. We tend to easily get stuck in cycles and the same mode of thinking. We have to make a conscious effort to train ourselves out of the default. Being curious helps. In the classroom, you’ve used your liberal arts skills to gain a deeper understanding and knowledge to go through the world not as a machine, but as someone who is constantly questioning, evaluating, and reevaluating. As a college student, you’ve put pressure on academic arguments and writings. Doing this in the real world is a lot harder and I implore you to continue to do so. When something seemingly straightforward is presented – take a moment to question it.
And lesson four, the final lesson: The numerous ways to make meaning are ultimately up to you.
One of my favorite 20th century art history movements is conceptual art. A key part of conceptual art is that the idea behind the work of art is more important than the finished object itself (MoMA). In other words, the concept of the work takes precedence over traditional techniques, materials, and aesthetics.
Joseph Kosuth, a prominent conceptual artist, stated, “art is making meaning,” emphasizing ideas over the convention that art should reflect the artist’s skill or be pleasing or beautiful in some way (MoMA). Kosuth also was concerned that people accepted art as art because they were placed in museums, so he challenged the authority of art institutions to define objects as art (MoMA). One of his art projects involved three different representations of a chair: an actual chair, a photograph of the chair, and a dictionary definition of the word “chair” (MoMA).
Kosuth confronted the notion that art gets meaning from context, or by being placed in a white-walled museum. He questioned the nature of art, directing the viewer away from the form of art and what it should look like to the idea of art. Context and meaning shifted and suddenly existed in tandem with its audience. All at once, art’s meaning became up to you, the viewer, and not the context in which it was placed or how it looked.
Conceptual art tells us that meaning doesn’t come from being placed in a museum. Meaning is up to the viewer and their ideas and attitudes in response to the artwork. The white walls of the museums, the external validation: some could say those have been necessary for objective meaning. But just as conceptual art challenged the traditional view of art and placing them in museums for meaning, I urge you to challenge what you think should be your version of a meaningful life. Think outside the white cube or the traditional norm. Push aside all expectations or the status quo or objectivity. Just like there was no one way conceptual art should look like, there is no one way of what a meaningful life should be. Your attitude can and should determine what you decide to be meaningful in your life – nothing else. And although not everyone might agree on what that meaningfulness entails, if you’re being true to yourself, it ultimately doesn’t matter.
Well graduates, we’ve made it to the end of the four life lessons found in art. Congratulations on completing the last four years and beginning your wonderful journey that starts today. You’ve come so far already. On the path forward, remember to: linger a little while longer, embrace uncertainty, question the default, and make meaning from what matters to you. All of the lessons I shared with you today are skills that need to be acquired: strengthened with practice, important to always keep in mind as you go through trials and tribulations in life. And the lessons were hidden in the most beautiful, unassuming place of all: art. One last bit of advice: in life, not everything is going to turn out perfect, so cherish the moments that seem like they are. Oh, and visit more art museums. 🙂
Thank you Wellesley for all you have taught me these past four years. Onto the next adventure!
Bibliography
Roberts, Jennifer. “The Power of Patience.” Harvard Magazine. 2013.
Tabensky, Pedro. “Parallels Between Living and Painting.” The Journal of Value Inquiry. 37: 59–68. Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2003.
De Neys, Wim. “Dual processing in reasoning: Two systems but one reasoner.” Psychological Science. 17: 428-433. 2006.
“One and Three Chairs”. Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) Learning. First published 2006.