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2008 7: 293Journal of Visual CultureMary Robinson

Within/Without: Awareness and the Practice of Seeing  

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journal of visual culture

Within/Without: Awareness and the Practice of Seeing

Mary Robinson

journal of visual culture [http://vcu.sagepub.com]

Copyright © 2008 SAGE (Los Angeles, London, New Delhi, Singapore and Washington DC)

Vol 7(3): 293–308 [1470-4129(200812)7:3]10.1177/1470412908096338

AbstractMy practice seeks to give visual expression to the experience of aninner world as it relates to the outer world. This experience has beenexplored through parallel practices of contemplation, including artmaking, meditation, and yoga asana. In this article, I describe artmaking as recording the experience of movement through space andtime. I explore the themes of impermanence and interdependence asthey have surfaced through contemplation. I also briefly discuss ethicalimplications and social responsibility as they relate to the notions ofimpermanence and interdependence.

Keywordsart ● contemplative practice ● experience ● impermanence ●

interdependence ● observation ● perception ● subatomic

We generally distinguish between inner and outer, but . . . the distinction is no more than a form of thought construction . . . Change the position, and what is inner is outer, and what is

outer is inner.

(Suzuki, 1968: 45)

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Figure 1 A human heart, showing the arteries and veins which supplyblood to the cardiac muscles. The blood vessels, which lie immediatelybelow the surface of the heart, have been injected with dyed gelatine,making visible the smallest capillaries which form this exquisite arterialnetwork. The heart itself has been dehydrated by passing it throughincreasingly strong solutions of alcohol; it has then been transferred to a clearing agent which makes its surface transparent to a depth of 1–2millimeters, enabling the blood vessels to become visible. The originalblack-and-white photo is here tinted pink. Source: Ewing (1996: 6). Images and Text Copyright © 2008 PhotoResearchers, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Published with permission.

Perceiving Inner and Outer

The imagery I create through drawing, painting and printmaking focuses onthe reflection and blurring of inner and outer. The conventional Cartesianview of mind and body tells me that I am in here – in this body, in this mind– and separate from what is out there – outside my body, outside my mind.However, modern physics and Eastern philosophy tell me this is notnecessarily the case. My own empiricism and reasoning tell me that ‘in here’is not cleanly delineated from ‘out there’. My practice seeks to give visualexpression to the experience of an inner world as it relates to the outer world

During graduate school, I came across a book called Inside Information:Imaging the Human Body by William A. Ewing. The book is filled with colorimages of the human body – mostly internal and often microscopic views –created by high tech scans, micrography, and photography. What immediatelystruck me in viewing these images was that, while being beautiful andmysterious, they were similar in form to what is outside our bodies. Forexample, an image of the veins and arteries of a heart looked shockinglysimilar to photographs I had been taking of trees from the ground, pointingthe camera straight up into the branches. In both cases, the views areevocative, beckoning the viewer to explore spaces within and without.

Repeated patterns in nature clued me in to the fact that what is going oninside my body is going on outside my body. The branching pattern repeatedin the small veins and arteries of my heart is similar to the structure of a treetrunk and its branches. These patterns resemble, on an even larger scale, theflowing path of a river and its tributaries. These similarities tell me that I amindeed a part of nature.

A Growing Awareness of Impermanence

Repeated patterns are not the only indicator that I am part of a greater whole.Another clue is the non-fixedness of everything, from the microscopic to themacroscopic level. We know from research in physics that the particles of‘solids’ are always in motion, sites of endless potential energy. AstronomerTrinh Xuan Thuan gives a beautiful description of the kind of flux that ishappening on the subatomic level. He states:

Because of the quantum uncertainty of energy, the space around us isfilled with an unimaginable number of ‘virtual’ particles with fleeting,ghostlike existences. Constantly appearing and disappearing, they are aperfect illustration of impermanence, with their infinitely short lifecycles. (Ricard and Thuan, 2001: 279)

If on the subatomic level we are composed of the same ‘stuff ’ as tables androcks, and all particles are in a constant state of flux, then how can I say ‘righthere at this exact point is absolutely where I end’ and ‘right there at thatexact point is absolutely where that begins’? My art reveals an attempt to

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Figure 2 Tangled Branches (2000), charcoal on paper, 83" × 62".

come to terms with this paradox. In the imagery I create, I allow paths ofmovement to mingle and merge. I leave traces of my subject’s movement, aswell as the movement of my own body and mind. Some movement isobserved, some is imagined: for example, that which is too small for me tosee.

For some time, I have felt the need to evoke in others, through imagery, thisrealization of the ephemeral nature of everything. In a September 2003sketchbook, I wrote about the type of experience that I was, and still am,trying to express:

. . . the awareness of a continuously changing landscape/world . . .things are moving – people are fidgeting, walking, breathing; leaves areblowing in the wind, falling off trees, being eaten by insects, beingcrushed by my feet; insects are flying. As all of these changes areoccurring, my perception is changing. I see something, then I see more,then I see it in a different way (for example, how it relates to somethingelse that I didn’t notice at first).

Subsequently, I wrote about how I wanted to bring that experience intovisual form:

. . . the feeling of possibility, change, sense of becoming . . . moving –yes, there needs to be a great sense of depth or space so that the viewerbelieves he/she could move through, over, under, around – you’removing through spaces that are changing/mutating. Nothing is frozen.There are stills within this moving landscape, just enough to tease:I could almost grab onto that, but I know it will be changing with therest . . .

The ‘stills that tease’ might represent my desire to understand, to make orderof chaos, to create a solid ground to stand on where perhaps there is none.

In revealing paths of movement, I try to express the experience of a durationand a process. This experience involves the revolving and overlappingprocesses of observing, recording, rearranging, and imagining. For example,I might begin a painting by rendering the cells I see through a microscope. Istart by simply trying to repeat on the canvas the shapes and colors I observethrough the lens. I am sometimes slow to see what is before me. I can lookat a subject for an hour, and only then really begin to see it. The longer I lookat these magnified cells, the more aware I become of the relationshipsbetween the shapes and colors. I see that one shape is closer to another thanI first realized, and I redraw or repaint it in a newly perceived position. I donot completely erase or cover the first attempt, but rather allow the path ofmy growing awareness to be exposed.

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Cultivating Awareness

Part of my growing awareness involves not only becoming more attuned towhat is happening outside me, but also inside me. I have not seen the insideof my body. I cannot clearly see my own mind. And yet my own body andmind seem closer to me than anything else, and have been for over 40 years.Still what mysteries! Exploring such mysteries requires ongoing practice ofcontemplation, combining both introspection and observation of the outerworld.

The continuing attempt to cultivate awareness is key to my creative process.To aid this cultivation, I practice seated meditation, yoga asana, and visuallyrecording what I experience through drawing, painting, and printmaking. Allthree activities involve the search for, and subsequent presentation of, aclearer understanding of myself, others and the world.

Immediately after rising in the morning, I set a timer for 20 minutes, sit cross-legged on a cushion, and close my eyes. I hear the mockingbird just outsidemy window going through his series of imitative calls; otherwise, it is quiet.Yesterday’s conversations with friends pop into my head, followed byimaginary conversations with friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintancesfrom years past. Then come plans for the day: work in my studio, work onthis essay. Suddenly I realize that my mind is bouncing back and forth: past,future, past, future. And I focus on the air going in and out of my nose as Ibreathe. Once again I hear the mockingbird, realizing he has been singingcontinuously, yet I had stopped hearing him. Ironically, it is at this moment Iam best served by letting go of my focus on awareness. As a friend pointedout: ‘Once you catch yourself being aware of your awareness, then trueawareness seems to dissipate.’1 And usually the whole cycle begins again –mind slipping somewhere else, mind aware of present existence. I wonder:at what point does a thought arise, and from where? The overall pattern isthat my mind oscillates between focused attention and dispersion ofattention.

Like seated meditation, yoga asana helps focus my mind into the presentmoment. My yoga teacher often reminds her students that how we practiceyoga ‘on the mat’ is an indication of how we do everything ‘off the mat’. Thistwo-hour practice is a small reflection of the longer day, week, year, life. I tryto integrate this discipline of awareness into all life circumstances, so that mydegree of observation is no different while brushing my teeth or drawing asubject. Observation during these two hours of asana practice reveals myautomatic tendencies, including laziness, fear, and a desire to please others.Such states of mind while creating art can obstruct my view as well as theexpression of the view. As I use the breath to promote a steady link betweenposes, I watch my patterns. First I overwork, strain. Upon noticing this, Isoften. Then I underwork – I become lazy. So I muster inspiration andstrength to do what the teacher tells me: raise that leg three inches higherthan I think I can, or hold a handstand for longer than I previously thoughtpossible.

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Figure 3 Internal II (2008), oil on canvas, 48" × 48".

In the final pose, sivasana, or ‘corpse’ pose, I lie flat on my back, body andmind relaxed for the first minute or so. Then my mind begins to plan thesubsequent grocery store trip and dinner. Suddenly, I realize my brow isfurrowed, my right thumb draws in with tension, and my right gluteousmuscle is tight. Only after recognizing the muscle tension can I consciouslyrelax these areas. This recognition and subsequent action are reflections ofother insights and actions outside my yoga class. Introspection leads toawareness which can lead to positive change. Can I learn to recognize andchange such tendencies in my studio as well?

Recording Experience

My studio is also a place for cultivating awareness. After two years of workingin this space – a detached building behind my house – there is familiarity.Like stepping onto the yoga mat, my mind/body remembers focused obser-vation in this space. There is a smell of moist soil and composted leaves.There are the plants outside the door. A guilty fear, which arose in March thatall my neglected ferns are dead, is replaced by reassurance. Now in May, thefirst pale orange fiddlehead pushes up through the soil, slowly becomesgreen and unfurls into a healthy frond. The mockingbird is going through hiscalls.

My creative process involves observation and a response to that observation.Whether I am observing myself, another human or tree or insect, I am awareof the passing of time. The experience is always one of movement – I walkthrough the woods, my eyes move across the dancing leaves. I am, and mysubject is, on some level, always moving, even if my eye cannot see themovement. I understand that the leaves, in addition to visibly moving withthe wind, are slowly and microscopically growing and decaying.

During the process of working, there are shifts between observation andexpression. I lay bare hints of those migrations in the final image, wherethere is an interplay between concealment and revelation. I look at mychosen subject for the morning, and confidently begin to record the overallstructure of what I see: shapes, tones, relationships. On this particularmorning, I am composing a large painted image based on a smaller sketch.The smaller sketch is a composite of elements observed: trees, plant cells,and human organs. All goes well for a while then, inevitably, I focus ondetails. I step back to look at the record of marks, and find a stiff, static shellof an image, constrained by attempts at exact replication. I have drifted fromthe freshness and excitement felt in perceiving the overall structure. I havelost the whole for the parts. Then with bold, if not frustrated, strokes, Iconnect disjointed parts, ignoring or obliterating details. One element shiftsto the right by a half inch, but a trace of its original position is retained. Otherelements grow or shrink. The whole image looks like it is shifting, growing,coming to life. Another part of myself has taken over: a part that is quicker,less calculating, more intuitive. I begin to make marks and move the two-dimensional elements that describe an imaginary space in a way that jibes

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Figure 4 Internal (2008), oil on canvas, 48" × 48".

with what I am experiencing. What I am experiencing is not static. Birdsoutside (and sometimes inside!) my studio are flying, the dog next door iswheezing, the leaves are rustling with the wind.

I work on the surface of the support, in this case a stretched canvas, by acyclical process of recording, covering, and excavating. I begin withsomewhat assured marks, but eventually reconsider many or most of thesemarks. Are they at the proper positions or angles in relation to other marks?How accurate are the hues and tones? Such judgements are sometimesdifficult to narrow down because I am not recording simply the visualappearance of a subject, but rather creating a visual illusion on a two-dimensional plane of a multidimensional experience involving the subject.Some movement through space is readily apparent, for example, watching asubject walk from point A to point B. However, I cannot readily see themovement of subatomic particles in space. I am indicating movementthrough space and time, whether real or imagined. I am also trying to makevisible what is not visible.

Next, I partially or fully cover initial attempts, and then I record more. Afterfurther observation and reflection, I might want to pull back to the surfacesome of the initial markings now obscured. I might scrape or abrade the toplayer to reveal what is underneath. In a sense I am blurring the inner andouter. The process continues and, when successful, moves the image closerto a more comprehensive representation of my experience involving thesubject.

A record of the process builds: there are brushstrokes, pits, peaks, layers. Ibecome increasingly aware of a growing tension between visual illusion andsurface. The visual illusion is telling me I can fly into this world, move aroundin it, and exist on a different scale. However, the surface brushstroke of apainting or raised ink line of a deep etching says: ‘It is an illusion. Stop hereand look.’ The illusion is dispelled by the reminder that this is a stretchedcanvas with oil and pigment on it. This back and forth between illusion andreality might be akin to the oscillating of the mind during meditation – beingcaught up in an illusion, then suddenly recognizing that it is an illusion. It ispartly through this process that my interconnection to the rest of thechanging world is revealed.

As mentioned previously, the non-fixedness of everything is not alwaysapparent – flux is happening on a subatomic level. I am interested in givinga visual representation to both perceptible and imperceptible change. I amexpressing changes that occur within me – some perceived, probably somemisperceived, and some hoped for. The ongoing shifts are somatic,emotional, intellectual, and spiritual. For my imagery, I envision thatineffable place where mind/body and outer world meet, and distinctions areblurred.

For my most recent imagery, I imagined outer world particles entering mybody via inhalation, and mingling with the particles of my interior world.What would this look like? It is not simply a collection of particles. It is an

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Figure 5 Breath (2008), oil on canvas, 48" × 36".

inspiration of sorts. The word spirit, meaning ‘animating or vital principle inman and animals’, comes from the Latin spiritus which can mean ‘soul,courage, vigor’, as well as ‘breath’. Both inspire and spirit are related to theLatin spirare, meaning ‘to breathe’ (OED online).

If outer particles are continuously entering my body through breath andabsorption, becoming part of me, and I am exhaling and shedding cells,sending part of my body out into the world, how can it possibly be that I aminner and that is outer? I must be inner/outer. Trinh Xuan Thuan points outthat:

Just breathing links us to the rest of humanity – the billions of oxygenmolecules that we inhale with each breath have at some time or otherbeen inside the lungs of each of the 50 billion individuals that havelived on Earth. (Ricard and Thuan, 2001: 280)

No doubt I have inhaled particles of my family, friends, co-workers,neighbors, and strangers, not only living nearby but from across the globe.The particles that get exchanged regularly between our bodies and the restof the universe have also been part of those no longer living. Bodies returnto the earth upon death by way of burial and decomposition, cremation andscattering of ashes, or some other means. Particles of the dead eventuallybecome part of the soil, are transported by insects, birds, and wind, and areabsorbed by plants. I take comfort in the fact that my deceased father, an avidnaturalist, is now part of the flora and fauna surrounding his grave.

An Optimist’s View

Living humans are also composed of mutating particles. In the human body,approximately 600 billion cells are dying, and the same number are beingregenerated, every day: over 10 million cells per second! Over the course ofa year, 98 percent of the atoms that make up a human body are replaced(Laszlo, 2006: 8). There are opportunities for directing this regeneration. Abody and mind can become more flexible and more adept over time.2

Creating imagery that shows motion and change springs from both the realistand the optimist in me. The realist sees that while we are living, we are alsoin the process of dying. We have no control over the passing of time; it justkeeps flowing. The optimist knows that while the cells of my skin and otherorgans change, so too does my mind, my self. As a friend pointed out,‘Perhaps we need to define ourselves entirely as process.’3 We are not static,but rather, always in the process of becoming. Imagery that shows motionand change, shows becoming. I believe that people can make positivechanges within themselves and within the world. Introspection can shake upour fixed notions of ‘self ’. My hope is that contemplative practices can leadme to a keener, less deluded view of myself, which can lead to a truerworldview, one that acknowledges and embraces ephemerality.

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Because we are not entirely fixed in time or space, we are not completelyindependent from one another. I would not exist as I do without the worldaround me; the world around me as it is would not exist without me. I, andthe world around me, would not exist as we do without the condition of flux.We are interdependent. Individually we are whole systems, but we are alsoparts of larger systems. It is important to recognize this interdependencebecause a healthy whole is comprised of healthy parts. Our decisions andactions affect the condition of the larger whole.

Each morning I hear the mockingbird and know that songbirds are rapidlydisappearing. Birds fatally hit cell-phone towers, are killed by pesticides usedon food crops, and are eaten by household pets, and stray cats. I have a cellphone; I eat foods from these crops sprayed with pesticides; I have loved a petcat. Through realization of our own impermanence and our interconnectionwith everything else, can we begin to make conscious choices that are betterfor the larger system, which, in turn, is ultimately better for ourselves?4

Connecting Inner to Outer

Through observing the ephemeral and interconnected nature of life andcreating imagery based on those observations, I continue to search for whatvisually describes my physical and mental experience of existence. What thisobservation both requires and cultivates is awareness. I need attentiveness toclearly observe what I am looking at, whether it is a tree that I am drawing,or a relationship I am cultivating, or even a moment of quiet self-reflection Iam savoring. Clear observation in turn hones awareness. I believe thatgreater awareness can lead to positive action. Awareness not only requirespractice – it is a practice, an approach to life and work that seeks to breakdown the confining patterns of conditioning and convention – societalnorms that govern knowledge and morality – and allows us to reach for thetruest expression of our selves.

What I see, experience, record, and express is the fact that I am both thewhole of smaller parts, and part of a larger whole. This indicates inter-connection. However, such boundaries of ‘parts’, ‘inner’, and ‘outer’ aredifficult to express, because they might not exist. Or perhaps they both doand do not exist. The flux, or non-fixedness, of everything negates hard andfast boundaries. Every day I am aware of the flux within me and in the worldaround me: continuous change, transformation, growth, and decay. There isalways movement: external movement, internal movement; physical move-ment, mental movement. It is these blurred edges of perceived boundariesthat I try to reveal.

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Figure 6 New Growth (2006), mixed media on paper, 80" × 60".

Notes

1. Correspondence with Jennifer Heidmann, 4 June 2008.

2. Research conducted at the Massachusetts General Hospital found that the daily

practice of mindfulness or insight meditation by participants new to meditation

thickened parts of their brains’ cerebral cortex, which is responsible for decision

making, attention, and memory. For detailed results of the study, see Lazar et al.

2005). Other research involving long-time meditators has shown that such

mental training may induce short-term and long-term neural changes. Study

results may be found in Lutz et al. (2004).

3. Correspondence with Atthys Gage, 5 June 2008.

4. For discussions on the ethical implications of interdependence, see Ricard and

Thuan (2001) and Gottlieb (2001). Ricard and Thuan (2001):

A cosmic and planetary perspective emphasizes not only our interdependence,

but also how vulnerable our planet is, and how isolated we are among the

stars. The environmental problems that endanger our haven in the cosmic

immensity transcend the barriers of race, culture, or religion. Industrial toxins,

radioactive waste, and the greenhouse gases responsible for global warming

ignore national borders. These and other problems – poverty, war, famine –

that threaten humanity can be solved if we realize that we are interdependent

and that our interests and happiness are inextricably bound up with those of

others. (p. 280)

Gottlieb (2001) points to the link between ecological interdependence and

individual and group responsibility:

Nature’s revelations . . . have some very strong implications for social life. For

one thing, the interdependence of different parts of an ecosystem . . . teach us

about the necessity to curb our personal and collective greed, to exercise the

kind of care we seem to have forgotten (or never had), to treasure the

multiplicity of species rather than cavalierly eliminate them. In this light,

everything that lives is precious, just because it is part of and contributes to,

the precious, differentiated whole that is the natural world. A realization of

this truth is not simply a pleasant intellectual reflection, but a guide to moral

behavior for individuals and groups alike. (p. 20)

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank John Ceballes, Heidi Rae Cooley, Atthys Gage, Jennifer

Heidmann, Laura Kissel, Stacey Millner-Collins, Kathleen Robbins, Sara Schneckloth,

and Jeni Wightman.

References

Ewing, W. (1996) Inside Information: Imaging the Human Body. New York: Simon

and Schuster.

Gottlieb, R.S. (2001) ‘Spiritual Deep Ecology and World Religions: A Shared Fate, A

Shared Task’, in D. Landis Barnhill and R.S. Gottlieb (eds) Deep Ecology and World

Religions: New Essays on Sacred Ground (SUNY Series in Radical Social and

Political Theory), pp. 17–33. Albany, NY: SUNY Press.

Laszlo, E. (2006) Science and the Reenchantment of the Cosmos: The Rise of the

Integral Vision of Reality, p. 8. Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions.

307Robinson Within/Without: Awareness and the Practice of Seeing

Lazar, S. et al. (2005) ‘Meditation Experience Is Associated with Increased Cortical

Thickness’, NeuroReport 16: 1893–7.

Lutz, A. et al. (2004) ‘Long-Term Meditators Self-Induce High-Amplitude Gamma

Synchrony during Mental Practice’, Proceedings of the National Academy of

Sciences 101(46): 16369–73.

OED online (March 2000[1989]) URL (consulted 3 June 2008): http://www.oed.com/

Oxford University Press.

Ricard, M. and Thuan, T.X. (2001) The Quantum and the Lotus: A Journey to the

Frontiers Where Science and Buddhism Meet, pp. 275–82. New York: Crown

Publishers.

Suzuki, D.T. (1968) On Indian Mahayana Buddhism. New York: Harper & Row.

Mary Robinson is an Assistant Professor and Head of Printmaking at theUniversity of South Carolina. Her work includes drawing, painting,printmaking and installation. For more information on imagery and projects,see [http://www.marysdrawings.com].

Address: University of South Carolina, Department of Art, 1615 SenateStreet, Columbia, SC 29208, USA. [email: maryrobinson@sc.edu]

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