Curbside
We all know that oil and water do not mix (i.e. They do not react chemically to form one new substance, or alter the molecular composition of either constituent). However, add a third component, light, and this stalemate pair appears to undergo a transformation of sorts! To my rusty AP-Chemistry/Physics recollection, the magic is explained away by the variant lightwave lengths being reflected by layered oil and water, separately, and simultaneously. (*Note: This is not a science blog!)
I know the oil and water are separate substances, and that the liquid rainbow is not actually a third substance I can distill from the mix, bottle up, carry around in my pocket–and dispense as hope to those in need– but I also know that in that oil slick along the curb I see a lot more than oil and water. It is in my seeing, in my eye as a mechanism to perceive the interference of lightwaves, that something else is made. In a way, I am the third component of this work. (And by extension, sight, a kind of currency of hope…Thus, a little insight into the impetus for this blog!)
As is the case with most situations in my life,– insert lovingly annoyed testament of friends, family, and more than a few strangers– a metaphor inheres! In the curbside masterpiece, composed from “natural” materials by “natural” processes, the potential of interrelated media is exhibited. The spectral illusion of the light upon the oil and water is the amorphous experience of the viewer of a work that defies the nomenclature of the traditional arts. Dance, music, painting, theatre, video projection, object, etc. may all be identified as elements of a work, but the experience of the work as a whole is not described by any of these terms. Familiar species of art, layered, result in ever-changing displays, colored as much by the vantage point of the viewer as by any other element of the work…The slick is more than oil glazed water, a work is more than dance in front of video projection. One is left wanting of more than categorical descriptions in trying to express an experience of a work of art–the oil and water may be identified and defined, but a process must be explored in order to understand the rainbow.
The rain dances down upon the oil stained street, painting the asphalt stage where a series of scenes occur between people who live in the building along that curb, and the people who visit those people, and the cars that wait patiently in the wings as the focus follows the actors indoors. The sun’s rays reach the live-action painting, continuously projecting the teeming atmosphere that fills the space between the slick puddle and it’s own smoldering surface. I happen to walk by, entering the scene as audience, or perhaps as player. I have no relation to the people, or cars, except my own dependence upon rain, and sun. I did not contribute to the making of this particular oil slick painting but I stop and gaze into it’s iridescence, dancing around the circumference to take in the dynamic composition from every angle. In bringing my senses to the scene/work/event as viewer, perhaps I become part of the work to another passerby…Perhaps even to the owner of the leaky car, who played a role in the making of the piece and may never notice the rainbow puddle as he looks down from a window upstairs. And who’s to say what’s the art, and whom the artist?
