Psychology and Art: An Interesting Question

I recently got an email from someone in New Zealand that really caught my interest. They're in a Ph.D. program for creative writing and posed a very interesting question. I won't spill the whole email to keep things private, but here's the scoop: they wanted to know about artists influenced by death anxiety and terror management theory, seeing them as potential genres in art and literature. They gave a shoutout to my website and wished me luck in 2024. (Thanks for the email if you happen to see this post.)

I've been thinking a lot about this question. I've only come across one article about a painter diving into Becker's theories for their art. It's a fascinating question that could kick off a bit of a "movement" in the creative arts world if artists could accommodate and assimilate these theories. Most of the information on death anxiety and terror management theory is wrapped up in the world of science and academia. Most artists won't read these kinds of books and papers.

Imagine if artists from all walks of life hopped on board and started creating based on these ideas. It could add a whole new layer to humanity that other genres might miss. Sure, these ideas are a bit tricky to grasp and even tougher to apply to your own life. But once you get them, they're a game-changer.

How awesome would it be to encourage artists to dig into Becker's work and create stuff directly tied to death anxiety and terror management theory? Here's the kicker: a ton of art already revolves around these ideas; we just don't always see it that way. Death is something we all grapple with, and we're all kind of in denial that it's coming for us at some point. It's a universal theme that could make art even more relatable and powerful.

"Culturally Constructed Meat Puppets," 3.75" x 5" acrylic on paper.

Existential Dread No. 8

“Existential Dread No. 8,” 8” x 10” acrylic and charcoal on paper.

“Existential Dread No. 8,” 8” x 10” acrylic and charcoal on paper.

“Existential Dread No. 8,” 8” x 10” acrylic and charcoal on paper.

Thirty Paintings a Month

I paint every day. Sometimes, I’m able to make two or even three paintings a day. Mostly, I do “warm up” paintings: ideas for possibly larger pieces in the future. These “paint sketches” are really important for me. They do two things: first, they allow me to apply paint, make marks, and give me ideas for larger pieces (as I said). Secondly, I get better with each painting. With every painting I make, I learn something. One thing I’ve realized (probably from making photographs for years) is that I’m too “uptight” and too rigid. I’m slowly learning to reverse this; it’s difficult. In a lot of ways, I’m trying to unlearn what I did in photography. Yes, there are a lot of things that help me because of my knowledge of photography, light, composition, and even color theory. But there are a few things that make painting difficult; one of them is rigidity. I’m learning to loosen up and allow spontaneous and free-flowing movements and experiments to happen. It’s a great feeling.

I turn 60 years old this month. I was thinking about this the other day. It’s a strange feeling in some ways. It seems for the last decade I’ve been revisiting events of my youth, or at least exploring my interests as a younger adult. After my military service, I started a business making free-standing wood-burning stoves and fireplace inserts. I oversaw a shop of four welders and two finish line people. I made good money and enjoyed the work. I built hundreds of stoves myself and was efficient and skilled in metal fabrication. I was also proficient in all kinds of welding, including MIG, TIG, and stick welding, as well as brazing and other minor metal fabrication skills. This came to an end because of environmental issues concerning emissions and laws passed that prevented the sale of the stoves (the late 1980s). I ended up at the university, which, in the end, was a good thing.

A few years ago, I started metal fabrication again. I was doing blacksmithing and bladesmithing work. People asked, “Where did you learn to do this kind of thing?” They seemed to be a bit shocked and puzzled. It wasn’t either for me; it was taking a step back to my younger years and revisiting the skills and knowledge that I spent so much time doing. I’m not sure why I did it—maybe to clear my head and create in a different way. It just felt right and comfortable. I really enjoyed the nostalgia and feelings of shaping steel and working around a hot forge and welder again. It wasn’t foreign or weird to me at all.

That brings me to painting. Again, some people are wondering, "What is this all about?” Well, remember, I did four years at undergraduate school, and I majored in photography, visual art, and communication (with a minor in Spanish). In that emphasis of visual art, I did the introductions to painting, drawing, color theory, art history, etc. I also completed 8 credit hours of “studio art.” I did painting and mixed media, with a lot of photography involved. Along with those courses, I completed two courses in “painting on photographs,” a beginning course and an advanced course. And I also have a graduate degree, an M.F.A.I.A. That’s a master of fine arts in interdisciplinary art. That is self-explanatory, I think. My point is that I have a history of what I’m doing and have been doing. I’m simply revisiting my past and using it to flesh out my new work and project. And I love it. If I take up surfing or paragliding, you’ll know I’m in unfamiliar waters (no pun).

I find it interesting that people tend to want you to stay in the lane they “know you for,” and when you veer from that, it seems a bit apostate to them—some even seem disappointed. If they understood your background and life experiences, they might think differently. In the end, it doesn’t matter. I just thought I would share what I’d been thinking about entering my sixth decade on this pale blue dot. It’s not surprising that I find myself painting or making knives; at least to me, it seems like a kind of natural course of self-exploration. It’s paid off for me both mentally and conceptually. It’s given me more to work with on this project.

Thirty paintings a month. It’s not about the number; it’s not even relevant, really. It’s about commitment, learning, and growing. As I said earlier, I gain so much from each painting I do. I’m trying to be present for the journey. To really be grateful and appreciate each day and each piece of work I make. Ultimately, that’s what’s important to me. Painting, like photography, is something you have to practice to become efficient enough to accomplish what you want to accomplish. In the end, I hope to publish several of my paintings, along with my photographs, in my book to make a complete, cohesive, interdisciplinary work about human behavior and existential terror. That’s my goal.

One more thing. I’ve posted a few times about how beneficial our walks are to me creatively. You might find this article interesting if you subscribe to this theory about walking and creativity. Check it out:
How Walking Fosters Creativity

The Color Blue and the Number Three

In some Native American cultures, the color blue represents the sky, water, and the spirit world. It can also symbolize peace, serenity, and spiritual awareness. Blue is often used in ceremonies related to prayer, meditation, and vision quests. In Native American mythology, the number three represents the vertical picture of the world. It represents the space between the Heavens and the Earth.

The Iroquois tribe also expressed the significance of the number three by smoking from a pipe three times. Traditional Native American gardeners have planted the Three Sisters (corn, beans, and squash) in many different regions of North America. Some versions of the Three Sisters legends involve the crops personified as three women who separate from each other only to find out that they are stronger together.

Existential Dread No. 5

There is something that I find both intriguing and fascinating about non-objective abstracts. Yesterday, I posted my representational abstract, “The Ballad of Curtis Loew,” based on a song and memory. This is a painting I did today based on an idea from within me—nothing representational or based on anything physical, at least when I started the painting. I’ll let the viewer decide what they see or feel in reference to the title. I have to say, I do love the underpainting on this. It gives the piece a lot of depth. It looks really nice in real life.

In the context of evolution, human existential crises may arise from our heightened cognitive abilities and self-awareness. As humans developed intricate thinking processes and self-reflective capacities, an increased awareness of mortality, the quest for meaning, and contemplation of one's existence became more pronounced. While an existential crisis isn't necessarily a flaw, it can be viewed as a consequence of our advanced cognitive functions. It might function as a mechanism for individuals to scrutinize and assess their position in the world, fostering personal growth and the formulation of coping strategies. In this regard, it can be perceived as a beneficial function that motivates individuals to explore purpose and meaning in their lives.

Ernest Becker said, “What does it mean to be a self-conscious animal? The idea is ludicrous if it is not monstrous. It means to know that one is food for worms. This is the terror: to have emerged from nothing, to have a name, a consciousness of self, deep inner feelings, an excruciating inner yearning for life and self-expression, and with all this yet to die. It seems like a hoax, which is why one type of cultural man rebels openly against the idea of God. What kind of deity would crate such complex and fancy worm food?” (The Denial of Death)

How Self-Awareness Awakens You

Do you think you’re self-aware? How do you know if you are? Here are a couple of questions you can ask yourself:. Do you understand your strengths and weaknesses? Do you practice empathy? Do you recognize your biases? Do you seek personal growth? Etcetera.

Being self-aware is the first step in understanding both who you are and your position in the world or your culture. And yes, it does feed back to death anxiety and terror management theory. However, part of coming to terms with mortality relies heavily on self-awareness. I often quote Albert Camus; he said, "There is only one liberty: to come to terms with death; thereafter, anything is possible." The only way to do that is through self-awareness.

Have you ever been around a person who isn’t very self-aware? I have, and it’s very frustrating and annoying. When a person isn’t self-aware, you may see egotistical or even narcissistic behavior, as well as a complete disregard for other people’s intelligence or feelings. It’s a painful and disturbing experience. I’m on board for people to “toot their own horn” or share their accomplishments through the avenues where they find meaning and purpose. There’s nothing wrong with that. Where it goes off the rails for me is when they seek to “be better” or even belittle others with these accomplishments. When it becomes a competition, it can get ugly. This is the malignant result of existential dread. It’s nasty stuff. Social media is full of it.

Let’s stay on the positive side of dealing with meaning and self-awareness. Here are some questions you can ask yourself regarding this topic:. They are from a course I just completed about existential anxiety:

What are some accomplishments you have already achieved in your life that you find meaningful?

What goals or ambitions do you have for the rest of your life?

Who are the people who are most important to you in your life?

How do you demonstrate importance to these people in your life?

How do these behaviors, goals, achievements, ambitions, and intentions align with your culture and worldview?

These will help you start the process of both being self-aware and coming to terms with how you buffer death anxiety or existential dread. Which are kind of the same things or at least one leads to the other. This is the process I’ve used to become more self-aware and awaken to memories and meaning in my life. It’s the well-spring where I draw my inspiration and creative life from.

My view from my painting station. I listen to music, make marks and throw paint onto surfaces. A beautiful life.

Two Fish No. 3

I’m making a few paintings about fish (as you can see). I like the form and the symbol. As well as the variation you can get when painting these (as ideas for existential anxiety). Have you ever heard of ichthyophobia? The fear of fish—both dead and alive. The topic of fear interests me because it all relates to the fear of death.

Is it Something or About Something?

“Fish Bones No. 1,” 6” x 6” (15 x 15 cm) Oil

Is it something, about something, or both? I’ve been trying to get my arms around avoiding the literal. It’s a difficult habit to break. Coming from photography, where everything is literal (even if it’s abstract), painting offers you a lot of freedom. Sometimes, that freedom causes you to freeze—it creates a barrier to making work that is less literal.

I have so many ideas that I want to paint; I’m just trying to find my way in with a blend of styles—impressionism and post-impressionism. Those are the movements that are most attractive to me. I would add some abstract impressionism in there too. These paintings I’m making will always be centered on Becker’s theories and terror management theory, but in a very non-literal way. Sometimes the content will be non-literal, and sometimes the ideas will be less than literal. It’s more of a personal journey than any kind of commercial process.

I said in my last post that I’m reading Rick Rubin every morning—early in the morning—and he’s been driving me to new places and trying new things. It’s liberating. He said, “Look for what you notice but no one else sees.” (Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being) That resonates with me deeply. I would say that is the core of my work (In the Shadow of Sun Mountain). I’m not sure that no one else notices, but the idea is to get away from the obvious, the literal, and the commonplace. I get it, and I agree.

“In terms of priority, inspiration comes first. You come next. The audience comes last.”

— (Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being

As I find my way through this iteration of the project, I do find my biggest obstacle to be literalism. I’m working to break the chains of photography and literalism and find my way to most representational work, even abstract in some sense. It’s a fun journey, and I encourage you to remember that you’re the creator of your work; you’re the one that needs to be happy with it. Another Rubin quote from his book is, “In terms of priority, inspiration comes first. You come next. The audience comes last.“ (Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being).

“Existential Dread No. 5,” 6” x 6” (15 x 15cm) Oil

The Implied and The Explicit

I’ve been considering the words implied and explicit as they relate to art. When I think about photography, the word explicit comes to mind. It’s literal; it’s “of something.” Yes, it can be abstract, but it’s still something that exists. When I think about painting, sculpture, music, writing, etc., I think of the word implied. These mediums are less mechanical, most of the time. They are fashioned from nothing; the content usually doesn’t exist in “real life.” It can be an interpretation of something, but it’s always different.

“Art as a work in progress: All art is a work in progress. It’s helpful to see the piece we’re working on as an experiment.”

— Rick Rubin, “The Creative Act: A Way of Being”

My concerns and interests lie in impressionism, even abstract impressionism. To me, this form of art is the ultimate form of the word “implied.” There is so much freedom in making art that is less literal, more abstract, and less concrete. I can allow my mind to ponder the theories I’m interested in and create work that represents the ideas without being explicit. As I’ve grown older, I’m less interested in telling literal stories and more interested in exploring the emotions and feelings behind the ideas or concepts. I love photography and will continue to make photographs at some point, but for now, this is a much more powerful way for me to express my ideas.

I’ve been spending a lot of time reading and re-reading Rick Rubin’s book, “The Creative Act: A Way of Being.” He said, "Art as a work in progress: All art is a work in progress. It's helpful to see the piece we're working on as an experiment."

Photography has been a wonderful career for me. I made a living with it for many years and retired as a photographer. I’ve always loved it and appreciated it. As I’ve had time to think deeply about what I’m most interested in now, I find myself drawn to painting. For many years, I’ve threatened to start painting when photography doesn’t speak to me. I’ve dabbled in mixed media quite a lot over the years. In undergraduate school, I did a lot of experimental photography, even painting on images. But this is different for me now. I have specific ideas and themes I want to paint about. My Becker studies opened up so much for me, and I want to be free to express those ideas through post-impressionism, impressionism, and abstract impressionism. I’m no Pollock, no De Kooning, and surely no Van Gogh, but I know I have a voice in this medium.

My goal is to work through ideas and themes around death denial, death anxiety, terror management theory, gratitude, and humility. Those are the big-picture themes or ideas. I have several months now to paint because winter is here. Although I would be painting in the summer or in good weather too, it’s just a great winter activity. I’ll try to post occasionally about my progress. I’ve made 20–30 paintings so far and am still very much exploring techniques and ideas. Stay tuned!

“Existential Dread No. 1,” December 2, 2023, 6” x 6” (15 x 15 cm), Oil

“Existential Dread No. 2,” December 2, 2023, 6” x 6” (15 x 15 cm), Oil and Watercolor

Monotype Prints Made With Blocking Ink

I’ve been experimenting with monotype prints for a while and am really enjoying the process. Sometimes, I print and then paint them after the blocking ink is dry. I use both watercolor and acrylic paint. I’ll show an example of one of those “post color” monotype prints later.

I’m exploring the same themes and ideas with these. I like the figures I’ve created and will continue to make prints as the inspiration hits me.

“The Alien and Two Graves” monotype print, 9” x 12” (22,86 x 30,48cm) November 23, 2023.