“Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.”
Edgar Degas
Our most recent family field trip was to the Getty Center. As an added bonus, we were joined by my cousin, Daria, and her fiancé, who recently relocated to Los Angeles. After they get married next summer I’m sure they’ll be barraged with the predictably annoying “When are you having kids?” I’m not sure, but they may be at that point when spending time with families is a sneak preview of life to come, a sampling of parenthood without the sleep deprivation. Daria did mention that since moving to LA, she had spent time with a handful of her friends’ children and that Ryan and Chase were her favorites. Additionally, she remarked that it was apparent Jenni and I had made it a priority to encourage intellectual curiosity.
Even though Daria doesn’t have any kids of her own, I appreciate her perspective. She’s got fancy degrees and makes a living writing plays. Clearly, she’s sharp enough to recognize intellectual curiosity in adolescence and the parenting environment that would foster it. So of course Daria would be able to make these kinds of observations because Jenni and I are the greatest parents in the world.
Or maybe not.
What if our parenting had nothing to do with why our kids are intellectually curious? Or maybe they’re just genetically predisposed to be intellectually curious, so Jenni and I deserve no credit for anything besides our DNA? Or, as I’d like to think, we’ve raised them in a language-rich, educationally-oriented home with a priority on knowledge and questioning?
Before I trip on my way to accepting my “Parent of the Year” award, I’ll acknowledge it’s impossible for me to separate the effects of genetics and parenting when it comes to my own children. In answering the great “nature or nurture” question, I think the correct response is “Of Course! Yes! Both!” As our family wandered the massive stone buildings and neatly manicured gardens, I explored not only the exhibits, but also the humans I brought with me.
Standing inside the main entrance, we were a bit overwhelmed of the scope of the center and all the potential choices. Jenni quickly identified the best learning opportunity and procured self-guided listening devises. Basically the size of a cell phone, it allowed you to punch in the number of any exhibit and listen to background information about the artist and the art. This was perfect for Chase, who strolled from piece to piece, tuning the outside world out and listening. He was happy as a clam with his self-directed learning.
It reminded me of a trip to Catalina Island back before Jenni and I got married. We were on a nature walk (clearly Jenni’s choice, not mine) and throughout walk there were placards of information about the indigenous wildlife. Jenni and her brother were like kids playing Pokemon Go, running from sign to sign to read about California macrophylla and abronia maritima. If someone has gone through the trouble of installing a vaguely educational sign, Jenni is going to read it. Within minutes of entry to anywhere, Jenni flocks to the informational display like bee to pollen and returns to her group with valuable pamphlets. In his pursuit for knowledge, Chase is very much the same way.
Later in the day, Ryan had reached his personal point of boredom. His pace got slower. His eyes less sharp. His body language spoke to his indifference. (Apparently there are limits to intellectual curiosity.) Daria, attuned to group dynamics and intuitive of other’s emotions, began to engage. She tossed conversation starters his away; he batted them away. Finally she put the onus on him and asked, “So what would make this more fun for you?” Daria’s question stopped Ryan in his tracks; he was unsure if he should stay committed to moping or actually try to better his mood. I clearly could identity with Ryan’s boredom and his role as group anchor because it’s exactly like I was at his age. When I was sick of sightseeing in Maine, no one could drag down a group as well as I could. Remarkably, it was often my aunt, Daria’s mother, who would offer me a social lifeline in those situations. Years later, two generations of Matsumotos, obviously driven by genetic coding, were reprising their parents’ roles in group settings. In that moment I was transported back to my childhood, all that was missing was spilling Crystal Light on my corduroy pants with reinforced knee patches.
While Ryan was bored, Chase was just getting warmed up and the classical architecture and intellectual environment obviously inspired him. Right before lunch, Chase and Daria started a metaphysical conversation about the essence of things. The spirit of water was discussed as was the essential question of “When does a partially carved stone become a statue?” The two generations conversing was really cute and so I prioritized getting a picture of the conversation as opposed to participating in it. When I returned to the lecture, Chase had moved onto to unique human spirit. I teased him for being annoying and he replied that he gets that from his dad. We touched on heredity for awhile before Chase philosophized, “Anything bad come my parents, anything awesome is all me.”
That’s right: Pure Chase. An entity not of this world until 2009. I could laugh at the Chase Awesomeness Theory, but I think everyone participates in some version of this–we blame our parents for our shortcomings, opportunities, and upbringing; at the same time we attribute any success to something innately individual about us. Blaming doesn’t have to be outright parent shaming, but any form of wistfulness or wishing we had a different outcome from our childhood. It’s amazing that we’ve managed to succeed in spite of our parents best intentions to sabotage us. Probably earlier than most, Chase is attributing his good and bad characteristics.
Sure I’m a deep thinker, but was does Chase’s ability to talk about the essence of water come from? Was he born with it? Is it product of forcing the boys to watch Baby Einstein Neptune videos? Does Pure Chase exist and if so, can we bottle it and give some to my wife who tires when I want to have long, philosophical conversations about where we’re going to eat on a Friday evening?
Earlier in the day, Chase had pronounced, “I don’t get art.” Daria explained that each piece of art continues the conversation previously created artwork. I think her point was that artists doesn’t create art in a vacuum, their art lives on a continuum between past and future art, predicated on the first and necessary for the latter. In the much the same way, our children are “works of art” building upon their parents and paving the way for their future masterpieces.
The beauty of art is in its ambiguity; you’ll never know for sure if you’re seeing exactly what artist wanted you to see and that’s what makes an oil painting different than a stenographer’s court record. In addition to the historical discussion, art is also a conversation between you and the artist. No matter how concrete or abstract, artists are ultimately trying to communicate something about a human condition, something about you. As we spent a day surrounding by an amazing collection of art, I learned not only about the Dutch Renaissance, I also learned something about myself. And after all, isn’t that the point of art?
