I’ve been giving a lot of thought recently to the concepts of persona and facade. Here are links to what Dr. Google currently has to say about a couple of aspects of those related ideas.
- In psychological terms what is the difference between the Jungian concept of persona and facade?
- Does the distinction between persona and facade diminish with age? (Asked the crusty retired gent.)
Something that occurs to me about persona and facade in relation to the ideas Dr. Google presents is that persona emerges primarily as an unconscious reaction to recurring conscious input, and facade forms largely as a product of conscious intention. I say largely since it seems to me that I am psychically always in a liminal state … one foot in the unconscious and one in consciousness (and from moment to moment I’m almost always only aware of the conscious stuff). So every product of conscious intention (i.e., facade) rides on a layer of unconscious material, some of which, I dare say, might reasonably be thought of as unconscious motivation(s). Sort of the inverse of the formation of persona where the unconscious is the driver navigating where consciousness needs to go.
An obliquely related thought, at least in my mind, is an idea from a book I read at an impressionable age titled The Morning of the Magicians in which the authors assert that a man does not get what he deserves, but what he resembles. That train of thought visited me often during the weeks that I worked on the image above which I developed using Corel Painter.
Sculpted Forms
As I’ve droned on about in previous posts, I try with the graphics I develop to allow them to evolve as much as possible through uncritical acceptance and response to thoughts that spontaneously cross my mind while I work. My thinking is that such thoughts reflect unconscious intentions, and that by giving them visual expression I have an opportunity to examine and speculate upon what the greater portion of my psyche is up to. Most … perhaps all … of my previous graphic compositions have included overtly symbolic components which I have enjoyed ruminating over, all the while being careful not to hold on too tight to any particular interpretation that might occur to me on the assumption that if what I’m examining is indeed an expression of unconscious material its meaning can never fully be grasped … and that’s the bliss.
I tinkered with the image above for a little more than eight weeks. Off and on during the effort, in response to mild befuddlement at the emerging naturalistic scene I was authoring, I toyed with the idea of injecting some sort of mysterious element or other. Perhaps out there on the slope leading down to the ocean the shaman featured in a previous post might make an appearance. Or maybe three tall, lean pillars or stelae suggesting, in my imagination, a place of worship of the Fates. But every conscious (so they seemed to me) attempt at willful mystification I tried read as trivial Mickey Mouse distractions from what I was otherwise coming to appreciate as simply a pleasantly tranquil scene.
And now in the standing-back-from-the-work-and-considering phase, I wonder why I feel that pleasant tranquility is enough. In this instance, for me that seems to be the mysterious component. Perhaps the “big picture” is whispering … something I may not have really listened to before. Perhaps something like, if I let it, pleasant tranquility can be wrought through interactions in the world over time. Maybe a pointer to a potential upside of old age.
Temple Path
I completed the image above almost two months ago, but I did not post it until now partly because I sense it to be a departure from whatever I’ve been doing before. Or, to put it another way, it suggests to me a change has taken place, or is in progress. Something shifting in my response to the sense of mystery I relish in the world, and I’ve been at a loss about what to make of that.
The image is constructed from parts of six different photos. What kicked it off was the photo I took of the tree, which stands at the corner of Castenada and Montalvo Avenues in San Francisco’s Forest Hill neighborhood. Dr. Google tells me it is a Pohutukawa Tree, native to New Zealand, distinguished by its orange aerial roots. During the days of pleasant, meditative effort it took me to pull the tree, pretty much pixel by pixel, out of its “actual” Forest Hill background, thoughts about elements that might be arranged around it came to mind and the image above evolved.
When the assembly was complete, I liked it a lot, but I also began to feel that the aerial roots … the feature of the tree I found mysterious and had attracted me to it … seemed a bit of a distraction from what I came to feel was the overall tranquility of the scene. In my thoughts, on this occasion, the prospect of tranquility was eclipsing mystery. That awareness seemed to me to be something I needed to reflect upon, and it was still on my mind yesterday when I came upon a couple of things while cruising the web that seemed pertinent in an oblique, associative thinking, sort of way. My relationship to mystery felt a shake.
In an interview with former NY Times art critic Roberta Smith, she remarked, “Artists cannot control the meaning of their art. They can’t possibly encompass it all if they’re good. There’s stuff left over for generation after generation to deal with.” I have no pretensions to artistry. Rather I think of the stuff I do, and the way I work, as an attempt to allow my unconscious self to find expression, and sometimes permit a glimpse of an internal horizon that is at once a little more distinct, yet ever retreating … chasing meaning of a sort that seems for a moment to be in my grasp, then skips teasingly out of reach again.
In December 1882, Vincent van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo, “Sometimes I long so much to do landscape, just as one would go for a long walk to refresh oneself, and in all of nature, in trees for instance, I see expression and a soul.” I think one of the things that especially drew me to that quote is that four weeks ago I began working on another image, and again the star of the show is a tree. This time one I photographed in San Francisco’s Dolores Park. Progress is slow because the shot includes a goodly expanse of the tree’s boughs with the sky visible through a gazillion gaps in the leaves. I’ve determined that I need to punch out all patches of sky from the tree shot so that the sky in the image I’m currently thinking of placing behind the tree will show through realistically. This sky-purging process, which feels meditative and I’m enjoying immensely, will likely take several more weeks. And it’s looking like the outcome will offer tranquility transcending mystery to an even greater extent than in the image above.
Hypnopompia
The composition above came together, first to last, during an eight-hour binge. The experience was for me, I think, sort of the graphic equivalent of automatic writing. Fragments of images and possible relationships between them presented themselves in an order that was easy to lay down. Like having stumbled upon a pleasant obscure text, I am contentedly at a loss regarding what it means.
Silhouette and Shadow
I love the way moon or lamplight through lace curtains casts gossamer shadows. Seeing evokes a sweet, calming feeling. Some graceful physical transaction is taking place that in the moment is beautiful to behold and will leave no trace when it concludes.
A Ten Bean Model
The image above is an homage to Michael Ray Charles, whose work I admire very much.
Rebis
I’ve been thinking about the concept known as Rebis. In the Alchemical Tradition that word denotes the culmination of the “Great Work” … which includes the union of opposites. I don’t think there’s much chance of Rebis being achieved in actuality. And in the arena of the mind, I think it’s a wonderfully worthwhile project, but one that probably always proceeds one step forward and two steps back. I say this because the union-of-opposites-like enterprise I’m preoccupied with these days is enhanced collaboration of my conscious and unconscious faculties. And my experience so far is that the unconscious is vast, and by comparison consciousness is miniscule. Like the difference in scale between the earth and the entire rest of the universe.
An idea I’ve been toying with is that what I’m consciously aware of expands in response to experiences in actuality and as a consequence of contributions shared by my unconscious faculties, either while on the edge of sleep or as ideas that present themselves to me while I’m awake. Such day-time gifting usually takes place during moments when I’m not actively responding to a pressing need in actuality, or on those occasions when I’m engaged in some manual task like applying leaves to the tree in the image above. While performing almost automatic, largely repetitive actions with my hands, unsought ideas present themselves that often feel wildly out of left field and at the same time also wonderfully pertinent.
Shortly after I first began noodling over Rebis several weeks ago I happened upon a particularly wonderful Tarot deck called Visconti Sforza. I do not read Tarot cards myself, but I’m always grateful for the ideas that cross my mind when I look at them. While looking at the Visconti Sforza deck the “Rebis Card” above began to take shape in my thoughts.
Wolf, Raven and … Ankh?
One of my current conceits is that, to the extent the needs of actuality permit, I am living an allegorical life. And to that end I willfully foster an active and uncritical collaboration between my conscious and unconscious faculties.
The image above is a product of that collaboration. This exercise was kicked off by my attraction to a 1926 public domain photo by Eugène Atget called “St. Cloud” that provides the setting. Upon reflection it seemed to me that a wolf should be standing at the top of the near stairs. I found a stock photo of a wolf that had the right attitude, and I purchased a license to use it. Once the wolf was in place it seemed to me that he was looking at a raven in flight. Again, I found and licensed a stock photo that seemed properly expressive. But what was the handsome bird after or attracted to?
It seemed to me that what was emerging was an allegorical image, but I had, and still have, no idea what abstract concept might be proposed by the literal composition. That set me thinking that the raven might have its eye on an allegorical object, and the ankh crossed my mind.
I like the way the Egyptian “key of life” symbol looks in the composition very much, but even though I don’t know what the overarching allegory is about, the conscious side of the collaboration feels the ankh isn’t the most appropriate object to be lying on the bottom step. I mean, wolves and ravens are quintessential Northern Europe totems, are they not?
I hope if you find the image of interest and a story occurs to you, that you’ll share it with me.
High Retreat
From time to time over several months, I dreamt an image very much like the one above. And subsequently on the edge of sleep, I began willfully visualizing myself there. Sometimes by the water. Sometimes walking among the trees. Sometimes within the structure high on the craggy peak, which I explore, or from which I simply look out the windows.
The image above is not an exact replica of the place I dreamt, but all the key features that were present are represented, and it captures the sense of scope and feeling of the original vista. The image above has since eclipsed the original in my thoughts, and offers itself as a highly accessible site for edge of sleep exploration.
Update 1/12/26: In my imagination on the edge of sleep I’ve built a small dock on the near side of the lake. That gets me out over the water, but not too close, as there are lots of large, strange beings, some perhaps uncordial, just below the surface. (I hope I can loosen up around that wariness as I acclimate.) And I’ve constructed a comfy wooden lounge-like deck chair where I sit on the dock under an awning, smoking a maduro-wrapped cigar, sipping a canned margarita, and admiring the view. I imagine when the weather turns, I may prefer to be in the structure on the craggy height … but maybe not. There are no shutters on the windows, so the wind and rain would certainly get in. The place could get super nippy and the wet stone floors would probably be pretty slippery. At the same time I’m not sure I’d want to install shutters since I like the way the place looks now very much. Of course, that may change.
Wild in the Temenos
The fantasy I associate with the image above is that I’m the personification of a people. We looked at the world and drew conclusions about how it works. The conclusions that aligned with our desires were refined and codified, and a physical structure was erected, expressing our orthodoxy in columns, arches, and domes.
But one night I dreamt that a great dark horse with a white star on its brow was running wild in the orthodoxy structure. And when I awoke, I was in a vast meadow. Waist-high tawny grass and the boughs of distance trees swayed and churned. The breeze chill on my face was sweet autumn scents and the stench of rotting flesh from an open trench that ran zig-zig to the horizon. There was the buzz of flies and bees, the caw of crows, the laughter of children and the howling of beasts. Shadows of clouds moved hugely over me, alternately cast by swaths of great white formations in an azure sky, then walls of black thunderheads. Light and dark. Light and dark. The earth beneath my feet cried out and there was a sensation in my being like the opening of a door. A wave of unorthodox conclusions about how the world works poured in.