☆ Bay Area art profs on reclaiming our humanity through painting, gazing, co-creating (part 1)
More in Silicon Valley than perhaps anywhere else, we wrestle with what being “human” means amidst technological advancements, AI debates, and a fast-moving culture. Below, Opp Now gathered exclusive perspectives from art faculty on this fundamental conflict of “authentic” vs. “technical”—and overcoming it, with our hands, our eyes, and our fellowship with others across space and time.
Jeffrey Levitch, Foothill College art instructor:
In my view, I believe that a work of art that is made by hand, whatever it may be, is a sign (and a solution) of this conflict. With so many easy ways to create an image with the press of a button or a prompt, it marginalizes the maker. I am not saying that technology itself is the problem, as it can be used as another tool in the artist's toolbox. But when it comes to the process of thinking, looking, and doing, there is no better practice than to engage your own hands for the “doing” part.
This practice of making something by hand activates the brain in a way that has the possibility of slowing down and observing the world closely. It can be particularly effective when drawing from life. We switch our brains from drawing “what we know” to actually “drawing what we see.” The two have very different outcomes. What we see is reality, while what we know is usually biased.
I enjoy the practice of painting outdoors. It can be very overwhelming at first; but as I slow down and really look, I enter a different, more focused and connected mindset. I believe that if we include practices like this in our educational system, we can instill a balance in our students to the hectic and more tech-centric lifestyle that we live in.
My dad was an architect, and he always told me that the hand-drawn rendering or sketch is what sells the project!
Ala Ebtekar, Stanford University art lecturer:
I feel like “Luminous Ground,” of which two iterations are currently on view, speaks well to this idea. One iteration is installed currently at the Art Terrace at the Asian Art Museum in SF. And the other iteration is a permanent public art commission with the City of Oakland and The College Preparatory School in Oakland, CA.
[Editor's note: The following comments from Ebtekar, about the “Luminous Ground” installations, appear in his 3.22 video:
I remember standing in front of a slice of this redwood tree [at Muir Woods National Monument] and seeing all the history rings... running my hand across these lines and thinking that my own existence in life might just be a breath or a day in this other organism's timespan. (0:22–0:51)
Over the past decade, I've been really interested in how the earth and sky meet, and the story that each of them tells. … There's always been this kind of romantic idea of looking up at the sky and looking at the stars. But what if those stars looked back at us? (2:26–4:03)
The photographic negatives [for the tiles] are from an image taken by the NASA ESA/Hubble Space Telescope, which documents more than 12 billion years of cosmic history in this panoramic view of thousands of galaxies in various stages of assembly. The image shows a tapestry of more than 7,000 galaxies stretching back through most of the universe's history. (4:27–4:58)
“Luminous Ground” is an exploration of this cosmic landscape. It's as much of an invitation to look inward as it is to look outward. (7:58–8:12)]
Lauren Toomer, Stanford University art and art history lecturer:
I always smirk when I photograph art, only to see the obstructing glare of overhead lights reflected back, as if the artwork were resisting capture by my phone—insisting instead on a genuine human encounter. If this painting has taught me anything, it’s that the fluorescent reflections are art, too—life reflecting back on itself—a truth beautifully embodied in Vincent Van Gogh’s painting of shoes.
Much has been written about this piece, and I initially considered selecting a lesser-known work—one not burdened by too much foreknowledge. Yet, this painting speaks directly to what many have pondered about humanity in the ever-advancing world. Each melancholic brushstroke, each painted fold, each crooked lace, whispers: this moment happened, this moment mattered. The painting invites those who engage with it to feel that intimacy—to imagine slipping your own foot into the insole, into the soul of a person we profoundly feel through every brushstroke. Humanity, like art, is most alive in these raw, unfiltered moments.
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