Physical Space

A summary of:
Wertheim, M. (1999). The Pearly Gates of Cyberspace: A History of Space from Dante to the Internet. Virago Press: London.
Chapter 2 - Physical Space

Wertheim next explores how artists began to influence our worldview by the incorporation of what we might call earthly physics into representation (78). Until Giotto, really, artists created religious icons that did not aim to represent the world that is accessible to the eye, but instead depicted distorted figures on golden backgrounds, asserting the otherworldliness of their subjects, "striv[ing] to evoke the Christian realm of the spirit" (84). But Giotto did something completely alien: he housed iconography, religious subjects, in physical space, "representing the realm of nature and body" (84). In short, medieval art was symbolic, whereas Giotto's art was the beginning of representational art. Or in other words (those of philosopher Christine Wertheim, paraphrased), "while early medieval artists painted what they 'knew,' Giotto and the new masters of the fourteenth century began to paint what they 'saw'" (85).

The major leap is the development of perspective, which allowed for (although Wertheim does not explain it as such) the extension of space backward through the frame. Like with the creation of Purgatory, this is another instance of the discovery of a new kind of space: space as depth. It relied on the "the art of empirical observation" (83), which we have subsequently heralded as a cultural maturation, "'progress' toward a 'true' understanding of the world... a 'true' representation of the world" (83). The result: the literal "grounding" of Christian imagery, "wresting it away from its previous heavenly focus and bringing it down to earth" (85).

As this skill became more and more refined, "Physical vision has now supplanted 'spiritual vision' as the representational ideal: The eye of the material body had replaced the 'inner eye' of the Christian soul as the primary artistic 'organ' of sight" (107). And thus the postmedieval age welcomed the "profoundly physicalist zeitgeist" (108). From now on, not only was the eye the tool used to create art, but was also the target artists aimed at, positioning the viewer at a specific point from which he or she is intended to receive the image (111). Of course, this trick of perspective enabled fantastic illusionism, but it also was manipulated by future artists: "Thus, while perspective painting began by embodying a 'point of view,' it ultimately became once again a means for distancing the viewer from his or her body" (115).

What's interesting is that some (including preeminent scientific thinker, Roger Bacon) believed this represtational approach, what became known as "geometric figuring", would make religion more accessible to the masses, i.e. if it "could be the basis for an illusion so powerful that people would be convinced of the 'reality' of what they were seeing" (91). Wertheim writes further, "As the first person to comprehend the extraordinary illusionistic power of mathematically rendered images, Roger Bacon might justifiably be called the first champion of virtual reality" (91).

Wertheim makes an important observation, almost as an aside: that while Christians thought that geometric figuring was the key to winning the battle against "infidels", these infidels had their own geometric figuring: "Not perspective, but a highly evolved art of mosaic and tessellated pattern-making with which they adorned floors, ceilings, and walls. This beautiful Middle Eastern art form was itself the product of a culture richly imbued with mathematics. Yet this Arab art never sought to simulate physical reality; like Gothic art it aimed at a subtle symbolism in which a divine order was signified by the beauty of complex geometric patterns" (91).

Yes! This is a fork in the road - the point at which we turned toward representation as truth... as the goal. This can still be seen in our modern technological innovations. We are constantly seeking simulacrum: imperfect representation in the digital realm of our physical experiences (e.g. Facebook 'friends,' online 'chat', etc.), even the very simulation of humans in virtual reality. The thing that's wonderful about discovering these forks in the road is that we have identified a potential place to intervene. How might we, then, design technology that does not seek representation but rather aims for "subtle symbolism"???

The inspiration of this chapter is that art in this case was the impetus behind a profound paradigm shift; and if Giotto can catalyze this all with a painting, just imagine what a radical new kind of technology might do, especially given the speed at which this new idea could disseminate via the Internet. In this way, it might be useful to begin with a shift in our thinking about the role of technology in our culture: is it possible that it is more closely aligned with art than we thought? Perhaps we should stop thinking of it merely as tools; it is, too, an expression of our interpretation of the world. This might free us up considerably to innovate in a whole new space.

By focusing on the creative potential of technology, rather than thinking of it as a product of the steady accumulation of science, we realize how important and powerful they are. Consider: "...for long before men of science accepted the new vision of space, it was artists who found a way to give coherent meaning to the idea of an extended physical void" (104), which "would prove crucial to the evolution of the modern concept of physical space that we know today" (105). Again, the lesson here is that it is one thing to seek a harmony between spiritual and technological life; but it is quite another, more interesting thing to use technology as the key expression that brings about a paradigm shift.