We had a minor and perhaps amusing contretemps this morning. I asked my wife the same question (about what we were expecting to have for dinner this evening) on several occasions. Clearly she thinks that I am losing my marbles …. but on reflection I wonder if there isn’t another, and more interesting, explanation for this kind of memory problem. It is a mistake to think that “memory” as simply a fling system in which facts are stored. Many (perhaps all) of our memories are also freighted with emotion, and the manner in which we recall (or fail to recall) these has to do in large measure with their emotional charge.
I was sent off in this direction by a memory of my mother. When she was very old, and living in a care home, we used to take her out on little trips (perhaps to buy clothes) in the car. Driving back to her home sometimes she would become quite agitated by the question of what she was going to give us for tea. Of course, living in the care home she was not responsible for feeding us. Nevertheless, she was not only accustomed to having to provide refreshment for visitors, but being the generous hostess was an important part of her self-definition. Her problem of memory was “driven”, not by the facts of the situation, but by the emotional charge carried by this kind of situation. The facts mattered rather less than the emotional dimension to her memory of similar situations, to the point at which the factual aspect of the situation was entirely swamped by its emotional aspect. Was she going to be adequate to the occasion?
I think that perhaps this morning’s exchange with my wife was a situation of a similar character. The question of what we will eat this evening was not simply a factual one. She had already impressed upon me (several times) that under no circumstances was I to eat for lunch (she is eating out with a friend) the left-overs of desert we had prepared for our guests on Saturday night. The implication of this was woe betide if I was so absent-minded as to eat it all for my lunch! The question of menu-planning carried a substantial (and rather explosive) emotional charge. Hence my anxiety about the choice of what to prepare, and with that anxiety the need to reassure myself that my intentions regarding the menu were acceptable. (Equally important, of course, is the fact that I do like my cooking to please her.)
What has this to do with art? Well: a great deal, actually. The act of drawing is often assessed in terms of its factual accuracy. the question, “Can you draw?” usually means, “Can you draw accurately?” The quality of drawing, however, depends very heavily on the emotional weight which it carries. I was thinking this morning about the life-drawing class I attend at the Iklley Art School. The tutor is very fond of the work of Egon Schiele. I wouldn’t say that he is my favourite by any means, but if you are looking for an example of the degree to which the factual side of drawing has become freighted with an emotional burden, then Schiele is your man.