Unstoppable Paranoias: Symbols

The emotional pleasures that we get from artworks might not suffice for everyone. Intellectual interpretations have always been part of the game. Films and paintings are not just observed and experienced, they are read and even over-read. And one of the key players in this game is Symbols.

Yes, there are still people who hold onto the tradition of decoding art through symbols like it’s some certain message. You know, we can’t handle paintings or films as we do with music where we experience emotions and thoughts, but we never ponder what the composer was trying to tell in a particular note. Visual arts, on the other hand, is a platform in which we have diverse interpretation methods.

The Merchant’s Order

Now, imagine a wealthy merchant who orders his portrait from a talented painter in the Renaissance era. We are talking about a time when people weren’t doing/understanding art the way we do today. They still hadn’t quite figured out the terms art, artists, or even aesthetics in our modern sense. Nevertheless, the painters had the culture of developing their own styles. So, our painter infused his style into his work and created a masterpiece that fascinates those who look at it. The order was a success, and everyone was happy.

Years later, art critics who are armed with a magnifying glass and an itch for interpretation enter the scene. What catches their eye? An object hanging on the wall, straight out of a typical 15th-century house. Now, our critics are not just stopping at the decor, they are convinced there is a profound message hidden in that object. With the interpretations, explanations, and inherited symbolic literature, this painting turns into a symbol-filled playground for them. Suddenly, it’s not just a painting, it’s a code waiting to be cracked. Soon, others join in this interpretative game and create a huge literature of symbolism. Every newcomer to the painting consults this growing body of literature.

Sure, there are times when painters consciously aim to convey messages through symbols. And some of them still might enjoy playing this game. But the problem is how it’s turned into a norm, almost like someone’s authorized to speak: This is what the artist meant here. It’s like people suddenly become mind readers after they get a certain type of art education. And this approach has infiltrated all forms of visual arts. The aesthetic joy and personal interpretations we get from artworks are just overlooked as if they are only the subject of Iconography. But even artists did use them, can’t we set aside the symbols and raise our intellectual pleasures to more authentic levels?

Super Conscious Art Followers

Now, imagine an artist sketches me in my office while I write this blog post. And an art enthusiast glances at the sketch and interprets the Apple logo on my iMac computer as some metaphor for existence. But the truth is, it’s just the logo of the computer I use. The artist sketched it because it is on my desk. It is on my desk because Apple makes solid machines, and I’m a fan of it. It’s as simple as that. No cosmic references there.

But, let’s assume that the artist wanted to convey that meaning. Or, some people adopt a symbolistic interpretation and find joy in the process. Okay, I won’t be against it. At the finish line, just one individual is plenty to declare what counts as art, and how it deserves judgment and appraisal. But what I will be against is serving this bizarre method as a norm, which is actually quite popular in art culture and education, including cinema. Take, for example, film reading courses that are popping up like mushrooms. Titles are quite promising: How to watch a film? How to read a film? They teach decoding films through diverse film theories and symbols. And the trendiest way, of course, viewing films as allegories with some deeper (superficial indeed) meanings rooted in socio-political currents.

So, as the old saying goes, the one with a hammer sees everything as a nail, some viewers get trapped in the paranoia of over-interpreting every scene, every word, and even every object. Somehow we end up creating paranoid art enthusiasts, all desperate to claim the label of conscious art followers. But, what about those skipping these courses? Are they clueless about the film-watching experience?

Personally, I would rather share my works with people who may not be super conscious but have a creative intelligence of some kind. They might add fresher interpretations to my works with their creative contributions. But again, some film theorists probably have a broader idea about it too. Various Spectatorship Theories could be seen that way, and I may contradict myself somehow by adopting an existing one. But, at least, I do not impose and teach these notions to people as a norm in paid courses. And, I don’t think the audience needs them as frameworks to be able to appreciate a certain type of cinema.

A Symbol for Pretentious Audience

In films, I see oranges just as oranges. A bird is simply a bird. Rain is just rain. Everything stays true to its role in the film’s world guided by the director’s framings. And from where I stand, those frames are not that narrow to dictate the audience’s focus on symbols. Take, for instance, the sparrowhawk that frequently appears in my films. I see it as just a local element within the films’ cinematic worlds, that does not have any predetermined concept. If someone insists the sparrowhawk carries deeper meaning, that would be just pretending to me. That’s just putting on airs. Acting like: I get art.

Okay then, here is my answer: the sparrowhawk symbolizes the pretentious audience.

Andrei Tarkovsky is a great example of this matter. His films are often perceived as loaded with symbolism, despite his insistence to the contrary (regrettably, he has become a cliché in cinema discussions, but it would be unfair if I skip mentioning him in this context). So, in his book Sculpting in Time, he argues that cinema lies in capturing concrete and unique moments rather than symbolic images.

According to him, visuals get closer to their true purpose when they are not confined to conceptual and speculative frameworks. And, unlike literary works, which rely on symbols represented by words, cinema offers a more direct experience. He envisions it as a visual poem, defined by its form and medium rather than conceptual ideas. Of course, not every audience has to agree with Tarkovsky’s views. And perhaps, in his films, he couldn’t completely break free from the traditional structures he criticized, or guide the audience’s gaze. However, I still find his opinions valuable in developing and experiencing cinema compatible with its form.

Conversely, some filmmakers still intentionally insert predetermined symbols and expect the audience to decipher them (and I must confess that this approach also influenced me a bit in the past). And when the audience agrees to play this game, standard representations or a certain way of understanding films begin to dominate all other diverse approaches. You know, we live in a world obsessed with setting standards, and the art cinema industry also wants to form its standard audience to survive (cinephiles, festival-goers, indie film lovers, arthouse fans so on and so forth). But, beneath the surface, our works revolve around the distinct experiences of individuals rather than audience segments (at least, that’s how it works for me).

I see films as atmospheres and experiences for the audience. Moreover, this doesn’t always have to be conveyed through a narrative. To me, the audience may have two main roles: they could be an observer or a participant (or both). As an observer, they witness events/audiovisual forms from a third-person perspective and interpret them creatively by filling in the gaps themselves. As a participant, they identify with the characters/world/atmosphere of the film and become a part of them. Through both approaches, they gain an experience beyond their own lives by catching glimpses of other existences.

In this regard, I admire Abbas Kiorastami‘s approach to the film audience. He shares a vision for the future of cinema where the audience’s creativity has a significant role. He suggests moving away from the director-centric approach and encourages filmmakers to consider the audience’s perspective and to regard them as their creative collaborators, rather than receivers of messages, decoders of symbols, or readers of theoretical frameworks.

Greatest Tragedy for a Work of Art

Instead of dissecting it into elements or symbols, to me, the real beauty unfolds when we accept the artwork as a whole. It’s not about symbols or elements, it’s about the collective impact. Sometimes, in the world of modern or post-modern art, artists are not even chasing meaning at all. As spectators, all left for us question the work itself and push the boundaries of our understanding.

And most of the time, it’s about the pleasure of the experience. Of course, it might lead us to wonder about the artistic techniques or various aspects of the creator’s mind. Each artist brings a distinctive touch. One artist might immerse us in details, while another presents a panorama. Some elements may be cleverly hidden and wait for us to stumble upon them. And once discovered, our curiosity and creativity could be boosted and we could offer a fresh perspective on the entire work.

To me, the greatest tragedy for a work of art is reducing these experiences to symbols and imposing standardized meanings upon them. It might transform a masterpiece into a banal tool of communication and taint its unique qualities. Take, for instance, Jan Steen‘s paintings, which are personal favorites of mine (you have probably stumbled upon the image of his popular Beware of Luxury). To me, it’s all about the daily moments captured on canvas. It’s a trip back into 17th-century daily life and a glimpse into the world the artist observed and imagined. I focus on these scenes and watch the setting and each character. Then I imagine their motivations and the moments just before or after the snapshot in time. I apprenticed the colors, the light, and the framing.

But, if someone insists that the dog in the painting is the symbol of wealth according to the artist, I’d probably lose my excitement. It feels like being dragged into a superficial game where I’m supposed to say: Yes, it was a tradition among artists to use a dog as a symbol of wealth in that era. Or, no, no, the dog is all about loyalty. Sure, the artists might had something in mind. Across art history, they adopted diverse movements and various motivations. Yes, some were interested in symbolism, and oppositely some adopted the world of naturalism. But the key here is not the artist’s motivation (that we will never exactly know), it’s our approach. Unfortunately, we persist in a metaphorical hunt and seek symbols everywhere. We sleep with metaphors and wake up with symbols. We get stuck in a game where some dinosaurs (guess symbolize who?) set the rules, and we wander through the allegories they want us to construct.