As one looks at a given object or scene (collection of objects), a number of processes assist in the gathering of information. Before the foveal vision has found a home on some visual outcropping in a scene, the peripheral vision is deciding exactly in which nook the eyes should rest next. A scene is not processed as a whole. Conceptually, the scene is whole only when enough foci have been attempted to allow the library of archetypes to be accessed. In terms of the cognitive sextant, enough data points are necessary to establish latitude to some comfortable precision. Imagine a field of black. If there is only black to be seen, the eye discovers this relatively quickly, and there may be no pattern to the ballistic paths taken by the foveal vision. However, if there are placed, say, three red dots of various sizes in the field, the eye will most commonly fall on the dots in rapid succession. It takes a bit more time to establish ‘black field with red dots’ than it does for ‘black field.’
The question then becomes “To what extent are the archetypes dependent on the scene encountered?” or “What do the archetypes even have to do with vision?” Consider the human hand. It seems logical that a photograph of a hand, an object encountered almost continuously since birth, would be recognized more quickly than a hasty caricature of a hand. Unfortunately, studies have established that subjects recognize the cartoonish features of the drawing considerably more quickly than those in the photograph. This indicates that, at least for human hands versus Mickey Mouse hands. The hand archetype is more persistent than the image of actual hands. As with the chair earlier, the adult mind wishes to access the archetype as quickly as possible—“Fingers? It’s a hand.” The caricature in the study did not even have the correct number of fingers, but was recognized.
The archetypes play an interesting role in the act of looking. Assume the first impact of the foveal vision is made on some archetype subset. In a picture of a chair, the seat is one of the common factors of the chair archetype. The peripheral vision is helped to decide where the next look should be, or at least is prepared for what may be encountered. If eyes are seen, a common second attempt is made between the two and lower. There is a great deal to see there, the peripheral vision is told, like the mouth, nose, etc. The ‘face’ archetype is accessed immediately, in order to assist the peripheral vision.
The viewer has the aid, then, of not only the peripheral vision, but the whole library of archetypes in deciding what is being seen. Dali exploits both of these in his paintings. Consider his multiple image pieces, Disappearing Bust of Voltaire and Spain (the latter is a particularly lovely example). The physical environment represented in the Disappearing Bust of Voltaire is a slave market. Gentlemen stand about, no doubt discussing relative worth of various laborers as well as the prices of a variety of Chinese teas. Handmaids await instructions. The building is easily identified by the ‘building’ archetype. It is rectilinear and artificial, so is quickly caught by the eye. The people in the painting are likewise identifiable as ‘people.’ As the scene beings to be collectively perceived, however, an odd thing happens. The face and shoulders of Voltaire emerge from the various shadings and lines in the painting.
As with most Paranoiac Critical images, the bust is, once identified, unmistakable. After having located this new aspect of the scene, the peripheral vision finds it difficult to abandon. Often the viewer must consciously decide to see either the market or the bust, as Dali would decide to see whatever he chose. This cognitive wrestling match is interesting to watch. I have shown this particular piece to fully tens of people, who almost without exception react in the following manner. The person identifies the market without difficulty, pauses, and is surprised by the bust of Voltaire. The sounds of epiphany range from ‘ah’ to ‘aaaahhhhhh.’ Statements like “Look at that” and “Who is that guy?” are likewise common. One viewer even claimed that although the figure was clearly visible, it was equally clear that it was not Voltaire. Having identified the bust, the viewer embarks on a series of exercises designed to separate the images again, most often head tilting and eye closing. However, the scenes are interchangeable and persist in interfering with one another. The core of Paranoiac Critical thought is that these multiple images are equally real and, in the sense of physical bodies, indistinguishable.
Another example of this is the painting Invisible Man. A series of architectural structures and landscape features coalesce into a reclining man. Notable in these pieces is the use of a sort of false depth. The human eye is able to very easily discern continuous or unbroken lines. These are interpreted as edges of an object in question. A sketch of a rectangle is trivial to identify. Consider however, that the rectangle is actually two rectangles of greatly disparate size. The smaller is simply much nearer the eye, and placed such that the edges of the rectangles appear to coincide. This was, two very different objects seem to be one, easily recognizable figure. This technique is often used in trick photography.
It is an act of mercy on the part of the writer, in this case, to restrict the analysis to the simplest of Dali’s multiple images. There are, as most are aware, pieces which are ferociously paranoiac critical and contain dozens of multiple images. (See Lugubrious Game or Grand Masturbator). However, the concepts involved are the same. One should not suspect that multiple imagery is the only aspect of the PCM. Perhaps the most powerful weapon in its arsenal is the ability to draw far-reaching connections visually, verbally, and conceptually. This is really no different than the ordinary use of metaphor or visual symbol, but seems to occur on a vastly more convoluted scale.
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