More years ago than I care to remember, my art teacher in grammar school would refer to me as the “quantum artist”—“you either know what he has drawn but not where he has drawn it, or you know where it is but not what it is supposed to be.” [1] Since both my parents were rather fine graphic artists (one a professional), I guess I was walking proof that talent always skips a generation. That said, I certainly enjoy fine art and I have a great appreciation for the skills required to produce it [2].

I think part of my struggle with art at school was because it was presented to me from the outside in—here is a bowl of fruit, paint it—with a strong implication that if the finished product didn’t look like the original, then you had goofed. Since I produced bowls of what could best be described as quantum fuzz, I was doomed from the outset.

Some thirteen years ago, when we were searching for a school for our first child, my wife visited an elementary school that proudly displayed its children’s art on the hallway walls. She was taken aback by the fact that all the paintings looked the same to a remarkable degree—indeed, art classes consisted of detailed instructions of which colors to use where and in which order to apply them. By contrast, what we saw during our Nueva visit was walls full of art that, while clearly reflecting a common endpoint, exhibited as many different paths to it as there were students. Some art throbbed with energy and some was immaculately designed and controlled; some art howled with gales of laughter while some stared you straight in the eye and dared you to blink. It was awesome, and we were sold.

Fast forwarding more years than I care to consider brings us to last Friday and the marvelous “Art at Nueva” show (with musical and gastronomic accompaniments). Penguins, pinball machines, and masks lined the walls. Rod puppets descended from the heavens, while small wound-wire figures gazed vibrantly up at you (move closer—is that one wearing an iPod?). The ball-bearing, black-haired lady positively demanded attention, as did the spider-web pinball machine and the devices-which-turn-on-movies-in-strange-ways-as-you-move-past-them. Art of mathematical precision conflated with explosions of unalloyed artistic enthusiasm, while the whole school gave off a feeling of pure, unadulterated energy.

photos by Bob Rosenberg

Which brings us back to physics. One of the more ludicrous propositions arising out of quantum mechanics is a process based on the notion of “coherence” [3]. One interpretation of this process is that reality does not exist if it does not have an observer. Put another way, art only exists when it is hung on walls (or performed, or felt, or imbibed, or worn) and observed. Put art where it cannot be seen and it fades away into quantum fuzz [4].

Just like my bowl of fruit.

So a million heartfelt thanks to Sharon Cox for chairing this wonderful event; to the art and music faculty at Nueva; and to the NPA and all the volunteers who helped make the art show such a resounding success—and who saved our children’s creative works from quantum oblivion.

[1] Ok, I exaggerate slightly. What he actually said was along the lines of “Alan’s art? Oh dear...”

[2] I am reminded of the artist Caravaggio (I think it was) who applied for a job to paint a mural. When asked to show his portfolio, he opened his leather case which was empty save a piece of chalk. Taking the chalk, he walked over to a bare wall and drew, freehand, a large and absolutely perfect circle. He got the commission.

[3] My art teacher used to describe my works as “thoroughly incoherent.” I now realize he was speaking as a quantum physicist and not as an art critic.

[4] By an amazing coincidence I came across http://physicsweb.org/articles/news/11/4/14 as I was writing this article. The upshot of this experiment is a strong confirmation that reality (really) does not exist if it is not observed. This goes double for your child’s art.