Mental sets

I think I've mentioned it before in this blog, but it's a subject worth returning to: I'm thinking of Sir Ernst Gombrich's terrific Art and Illusion, in which he advances the notion of mental sets. Essentially, he argues that naturalism in art has traditionally always involved a degree of abstraction: the artist, that is, employs codes that are then understood by the reader, or viewer. Marble is not flesh, but we understand that it can represent flesh; the glazed blacks on a Greek vase denote forms and figures simply because they are not unglazed terra cotta. Thus, from such a perspective, an understanding of art depends upon a familiarity with the conventions in play - or, as Gombrich puts it, with the mental set of the culture in which they were developed. And, by extension, the more we see, the more we will be able to understand. A map of the London underground may not make any sense to us at first, but once we realize that circles can stand for stations, and that lines represent rails, we can plot our course from King's Crossing with relative ease.

I don't have a motto, but Gombrich's thesis serves me about as well as any other principle. The more you see, the more you understand. It's one of the reasons I love to travel, and it explains the basic excitement that can still grip me when I have an hour or two free in a bookstore, or library. And, happily, I can see traces of this basic openness to new forms in Cleo, too. L. (who is at least as open to new codes as I am) recently ordered another entry in the terrific Classical Kids series; this one deals with Tchaikovsky's 1891 trip to the New World, where he was to conduct in the glamorous new Music Hall. The story is rooted in fact: indeed, the composer apparently kept a small notebook, in which he jotted down questions and observations about the United States (a sample: 'Things to ask: Is it safe to drink the water in America? What kind of cigarettes do men smoke in New York City? What kind of hats do they wear?'). But it's also partly fictional, and lively; after all, it's aimed at kids.

Or, I might add, at adults who don't know his music all that well. Indeed, I've been delighted with some of the selections, from pieces that I don't think I've ever heard before. The other day, as Cleo and I drove home, I mentioned that I didn't know much of the music on the CD. 'All of us didn't,' came the reply, from the back seat. And then, a moment later: 'If you don't hear it, you don't know it.'

That's right, Cleo. But wonderfully, by the same principle, once you do, you do.