The Psychology of Space and the Affect of Experience; A Deeper Look at the Art Museum

Lauren Dougherty

The social understanding of space is both unending and ever-evolving. Physically, space is defined by the extension of material bodies or fields bordering on

each other. But beyond the multitude of conceptualizations of space--perhaps as a medium, a void, an intuitive nature--there is a methodology of studying space that has become more influential in our understanding of space in relation to human beings, as social creatures. To elaborate, space is best conceived of as an intensely social element in the psychology of curatorial design and the entirety of the museum experience. Because space is relational, integral, and maintains a pressure on the individual and the society is surrounds, it is necessary and dynamic.

By focusing specifically on the exterior and interior of the art museum, one can begin to appreciate the complexity of the social experience with regards to art and space. Psychologist Rudolph Arnheim spent much of his career analyzing the psychological nature of architecture, the emotional, mental, and physical impact different designs of space can have on human beings, and the residual effect these spaces can have in regards to one another. Arnheim's clearly relative explanation of space, rooted in Einstein's purist interpretation of relativity, gives way to an entirely new way of visual thinking, which contextualizes the mental exhaustion one feels after "a day at the museum". Using our spatial, emotional, cognitive, and appraisal pathways simultaneously in this new brand of visual thinking is further explained in Arnheim's theory, the unimpaired vision of architecture.

It is through my research that I argue this theory can be applied beyond grand architecture and the surface impact of structures, and further to specific exhibits of art. "Socially as well as perpetually, one cannot fully understand the nature of two entities working together [space and art] so long as one considers each only by itself" (Arnheim 17). Arnheim's notion that one entity cannot be fully embraced without the consideration of the neighboring entities does in fact seamlessly capture how we as human beings process a collection of art. By example, space can be used as an exercise in validation of what we consider as good, exceptional, and priceless art. Why is it that the wall of German Expressionism at the MoMA in New York City is packed intensely with sensationalist propaganda posters, but the Mona Lisa has a sprawling wall unto itself in the Louvre? This is how the curators say, pay attention. This is how psychologists say, space is an active practice of design and an essential element in the articulation of an idea.

Space, as a medium, is discussed as interspace, negative space, and neutral space. In particular, active usage of interspace can be more useful for the individual artist's purpose and include situations in which all areas surrounding the artwork have properties enabling them to be perceived as part of the figure or the piece, a situation in which we find ourselves, the viewers concluding that the entire exhibition was artfully done, rather than just the individual pieces themselves. That being said, some works are so clearly dominant to the space surrounding them, the aforementioned ambiguity between surrounding space and art is avoided. That dominance of the work is an active usage of negative space. Under such conditions, the definite subordinate areas of surrounding space are seen as grounds in the total context, but they are not endless and without formative powers of their own. They act as negative spaces. They have a shape of their own, which contributes to the total pattern or piece, but it is the surrounding space of the work and is thus the inverse of it. Therefore, the more grand or priceless the piece, the more empty negative space surrounds it--giving an intense effect reminiscent of the curation of the aforementioned Mona Lisa.

This is then further understood by the creation of boundaries and neutral space. Psychologically, neutral space can be understood as the first phase in the placement of a single object. It is the space that comes before the interference of meaning provided by, in this case, a work of art's presence. At a somewhat more developed stage, the relations between objects [multiple works of art in an exhibit], are enveloped in negative and interspace. Thus, "by looking at [works of art] as an eminently dynamic experience", the moving of any given pieces closer together or father apart in the salient interspace is pervaded by gradients of that distance. These relational gradients of closeness or lack thereof amongst objects can be conceptualized as perpetual compression and decompression. Thus, objects that look 'too close' to each other display mutual repulsion in that they appear as though they want to be moved apart. At a somewhat greater distance the interval between the works may look just right, or they may seem to attract each other. This is the intrinsic human interpretation of the nature of space at work. These forces are at work whenever objects are related across space, and these "proxemic norms" influence the choice of preferred distances between objects where visual distances are judged by the behavior of the perpetual forces generated by them. As Arnheim argues, "we feel compelled to juggle the distances between objects until they look just right because we experience these distances as influencing forces of attraction and repulsion" (Arnheim 20). This process of deciphering and juggling, most critically from the perspective of the viewers, is an innate reaction occurring within us at all times and is known as automatic aesthetic evaluation using implicit cognition. Implicit cognition is considered important because counter to explicit cognition, it can cast light on the processes that cannot be observed in a controlled introspective process. This is the neurological explanation for the concept in which people do not want, or simply cannot overtly communicate their specific preferences. You walk out of the exhibition speechless. You cannot decipher why, but the collection resonated with you on a such a level that feels emotional and reflective, as if it now, a part of you.

In fact, in a study conducted by the University of Roma Tre, psychologists further investigated this existence of an automatic aesthetic evaluation, posing the question, "When we encounter an object like an artwork or an architectural structure that activates an aesthetic response, does the associated evaluation appear in our mind as in automatic process?" (Bartoli et al 2010). From the broad field of aesthetic appraisal, the researchers considered and argued that it would be essential to investigate whether automatic aesthetic response also plays a role in art appreciation. Much like in an information-processing model of aesthetic experience, (Leder et al 2004) described a series of processing stages that an individual goes through during an aesthetic experience. One of these stages is described as "implicit memory integration", and it refers to implicit processes like familiarity and typicality that are used to judge stimuli the human brain encounters.

In another study, (Smith & Smith 2001) reported that visitors of the Metropolitan Museum of Mew York spent an average of about thirty seconds looking at any given individual artwork. Not only do these findings suggest that in some initial stages of aesthetic exploration individuals start building the basis that orientates their later aesthetic exploration, but that the summation of this process happens at an incredible speed indicative of sub-conscious neurological function. To assess the automatic

aesthetic evaluation of artworks, the Implicit Association Test (IAT; Greenwald et al 1998) was used. The IAT is a paradigm employed to measure the strength of the associative links between concepts and their affective attribute through reaction times. This method does not require a conscious awareness of the association and has been used in various psychological research; particularly social cognition. Furthermore, the IAT effect in Bartoli et al revealed the existence of significant differences between evaluations of two art styles. Participants were faster in making automatic associations between figurative art and positive words than between abstract art and positive words. These findings appear to confirm that, as a first stage process, aesthetic preference can be expressed intuitively and automatically (Bartoli et al 2010). Beyond an automatic affinity for artistic expression, Arnheim affirms that an individual can also diagnose an object, or work of art, as even looking forlorn or belonging in its setting. This may occur, moreover, when the placement of an object has no recognizable relation to its surroundings. For example, a sculpture placed injudiciously in a living room, a museum, or a landscape may seem lost (Arnheim 22). Both the affinity for style and distinguishing of space are psychological elements of the multi-faceted naturally occurring aesthetic processes that allow for the appraisal of detail and experience within curatorial design.

"There are many aspects of experience of which we are not explicitly conscious that nonetheless tinge our awareness in important ways. The visual relations between objects are of this kind. Space between things turns out to not look simply empty" (Arnheim 17). The sense of "proxemics" is the proper intuitively socially determined distance prescribed by the nature of a thing of person one is facing. "Buildings must maintain a proper distance from one another, and the same rule of conduct holds for an observer (Arnheim 18). Rembrandt is reported to have said, "You must not sniff my paints"; and although there can be good reason for someone to scrutinize a painting or sculpture close by, there is something disrespectful and inappropriate about it. The novelist Robert Musil has expressed this aspect of spatial response metaphorically; "Each thing or creature, if it wants to approach one very closely, has a

rubber band tied to it, which tenses when stretched. Otherwise things might end up moving through one another. And so in every motion there is a rubber band that lets one never quite do all one wants to do". In order for an object to be perceived appropriately, its field of forces must be

respected by the viewer, who must stand the proper distance from it" (Arnheim 26).

It may seem paradoxical that space has a perceptual presence of its own. Furthermore, though it may not always appear explicitly constructed by the builder or curator, Arnheim's unimpaired vision perceives [the neighboring buildings or works of art] as elements of one grand image and experience--reinforcing the relational nature of all objects. In this way, the way of unimpaired vision, one can try to establish a scale of increasing complexity, by which spatial imagination proceeds from the simplest structures and objects to the most complex and noteworthy experiences. Ultimately, this detailed process is how exhibitions and collections possess the capacity to facilitate a feeling by which the average museum-goer can cultivate a reaction. A foundational play of interspace, negative space, spatial imagination, automatic aesthetic evaluation, and

unimpaired vision thus coalesce in a collection of art or neighboring structures to face us, the viewers, with a question, a feeling, or an idea. Converging perspectives of space, both internal and external, possess powerful psychological consequences--evoking certain emotions, states, and ideas. By example, the structure of church aisles and crossings, "which present a linear vista", and "a path for one's pilgrimage to the altar", are architectural manipulations of space, promoting the ability to embrace that same path that transcends its literal nature to mimic the emotional archetype of a life walking in the footsteps of God (Arnheim 1977). Perceived in this way, the church is the architectural embodiment of a path, but not really a dwelling place. And where as it assigns a location for a divine being to be worshipped, the altar, it does not similarly acknowledge the presence of man, except by offering him passage. This idea is perpetuated in classical Catholic cathedrals by the grandeur and size of the church itself, with its enormously high ceilings and rounded archways, allowing man to feel small in comparison to the idea of the Almighty.

Moreover, from the outside, architecture is never alone. Surrounded by other buildings, by landscape, or by unoccupied space, a work of architecture depends all its usual dimensions--size, shape, texture, color, spatial orientation, etc--upon its environment. An interior, on the other hand, is a closed world unto its own. Even when an oculus in the roof reveals a bit of sky, we do not really acknowledge another space but perceive it as a recessed portion of the room's boundary. Instead of leaving the occupant in a boundless world, an interior encloses him like a womb--an experience that can be reassuring or oppressive. The world of the interior can be totally encompassed, more nearly relatable than the outside to the size and power of a human being, and is therefore susceptible to his domination and judgment (Arnheim 1977). The hollow space of the interior can serve as the architectural representative of man, the occupant, further ratified by psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud in his Interpretation of Dreams, in which he elaborates that when man dreams of a home, he is reflecting on the summation of his character, because one's personal space is a reflection of their essence. "Here again the occupant can assume the role of focal point because he constitutes a focal center from which vectors issue radially and fill the space with his presence" (Arnheim 96).

In the case of circular squares, the architectural concept of rounded ceilings, the hollow volume of a room is perceived as an amplification and extension of the human focus, the concavities look and feel as though they had acquired shape by yielding the invading possessor, and the occupant feels elevated and expanded as he reaches out to the confines of the room (Arnheim 1977). This spatial context provides an outlet for the human memory, which even in the presence of a powerful collection of art can enable the social perception of images seen before and allow for further appraisal between both the present context and past aesthetic experiences. In essence, the ethics of curatorial design within the psychology of space can be understood through the theory of interrelated interiors. Meaning that, aesthetically, we can conclude that the conception or appreciation of a work or architecture is not limited to what human perception can embrace in the explicit field of vision.

"It has been argued that the architect's conception need be no more exacting that that of the average inhabitant, and that there is no

good reason for providing what will not be noticed. But I shall have

occasion to observe that awareness comes at many different levels, not all explicitly conscious, and also that in my profession, as a matter of ethics and self- respect, the most intelligent vision must prevail, irrespective of how fully it will be appreciated by clients, customers, or consumers" (Arnheim 101).

In other words, we now know that there are thousands of rapidly firing neurological pathways and systems evaluating space within art and visa versa, some which are not conscious, and they formulate detailed and thorough opinions and preferences that we as the receiving entity of the experience, cannot always fully articulate to the extent that they do in fact exist within us. Regardless, the mind can form a comprehensive and almost entirely automatic visual concept of an object, or moreover, a collection or exhibition, and can submit it to the demands of unity and wholeness.

These cognitive processes are further affirmed by modern neurological advancements. In a 2012 study conducted by Tschacher et al, the aesthetic perception elicited by modern works of fine art, such as paintings, drawings, or sculptures; which constitutes a complex response encapsulating cognitive, emotional, behavioral, and physiological responses; were tested by observing the physiological correlates of aesthetic perception of artworks in a museum. Because of a continuing debate regarding whether aesthetic experiences could be investigated using quantitative methods, Tschacher et al argued for a mandatory 'bottom-up' research of art perception. Hypothesizing visualized maps of aesthetic-emotional responses to the artworks on display, the study exercised technical developments monitoring an individual's locomotion and physiology in the psychogeography of the museum. Using wireless data acquisition systems, visitors' physical positions and physiological parameters were recorded. Measurements were then obtained continuously throughout each participant's visit of an exhibition (Tschacher et al 2012).

According to their findings, aesthetic experiences were reflected in observers' physiology. "We think it is essential that this association could be established in an authentic environment of art displays, thus acknowledging the aura of artwork and the contribution of curatorial staging" (Tschacher et al 2012).

Despite the balance of power between art museums and the artwork housed within them, there exists an ongoing debate as to which is ultimately most captivating, and which deserves to be. In architecture, only when inside and outside fuse in one integrated vision, are we dealing with a structure that carries meaning and can be understood as a whole (Arnheim 1977). The primary issue raised by recent art museum designers is how to resolve the tension between the architects' desire for an artistic statement of their own, and the curators' desire for a building that shows the art to best advantage, argues Larry Shiver. In traditional criticism, space is a homogenous structure. A kind of counter-form, indifferent to the lighting conditions and to its position in relation to other buildings, whereas the notion of field of vision stresses the continuous variability of what surrounds the architectural structure (Arnheim 1977).

We can now observe with the prominence of museums like the Guggenheim and Metropolitan Museum in New York, how this idea has faded into obscurity. The exterior of the museum is simply not capable of being confined to the nature of a homogenous structure. We now know the holistic impact of space on its surroundings and inhabitants

is monumental and fluctuating, which is still present in the aforementioned museums, and possesses a variable mix of aims: royal or national prestige, the preservation of heritage, providing models for artists and craftsmen, and the enlightenment of the public with an emphasis on art's moral and civic benefits. In terms of architectural form, most of the purpose-built art museums of the nineteenth century adopted some version of classicism. That being said, it is my argument that the classic grandeur and design of those museums reminiscent of the Metropolitan Museums of Art in New York provides the most holistically capturing space for the priceless art housed on its walls. It is both in aesthetic agreement with the fine art exhibited there while being a gorgeously enough structure to stand on its own accord as a reflection of architectural vision.

It is my belief that above all else, the complex ideas and theories articulated in this paper provide us, the museum goers, with an incredibly comforting notion: Art and its appreciation is a natural force within us, because at its core, it is indicative of a wildly elaborate yet fundamental element of human existence; expression—The details of how space is conceptualized and further, how art as an entity is displayed and curated resonates with masses of individuals on a variety of neurological and thus deeply intrinsic levels. As we continue to evolve as a species, collecting and preserving more and more of the powerful narrative our our culture, so too do we evolve how these collections are exhibited, perpetually seeking the desire to honor our history and mastery of expression.