I stood in pitch-black darkness, unsure where to place my next step. I felt uneasy, a little confused, and exceptionally curious.

Immediately out of this nothingness, about six feet ahead, appeared an apparition. It was tiny in scale, it's details indistinguishable. Several minutes later my eyes had adjusted to this lack of illumination and I was able to see my immediate surroundings somewhat better. I was enclosed within a nondescript room with a wooden floor and dark, blank walls. Beyond that, the environment remained relatively undecipherable. The vague apparition grew in size as it moved towards me. In a moment, I was able to see that the ghost was actually a real, average looking white man. I held out my hand about twelve inches in front of my eyes… and deduced the size of this man was approximately the size of my pointer finger; about two inches, I estimated. The man steadily and very slowly grew much larger than that, however, as he progressed step by step towards me. Where did he come from?

'Who is this man?' I wondered. My curiosity was no longer about where I was; indeed, it was focused upon the identity of this man, and his excruciatingly slow pace. It seemed as if a complete second (or more) passed between one step and the next. Surely, this man has some place to be- somewhere to go! Why does he not quicken his pace? This was ridiculous! I grew frustrated and impatient, and felt like abandoning him. I reviewed in my mind all the other places I needed to go, all the other things I had to accomplish. I didn't know him, anyways - what did it matter to me? Why should I care?

Fortunately for me, I didn't leave him. I waited…..and waited….. and waited. My legs had begun to feel the ache of this passage of time. I noticed, however, the quieting of my selfish thoughts. I had become part of this man's experience; and he had become part of mine.

It seemed as if an eternity had passed, but once he finally arrived to his destination, he loomed above me as a giant. He was about twice my height! Now I felt like the tiny one- and felt a little unsteady in his presence. He stopped in place, looked straight ahead, not seeing me apparently, but through me. He just stood there seemingly peaceful within himself, relaxed, arms to his side. 'What is he thinking', I wondered. What is going to happen next? Not a sound inhabited that room except for my quietly rapid breathing. I felt my heart quicken it's pace.

Quite unpredictably, a small drop of water fell from the top of this darkened space, and landed squarely on the top-center of this man's balding head. He didn't seem to notice or care, however, despite the disproportionate, booming sound it created upon impact. His eyes remained focused upon some indeterminable point. Then another drop fell. Then several drops cascaded together forming a trickle . Slowly a stream began to coalesce, all the while pounding upon his head. The sounds reverberated in my body, steadily increasing in volume. I felt afraid, and was concerned for this man. 'Surely that must hurt', I thought. Why doesn't he walk away? I wouldn't put up with that!

Eventually, these thoughts became inaudible within my mind, because the sound had grown into a consuming intensity. It sounded as if I were standing under this torrent! Within a couple minutes, this once innocent stream of water grew into a violent deluge. I could barely see the contours of the man, engulfed by this powerful forcerealized with awe that I was experiencing the awesome power of nature; that man is inherently part of and subject to it's creative and destructive forces. I realized man is relatively vulnerable and powerless , despite all efforts otherwise, to this force. I was reminded of images of baptisms, the tale of the Great Flood, the myth of Egyptian creation (which centered upon the Nile), and imagery from other civilization's creation myths. In most of these stories, something was created from the apparent destruction; a form of rebirth or renewal occurred which allowed life to flourish anew.

At this point, I could no longer even see this silent, peaceful man, for the water overtook him completely. He had literally disappeared from view. Throughout the downpour, the man had stood equally motionless and poised as with the first drop that fell. It was as if he willingly gave himself up to this force, and in retrospect, it seemed as though he had foreseen his fate.

The thundering deluge ever so slowly began to dissipate, eventually returning to a trickling stream, and then to slowly falling- almost floating - crystalline drops. I could hear my thoughts again, and my muscles finally began to relax. Each reflective drop landed where the man had previously stood. Several minutes later, everything was overcome by blackness once again. A cycle had been completed. Not a sound was to be heard. The black room, which at first had stimulated uneasiness within me, now was a most peaceful, contemplative place. I had forgotten about all my daily routines, deadlines, and errands. They no longer possessed the value I had previously assigned them.

I could not explain what I had witnessed, nor the cause of this event. The man remained a silent mystery to me. It no longer seemed significant who he was; instead, I appreciated what he represented. I felt a little shame knowing I had earlier so impatiently desired to abandon him.

After a minute or two of silence, I returned to the here-and-now. I knew I had to leave, but decided to take this experience with me as a fond memory. Then, reality hit. A few of my students turned to me, expressing a full range of primarily negative reactions.

"What the hell waTHAT?"

"Ms. Gabel , I don't get it."

"What was this guy thinking!"

"How can that be considered art-it's a movie!"

"I could have done that with my video camera. Big deal."

"Geez that took forever. Why'd he have to go so slooooow?"

"I'll never understand why I have to take this class. This was a complete waste of my time and has nothing to do with my major."

I recalled some familiar thoughts that arise at this type of occasion: "How am I going to communicate this wondrous experience to them?
How am I going to share the impact and relevance this can have on their lives?
How am I going to inspire them to slow down and allow their senses and spirit take over, even if for only a moment?"

The experience shared with you in this article occurred during a field trip. I accompanied my college-level Art Appreciation class (a required elective) to the Dallas Museum of Art. On display was this wonderful video installation by Bill Viola, entitled "The Crossing", 1996 (see note below). Students were assigned to write a paper about the piece, and to develop an interpretation concerning it's content. As you might imagine, the impetus to accept this challenge positively and with no misgivings was nonexistent. Most resisted every step of the way.

"The Creative knows the great beginnings. The Receptive completes the finished things" -I Ching

As an artist and teacher, I often deal with this broad schism between the art object and the novice-viewer.

By the end of that particular semester, several of those students desired to return to the piece and were more receptive to what it had to offer them. In fact, many were moved by it ashad been. As they eventually realize, the art object is only part of a very special, unique relationship. I have noticed the degree of rejection, confusion and distaste of art/ artworks is proportionate to the degree of receptivity, energy, curiosity, and time invested into the art experience. Many times it is a fear or intimidation of the unknown that stifles creative thought on behalf of the viewer. I have been told on several occasions that there is a hesitance to research an artwork or ask for assistance in the area of content due to the fear of appearing unintelligent.

There is an assumption many individuals have: that there is always a singular "right" and a "wrong" solution to a given problem. And there is no wonder as to the root of this type of thinking. I witness the promotion of it constantly in the academic arena. When individuals come to understand that art operates differently than that, it becomes rather enticing, fun and inspirational.

The quote from the I Ching is intended in this context as a parallel to the relationship of the artist/creator and the viewer/receptor. The artist is (inaccurately) assumed by viewers to possess full knowledge of the subject and content which s/he offers. Some think the artist cruelly "hides" the meaning from them as some type of malicious conspiracy. 'Either you get it or you don't', many say. However, as symbolized in the video piece by Bill Viola, there is an active agent ( natural elements/forces) and a receptive agent (man) involved in the creation of a meaningful, transformative experience. It is necessary for the viewer (receptor) to actively engage with the artwork (active/creative agent) in order to achieve this. One depends upon the other for it's meaning. No wonder many get frustrated and disinterested in art: unlike many other objects which pervade our culture, artworks don't (always) have a convenient button to push; are not necessarily pre-packaged, easy or instant. The appreciation of art requires active engagement. The viewer is necessary to complete the cycle which the artist, possessing insight, began. The artwork is the vehicle through which the artist and viewer communicate. Without the viewer's participation, it is empTo engage in this communication, it is necessary for the viewer to allow him/herself to be engulfed (in the video piece, literally!) by the work, on various levels. By this, I mean it is necessary to be open to the work on physical, intellectual, emotional, spiritual and sensual levels (of course, some pieces will engage more or fewer of these than others). In order to do this, the viewer cannot assume a passive stance, and perceive the art object as just a thing on the wall or floor. Rather, it is a message waiting for one whom is receptive to it's calling.

Bill Viola's "The Crossing" is a powerful piece to me because it was able to communicate to me on all those levels. In my judgment, that is what distinguishes great art from "o.k." art , and "o.k." art from inconsequential crap. The artist's name, style, materials, technique, market value, ideology, etc., are not what gauge quality for me when evaluating art. I had to be accessible to the experience Bill Viola offered me. Receiving Bill Viola's message though the artwork has paid off ten-fold not only for me, but also for those initially unreceptive students, who still gladly mention it with excitement.

Note: Concerning "The Crossing", I have described only one half of this artwork to you, for the deluge scene occupied one side of an incredibly large, two-sided screen placed in the center of the gallery space. The action on both sides of the screen were timed to occur simultaneously. The sounds also occurred simultaneously. On the opposite side of the deluge scene, a similar event took place and again, at a very slow pace. The man (who is Bill Viola himself) approaches the viewer from a distant, vague space. He stops, and rather than water being the subject, fire is the main element. The fire begins at the man's feet as a small spark, then eventually evolves into a consuming, roaring fire. The man disappears, leaving the dissipating flames to eventually burn away to nothingness. Fire, like water, can signify acts of cleansing and destruction. It also can be a means to new growth, potential and rejuvenation. The element of fire in this context brings to mind examples from various religions and myths, which allude to fire in this symbolic manne

To see and learn more about Bill Viola and his work (though it is recommended to experience them in person), take a look at these sites: