Ask Otus: But Is It Art?

Otus Rufous, an Eastern Screech-owl, was born on Siesta Key and is a full-time resident there. An avid hunter, accomplished vocalist and genuine night owl, Otus is a keen observer of our local wildlife and knows many of nature's secrets. Otus will answer your questions about our amazing wildlife, but only if you Ask Otus™.

Dear Readers,

As you know, I love mysteries and games. Twenty Questions is among my favorites although I wish that in my case two hundred questions were allowed.

When I came across this haunting mystery bird photo, I immediately threw myself into identifying it. After interviewing some of Sarasota's top cryptozoologists (specifically, my cousin Otus Offal who resides at Historic Spanish Point) and combing through obscure scholarly texts (written by that same cousin), I determined the photo had at last captured the ghost of the One-horned Rhinoceros Owl (Otus Indianus Unicornus), named after the single-horned Indian rhino. The African rhino has two horns — a large prominent horn in front, and a smaller one behind it; well, unless poachers in the lucrative aphrodisiac trade got to them.

This apodal owl was a shy, rarely seen, nocturnal, aquatic species whose diet consisted solely of sea urchins specific to the Gulf of Mexico. It was endemic, in very small numbers, to Little Sarasota Bay where it would begin its nightly hunt of sea urchins by riding the swiftly flowing tide out of Midnight Pass into the Gulf, and return just before dawn to the crystal-clear waters of our Bay, where it anchored itself to the soft, pristine floor of the Bay by wrapping itself in sea grasses — much the way sea otters safely nap on the water's surface while secured by a "belt" of seaweed to prevent them from drifting away.

On Dec. 5, 1983, when officials closed Midnight Pass, this owl species was extirpated. No longer able to reach its food source, the owls drowned, their lungs filling with silt as they desperately tried to make their time-immemorial journey from the Bay to the Gulf in search of sea urchins.

However, at midnight on December 5, every year since 1983, the One-horned Rhinoceros Owl's ghost rises from the murky polluted Bay waters, its baleful, glaring amber eyes reminding us of what we lose when we try to outwit Mother Nature.

I run this well-researched and highly-imaginative answer by the Sarasota Audubon Society. To my chagrin, I receive the following reply ...

Dear Otus, Guess again!

Okay! My next guess — It's a Rorschach test, also known as the inkblot test.

For those of you who are blissfully ignorant of the Rorschach inkblot test and its eponymous creator, you are in for a treat. Both the test, which for decades was a golden mean for testing psychopathology, and its creator are fascinating subjects. And here, I would like to thank Wikipedia for the factual information appearing in my text.

Hermann Rorschach (1884-1922) spent his childhood and teens in the lovely, small city of Schaffhausen in northern Switzerland. Surrounded by medieval monasteries, a town hall and churches decorated with Renaissances frescoes and statuary as well as by fabulous nature, including the famed Rhine Falls, it must have been an idyllic place for a young boy so highly intelligent, inquisitive, and creative in which to live and explore his surroundings. Hermann enjoyed studying nature, art, poetry, science but, above all, he loved klecksography. In fact, his passion for creating inkblots led to his school nickname "Klecks". He created inkblots in the thousands – symmetrical, asymmetrical blobs of ink on paper folded in half. Their purpose, when fully opened, was to allow the viewers to guess what they saw. Was it a bat? A flower? Lovers kissing under the linden tree? Or was it merely a bunch of ink blots?

When it came time to graduate, Hermann could not decide between pursuing university studies in art or in science. Which career path should he follow? He sought advice from the eminent German biologist, Ernest Haeckel. Science was recommended.

I believe there is a little more to the story than that. You see, Hermann's father was an art teacher. In those days, particularly in such a provincial setting, art was a strict and highly imitative discipline. Years of study and training under masters were required before even beginning to hope for success, status, and the title of "artist", never mind the possibility of introducing one's own personal style and interpretation to a work of art. Hermann's father had always encouraged his son to develop his artistic talents but probably in a didactic and conventional way. Again, Schaffhausen was a provincial city. So, Papa probably took one look at Hermann's portfolio of inkblots (in those days, they didn't have refrigerator magnets for displaying your child's art) and said "Science, my son!"

Hermann Rorschach succeeded in becoming a respected Freudian psychiatrist and psychoanalyst. What's the big deal about that? Incredibly, he also succeeded in making his art a science. What a dream come true! How many people, given a choice between art and science, are given the opportunity to do both, and do them successfully? "In the 1960's [long after Rorschach's death], the Rorschach was the most widely used projective test." (Wiki) The adapted test, with only ten inkblots, was particularly useful in drawing out patients who were unwilling or unable to openly discuss their feelings. A psychiatrist could infer interpretation from various responses. It was one of the most important tools in diagnosing schizophrenia, hebephrenia, and all sorts of personality disorders.

There was just one problem with the test. Well, actually, there were several problems. Many felt it a pseudoscience and an unreliable one. But the major problem was that the test could not transcend cultural barriers.

Let us take an extreme example to illustrate cultural barriers ...

"What do you see in this Picture?" (referring to our mystery bird).

Otus Rufous: A large bird of prey that might attack and eat me.

Dr. Rorschach: Ach! Paranoid! Off to the booby hatch!

You: A really cool looking aquatic unicorn owl.

Dr. Rorschach: Ach! Narapoid! Off to the booby hatch!

Yes! "Narapoid" is a real word and a wonderful one to boot. It should be in everyone's vocabulary. The term was coined by Sheldon Kopp in his 1978 book The End to Innocence; facing life without illusions. My favorite definition of the word comes from A. Charles Catania, Professor of Psychology at University of Maryland: "Paranoia's opposite is narapoia. Narapoids believe (presumably in error) that people out there are plotting to do them good. Narapoids cannot be helped, because whenever you try to help you're only confirming their delusions."

Now, if you would like to take a free inkblot test without fear of being sent to the booby hatch, here is a fun one. Mind you, it is spoof of the Rorschach test: nevertheless, it will give you an idea of what it was like to be subjected to one.

New approaches to the study of human behavior during the past half century revolutionized the field of mental health. Arguably the most important was psychopharmacology, the science that finally recognized the chemical impacts and influences on mental life and the place of drugs in the treatment of the mentally ill.

One of the principal pioneers of psychopharmacology is Dr. Joel Elkes, who makes his home in Sarasota. Dr. Elkes is also an accomplished artist. Many of you may have seen his exhibit "In Praise of Trees" at the Marie Selby Botanical Gardens. Creative genius employs many creative expressions.

Unlike Rorschach, who used his art as a diagnostic tool, Dr. Elkes believes that nature and art are therapeutic tools to be used by the patient. This belief led him to co-found programs at several universities for patient therapy and for training medical students in mind-body-spirit awareness.

The art world also evolved. Impressionists, Expressionists, Dadaists, and Fauvists, initially met with distain and scorn during Rorschach's lifetime, slowly gained acceptance and paved the way for the Surrealists and Postmodernists, who essentially repudiated past scientific and objective means of explaining reality.

In 1973, the Australian Government purchased Jackson Pollock's Blue Poles: No. 11, 1952 for 2.1 million dollars. At the time, it was the highest price ever paid for a modern painting. It was a centerpiece of the Museum of Modern Art's (MoMA) retrospective in 1998.

And what does this mean to you? Essentially, that you could walk into that MoMA exhibit and if, when gazing upon these asymmetrical, colored paint blobs, you were asked "What do you see?" you were free to answer, without fear of being sent to the booby hatch, "I don't know, but I know I like (or hate) it!"

And for those readers who are unfamiliar with Jackson Pollock, you are not alone! Who the #$&% Is Jackson Pollock? is a documentary film about Teri Horton, a 73-year-old long-haul truck driver from California who bought a painting from a thrift shop for $5, and was eventually informed it was probably a Jackson Pollock. Purportedly, she was offered $9 million for it by a Saudi art collector but she is holding out for $50 million! An amazing story! Should you wish to read more, click here.

By now you are wondering what symmetrical inkblots and asymmetrical paint blobs have to do with a nature column. It all has to do with how people perceive nature and its reflection in art. The more you look, study, and learn, the more pleasure you will derive from understanding what you see.

Take, for example, our mystery bird. Members of Sarasota Audubon Society would have instantly recognized our mystery bird as a Yellow-crowned Night Heron reflected in a pond, and they would have known the photo was rotated 90 degrees. Looking at the long white streamers gracing its head they would have stated it was a sexually mature heron and possibly speculated that it was taking a much-needed respite from its nesting duties during a fiercely hot afternoon in late May. No fooling those folk!

Here is the original photo.

I agree. It is still difficult for the novice birder to instantly identify it so I am providing you with a more typical photo of the Yellow-crowned surveying a pile of sea urchins on Turtle Beach.

What do you see?

I see a glowing amber eye, a thick- horned bill, and a pile of sea urchins. My final guess is that the Yellow-crowned Night Heron is the living reincarnation of the Ghost One-Horned Rhinoceros Owl.

Dear Sarasota Audubon:

I trust that by now you will have read my epoch-making treatise on the connection between the Yellow-crowned Night Heron and the Ghost owl. I trust, too, that you will agree that this scientific tour de force established this connection beyond all reasonable doubt and ...

Otus