Articles

If you have material suitable for a Landscape & Art Network Article please submit it to Jeff Higley at jeffreyhigley@f2s.com

Since January 2009 LAN has replaced its Journal with a monthly produced article, initially these are e-mailed to Members only but after a few months they will appear here and be available for download. Various people have sent in responses to the first Article and these appear below, use the links on the left to reach them quickly.

Little Green Men Revisited

AS SEVERAL LAN. members wrote to say that the No Little Green Men ‘ramble’, circulated as the first of the Landscape & Arts Network Articles, was ‘interesting, and one wrote in detail about some of the thoughts it prompted, I sent it also to a few friends who are not members. Two of these also wrote out their thoughts. The three comments are rather different from each other in style, and they pick up somewhat different points for discussion. As they look – more knowledgeably – at some of the things I was trying to deal with, and look from different perspectives, they are well worth a wider readership than only myself. Here they are, in the order in which I received them, very slightly edited for clarity. The fourth response is from a member who wrote after seeing the first three commentaries.

Martin Spray

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from Barry Larking

[Barry is a naturalist and nature conservationist, illustrator, and essayist who has contributed reviews to ‘Landscape & Arts’.]

I read your article with particular interest. We are just back from a brief visit to the Lake District. Our last day saw the weather change, and a cold spell was accompanied by drizzle and the mist clamped down hard. We had no great expectations for a last walk - yet, Derwentwater was miraculous. It was as if we were inside a giant Chinese water-colour painting. Pines stood in perfect ease against water so still it dematerialised. Hills emerged from the mist only to disappear back into it again. What had seemed a merely speculative walk turned into a long hike through trees and along graceful shorelines, entirely alone as far as our own species was concerned.

Then we came upon a large, unavoidable, and clearly cherished sculpture in a prominent position. It was a huge wood carving of two cupped hands, part way in aesthetic terms between the 'Indian culture' of Hollywood and (is there in fact any difference?) the fairground. We were underwhelmed. Is ‘public’ sculpture also doomed to be trivial? Janet then recalled Doug Cocker’s memorial to WW2 servicemen in the Ben Lomond National Memorial Park. In photographs [note 1], Cocker’s sculpture looked merely over blown – trite even. A great circle of granite punctured by a large hole: yet, in its presence one is awe struck. Few things have stayed with me more. So it is impossible to generalise.

Most times, I do not like 'interventions' in the landscape, but as you point out some are old, and some are starkly present in ways we can do little about; the thick edges of commercial sitka spruce plantations slicing through the line of a hillside. I once saw an exhibition of 'intervention' proposals (several were very large) with someone who had trained as a sculptor; when we came out he turned to me and said "I saw nothing which beat a tree." In this instance I had to agree; though, for example, in Whitstable, Kent along the sea front, are some very good examples of themed art works relating to the history of this old fishing community; but I suppose it is very different in the open country where references can frequently be oblique or quixotic!

I agreed with the remarks of Preben Jakobsen that all features – gates and fences, walls – are in some way part of being in a place. There is an ancient rusted metal march boundary fence near a favourite nesting site for Greenshank in Scotland that I know. Gradually it will become little more than a few pieces of metal scattered across a plateau hardly to be related one to another except by a keen eye. Processes are working on such relics all the time, integrating and transforming them slowly and unintentionally. Evidently, not everyone appreciates the application of time to place and memory: once, when I asked the local foresters in the giant Kielder Forest, Northumberland, why they do not leave piles of timber around to give the surface of a working forest some visual interest they replied that visitors complained about "the mess". Is not mess just another word for sign?

It is always in the end the case that what works is good.

Note 1 www.publicartscotland.com/archives/75-National-Memorial and http://stockscotland.com/index2.html

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from Tam Giles

[Tam describes herself on her member’s page of the L.A.N. website: “Almost without realising it,” she “absorbed the visionary idealism of the original Constructive movement”.]

“What is Art?” A meander of musings.

“The stuff made by artists”. But loads of stuff made by artists is not ‘art’.

Stuff made by people? A lot of stuff made with no ‘art’ intention nonetheless seems to qualify.

Is Art made only by people? What, then, is the male bower bird’s assemblage? [note 1]

Among my treasures is a stone fragment, one of several which ‘caught my eye’ on an Orkney beach. Later, examining my day’s hoard I saw that this fragment had form: it’s about 10” long but looks as if one end has been broken off. It’s shaped like a straight slice cut off the side of a circle – like an arc, with radius 9”. The straight edge is not completely straight and is about 1” thick in the middle, tapering away to ½” at each end. The edge of the arc is sharp. The whole looks somewhat like the familiar half-moon-shaped pie, but disfigured by having been chipped.

Grasped in my hand along the broad edge, it fits perfectly, even having a depression for my thumb. It fits my hand so comfortably that I feel it must have been fashioned deliberately: For slicing what? Blubber? A book on the archaeology of Orkney talks of the characteristic ‘skaill knife’ being made of Old Sandstone (no flint on Orkney) and used exactly as I had thought.

Only much later do I notice towards one end an oval has been deeply scratched. It is unmistakably an eye. It is transformed: it is not only a useful tool but it has been imaginatively transformed into a fish.

‘Sometimes we see a cloud that’s dragonish; a vapour sometimes like a bear or lion, A tower’d citadel, a pendent rock…’

Is Transformation a clue? It brings together into the visual experience (R.S. Latham, ref. your p4) both natural and human-made. Marcuse (The Aesthetic Dimension) talks of the transformative effect on our vision of ‘beauty’ (Natural or Cultural): how we are transported out of our normal routine mind-set to an alternative visionary state.

I think people have a response to add, to adorn the functional by adding some transformational extra. Can this be something innate, hard wired into out visual apparatus? It is certainly a part of the wonder of our world. I clearly remember being so overwhelmed by the intensity of blueness in a forest dell that I HAD to do something about it to have and to hold. So I picked as many of these marvels of blue as I could (age 4 or 5 or so) only to be scolded by my Quaker granny: “Child, you should NEVER pick wild flowers because they’ll die”.

Did the Magdelenians look for earth pigments so they could paint on cave walls – or did they marvel at the rich colours cradled in stone and wonder what they could DO with them?

At dawn on January 11 this year I saw from my NW-facing windows an amazing sight, of the dreary council flats transformed , bathed in a deep rose glow, with windows of silver. Between two of the blocks, sharp against the dark blue night sky, and exactly half way between the buildings, the full moon setting, a brilliant silver disc. I grabbed my digital camera: ‘batteries exhausted’ Tried my film camera: no film in it. By the time I found a camera daylight was already advancing....

Transformation…transportation …transitory….transcendence… ???

I think there are ways in which certain qualities in combination trigger off that moment of illumination, whether in nature or ‘culture; but the process by which we ‘see’ is the end product of an amazing amount of input in micro-milli-measurements (each cone and rod in the retina estimates incoming light waves impinging it and transmits separately its information on to the visual cortex in nano seconds, where it is processed.. and we see!! Miracle!

This is why I insist that it is totally impossible to judge any work of visual art unless it is the original. Repros are as the Underground diagram is to being on/in the train.

But beyond this primary response there are all manner of cultural cannons which a child will pick up, specific to the particular family and environment it’s born into. And it is perfectly possible to have difficulty responding to the unfamiliar ‘appropriately, whether what is being looked at is a completely alien, strange new sort of landscape (as was the Bolivian Altiplano when I went there for the first time), or for instance a tantric meditative diagram.

So, for your question as to whether there is “too much of it about”, I don’t feel it possible to answer it.. But the question is certainly worth asking! And when I’m next in the Forest of Dean I hope you will take me on a tour to look at the ones which you feel are superfluous, and I may well agree!

But as I said, I think MAKING or fashioning is something we do: a child draws because it is delighted to see what it can do with pencils and crayons, or make with mud, or discarded cardboard boxes. So maybe some of the (art) stuff littering the natural environment may be only a manifestation of a response to what is there and to then DO something about it. And maybe it’s crass and incompetent – but with any luck it will disintegrate or rot or fall down or whatever.

And meanwhile can it be seen as just an example of someone who has responded, however incompetently??

I’m inclined to think that parallel to the making instinct there is one to ‘see’ simultaneously two visual interpretations of the same input. One day one of our cats coming into a room was freaked by a dark image dancing around on the floor, He looked around for what it might be; a branch of a climbing rose lay across the window, catching the sun and dancing in the wind. He looked from the one to the other, twice, then relaxed, problem solved. As Steve Jones says of symmetry, it is a matter of survival in the jungle, the hunter has to tell whether the pattern of light and dark is zebra for his dinner or the face of a tiger seeing him as potential dinner. Simultaneously is how it feels, of course: the visual cortex has worked on the problem in nano-seconds.

‘The Moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.’ simile, or metaphor, ‘and may there be no moaning of the bar, When I set out to sea..’

Image? Imagination?

Finally, LGM and all that... I lived in Iraq for several years. Most of the people there were illiterate, including my cook who had all our basic English recipes in his head. It was a surprise, returning to Europe, to see a waiter write down our order. Iraqi waiters couldn’t write orders but rarely made a mistake even with 8 peoples’ different wishes. We in our literate world have lost much of our memory capacity. We have also lost part of our ability to distinguish colour nuances. Skilled Japanese can look at an egg and see by its colours whether its contents will make a hen or rooster.

I can’t understand the why and how of String Theory, but I like its conclusions concerning multiple dimensions, many of which we humans cannot enter any more than a goldfish can understand what the vague goings on outside its bowl. May we not be like them, locked into our human world (what you say about us being suited to our world by design or evolution) by the limitation of our senses? We can’t see neutrinos but they are darting around us continually, passing through walls, the earth, and us. My daughter who is thoroughly down to earth swears she has seen the ghost of a child in one house they lived in. She thought it was her son and called to him... but it vanished. Much later she was told that a youngster who lived in that house was a cadet in the First World War, and was killed, age 14. ??? I tend to believe that the stories of many ‘primitive’ people who claim to hear the voices of their ancestors, or know how to summon dolphins even when they are hundreds of miles away, [note 2] may still retain vestiges of senses / abilities later lost as culture becomes more sophisticated.,,. So I have an open mind, I am quite prepared to believe we humans have only our very limited senses to inform us of what is going on around us, but that sometimes there may be and have been brief glimpses into other ‘dimensions’. BUT so far as henges etc are concerned, I think our ancestors were very capable of building them without any extra terrestrial help.

Postscript

We've been mulling over this big White Horse project [Ebbsfleet see note 3].

1. Is it 'art' at all? My position is, as I said, that anything done beyond just making something utilitarian is arguably Art. That is no measure of its aesthetic appeal, which I think is connected to metaphor.

2. It’s a horse is a horse... (only it’s a big horse.) It adds nothing to the idea or image of a horse.

3. It’s a blown-up replica of a horse, but so far as the committee or whoever chose it is concerned, it stands for 'Art'. Is it not thus no more than serving a function? And if it’s purely a stand-in for art, then perhaps it’s just utilitarian?

4. But I mustn't break my own rule, never to guesstimate the quality of an art work if I haven't seen it.

Note 1. “The bowerbirds of New Guinea and Australia build and decorate marvelously intricate and esthetic works of art. One must classify these impressive structures as works of art, even by human standards. For example, the bowers have geometrical organization and may be oriented to a specific compass direction, depending upon the species. Colorful berries, stones, and, when available, human artifacts are systematically arranged around the bower. Some bowerbirds even take a piece of bark in their bills and paint their bowers with colored berry juices. Each species has a certain style, but the bowers vary from individual to individual and with the age of the bird.” [www source not traced / defunct.] Many biologists disagree with such an interpretation. M.S.

Note 2 Tam and I have both enjoyed reading Arthur Grimble’s A pattern of islands [London, 1952]. “It was common rumour that in the Gilbert Islands certain local clans had the power of porpoise-calling.2 [p133]. I think Lyall Watson made much of such reports in Gifts of unknown things. M.S.

Note 3 “As you might expect, Mark Wallinger’s horse is a [...] bigger story in London newsrooms than it is at the site for the horse itself”. [Ian Jack, ‘The horse isn’t so huge in Ebbsfleet’, Guardian 14.2.2009] “[T]he promoters had deemed the people of north Kent ‘too culturally inept’ to have a deciding view on the form Britain’s biggest work of art should take.” M.S.

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from Terry Fairman

[Terry writes on art in relation to environment, politics and society, and has contributed several reviews to ‘Landscape & Arts’.]

[I have written this response to the ‘ramble’ in the third person, it just sort of came out that way.] Martin's "ramble" certainly took in a wide range of issues but, like any real ramble, perhaps meandered too much. The general direction, quite properly, was made clear at the outset. There is already a lot of art in the landscape - maybe too much - and art is adding unnecessarily to the increased humanising of the natural environment. Anyone choosing to embark with Martin on his journey knew what was in store.

The trip made much of the fact that for millennia man has been making his mark on the landscape which, as a consequence, had become, to use the words of the novelist John Fowles, little more than "plastic gardens, steel cities and a chemical countryside". Man and Nature were seen to be in conflict, an ecological version of C. P. Snow's two cultures clash, with man intent on conquest and subjugation.

This view of humankind as being in some fundamental sense separate from nature seems a little dated or, at least, to merit challenge. James Lovelock's Gaia Hypothesis sees us as part of the whole system, the "consciousness of the planet", whilst Richard Mabey linked culture and nature and saw only an artificial intellectual dichotomy between nature and humanity. We are but one of a wide range of natural forces whose footprints tread, sometimes with careless deliberation, across the countryside. Admire the wild, barren landscape of the Highlands but remember it is not natural but was created by the inhumanity of the Clearances and by sheep. [see note 1]

All would agree that there must be balance and, if the human element is already adequately represented, then there must be some way of limiting further human activity. The principles of serendipity and utility are advanced to stem the flood and block the path of art in the landscape. Art is about aesthetics and aesthetics is about beauty. The landscape is already beautiful and art can emerge, anyway, by accident in the form of stacks of timber. Ancient earthworks served various functions - religious, spiritual, agricultural and so on - but many art works "can seem empty of content". So Nasca lines are OK but, presumably, art works such as James Turrell's Roden Crater and Michael Heizer's Effigy Tumuli qualify merely as the outpourings of megalomaniacs. [see note 2]

Two of the objections that might be made to this argument are that serendipity never made art, and that the landscape is not always beautiful and can be made so by deliberate, human intervention by artists. A landscape may be as pretty as a picture but it is not a work of art, it is a landscape. Art is the product of human agency. This is not to say that someone has to make it, but ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is, becomes art only as a result of human intervention – someone has to see it and, then, appropriate it as a work of art. So I guess Jacobsen is right about a stack of timber but only if he adopts it and appropriates it as a work of art. I take Jacobsen to mean, therefore, that the pile of timber has beauty, is art and has a place in the landscape because of its conspicuous artistic qualities. One might deduce that this emblematic wood pile was in a landscape of little interest and that the "found" art object improved it. A better example would be Heizer's work, mentioned above. His earthworks were constructed on the site of an old open-cast silica mine in Illinois, an example of Land Art as part of the reclamation of a despoiled industrial site. Aesthetic and useful.

Much of the ramble dealt with points of view peripheral to the practical interests of contemporary landscape artists with, for example, diversions into archaeology, mysticism and the supernatural, all of which seemed to serve the purpose of devaluing landscape art, perceived as one-dimensional and valueless. In fact, the ramble contained no art, with the possible exception of the wood pile, so it was not possible to judge how significant art in the landscape might be. It is true that the White Horse of Folkestone was given some prominence, but its use as an example of the weaknesses of land art was rather like using the work of Jack Vetriano to demonstrate the barrenness of contemporary painting. I would be inclined to argue that neither is a work of art so neither advances any kind of argument in relation to the condition of either land art or painting. The White Horse is a memorial, a design, mere decoration and lacks the authenticity of the works of Heizer, Turrell, Smithson and so many others whose work gets no mention. Their work is the work Martin expresses unease about, the ones indulging in the "megalomaniacal", moving of tons of desert, yet theirs is the work that might fill the little green men with awe.

Martin writes that our dominant sense is vision and refers to Paul Matthews' college course in Sussex based on the idea of "Reconnecting with nature through creative writing". We look and then we write. Keith Sagar's book, Literature and the Crime against Nature, suggests a contrary view. He puts forward the hypothesis that the only quality that distinguishes humankind from the natural world is writing and that it is writing that has disconnected us from the landscape:

"Only as the written text began to speak would the voices of the forest and of the river begin to fade".

So paint it, make earthworks in it, put way-markers along cross country cycle tracks, celebrate the land with sculptures of angels, walk in it, look at it but do not destroy it by writing about it.

Note 1 I have been unclear on this: my view is that the concept ‘nature’ is effectively redundant, since everything-that-is belongs in it. However, we [our culture] act as if we are in fact distinct from the rest of nature / creation. I am uneasy about the pre-eminence we give to human actions and artefacts. M.S.

Note 2 I mean to imply that [e.g.] Nasca lines are interesting. Heizer’s work is also interesting. I wouldn’t wish to imply that all landscape – artefact or otherwise – is already beautiful. M.S.

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from Sue Harrison

Sue is an artist, anthropologist, and educator living in rural North Yorkshire. Her recent work - 'Lifelines' is a series of hybridised sculptural forms and three-dimensional paper-works. It is the result of her explorations into how we respond to the natural landscape; how perceptions are generated,hidden or revealed, and how they may be investigated. By combining elements of the animal, the vegetable and the man-made, the work aims to articulate a condition of vulnerable interdependence between the body and the landscape,and in this way, challenge the 'straight lines of certainty'. (Quote from Tim Ingold 2008:24)

As Tam rightly points out, ultimately we are discussing definitions of what ‘art’ is and what ‘art’ is for.

What the Little Green Men need is a good anthropologist who can explain these apparently irrational objects. Anthropologists would solve the problem by contextualising the work within a dynamic of social interaction (according to Alfred Gell – note 1). In other words, rather than having a set meaning or an intent to communicate something, art is more about the doing and the making.

The art object may be many things, but at its heart it is an index by which we can measure ‘response’. If the Little Green Men find themselves unmoved after the given explanation it would not be surprising since the essence of an art piece is that it is made for the time (and place) it is in. Its capacity for personal resonance depends not only on perceiving the relevant context but also sharing the cultural aesthetic which was dominant at the time and place and finally the level of engagement achieved. So ultimately ‘what the Little Green Men think about it all’ is irrelevant.

Similarly, ‘aesthetics’ is a bit of a socially generated red herring. As Tam points out, our culture is heavily reliant on the visual, but working in dark caves I doubt if that was the main preoccupation of the Magdalenians. She discusses their reasons for painting the caves. She considers that the pigments and their beauty may well have been the reason. Or could it have been that they knew they could make marks with the pigments and that was the important factor? The very act of making marks on the cave walls with earth substances gave their activities power.

An interesting exercise might be to put ourselves in the same position as Little Green Men when we consider what on Earth is going on with Neolithic Cup and Ring marks. Is that art? No amount of theorizing will prove what they are about. But what is certain is that they were meaningful to large groups of people and made in places of significance in the landscape. Sometimes quite disorganized in appearance or even unfinished, they give the impression that the process of making them was more important to their owners than the end product.

Once more, I agree with Tam that ‘transformative experience’ is an essential element. I certainly get this when I run my hand over the seemingly randomly marked rocks which herald a gateway to the valley. I don’t understand the marks but they make me feel more connected to the landscape and what it is to be human. The fact that I don’t have all the answers is a significant element.

I suggest that the quest for such an experience is innate, hard-wired but socially impelled.

The maker is not an isolated genius having a moment’s inspiration but an agent, part of a social system which has needs. Whoever pulls it off has a powerful tool for respect; and those that don’t – well, at least they tried.

Note 1 Alfred Gell (1998) Art and agency, an anthropological theory, Oxford University Press. See p. 10.

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Martin Spray's response

IT IS unfair to say “Draw your own conclusions...”, though it’s tempting! I’m sure it is more useful to suggest that this has got the ball rolling and that more people might want to add comments, or queries, or make different points, or correct mistakes. Anyway, this is not the kind of subject to have conclusions....

I don’t think there is anything new in the ‘ramble’, and I’m well aware that my approach was a distinctly personal one. And I am not an artist.... However, I do think several important points are made in the responses. “All features – gates and fences, walls –“, Barry stresses, “are in some way part of being in a place.” Minor as well as major things contribute, and it is surprisingly often that a small, or unobtrusive, or commonplace, thing ‘makes’ a place for you or for me. Different things, often, for different people.... For some, an artwork works; for others, it fails. As Barry says, generalisation is difficult. Some people have an imperative urge to ‘leave a mark’; many like to find these marks; a few seem more keen to try to remove them - or at least, not to encourage them too much....

Tam puts it very neatly: first we marvel at things in nature – and then wonder what we could DO with them. [And then, perhaps, we might write about what was done....] Terry catches at something fundamental when he remarks that “art is the product of human agency. This is not to say that someone has to make it, but ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ is, becomes art only as a result of human intervention - someone has to see it and, then, appropriate it as a work of art.” However, with the suggestion [if I read it right] that “archaeology, mysticism and the supernatural” divert us into matters “peripheral to the practical interests of contemporary landscape artists”, I rather think something fundamental is being missed.

Sue reminds us that it may be that “the essence of an art piece is that it is made for the time (and place) it is in”. Maybe a neglect of their time-&-space contexts – which includes the cultural conditions in which it was made – too often leads us to wrong conclusions about things from the past or from elsewhere. I am sure we often misread them. In particular, we seem too keen to label as ‘art’ things that were made with different intents. So, too, we too easily put the ‘art’ [implying ‘Art’] tag on contemporary works. Terry calls the new White Horse “mere decoration”; I’d call it an advert. I agree, it probably isn’t what L.G.M. would write home about. They probably would write about the likes of Double Negative, pink-polypropylene skirted islands, and Karavan’s Negev Monument, as these are mega-impressive. Nonetheless I think L.G.M. letters home would use more superlatives for the likes of Angkor Wat, the Nasca Lines, and the Pan-American Highway. [note 1] Whether or not they would use a word meaning ‘art’ for all of these, I am unsure.

The one thing they could say – and with awe – is that hom. sap. has made its mark, continues to do so, and – without their [L.G.M.] help – does so ever more forcefully. If they examined us biologically, they might conclude that we, and other hominids, and bowerbirds, and quite a few other beasts, are programmed to do so. We, of course, can do it fortissimo. And, as Barry puts it, in this biological sense – which both bowerbird males and bowerbird females understand – “it is always in the end the case that what works is good.”

It is interesting to remember the saying that beauty lies in a beholder’s eyes – and that this gives rise to [at least] two areas of argument. Is beauty a quality of some thing that is being experienced, or a reaction in [or projection of] the person experiencing it? And then: Is beauty a quality of a ‘thing’, or of the experience of that thing – including the experience of the making of it? If there is some truth in the last, the aesthetic experience and the artistic experience lie in action: in what we do – in the ‘bringing forth’ of what we have conceived / imagined / found / seen. So-called artists might then be amongst those of us who least resist the urge to ‘do something’ with the world-as-we-find-it. As Kate Rigby says: “To bring forth things through making is part of our species being as human, and it is probably neither desirable nor possible for us to desist from this kind of activity.” [note 2]

If “art is the product of human agency”, so is much else – including the doings of those of us who don’t count as artists. However, the distinction of physis – what is given by nature “prior to any human making” – and techne – what is made by hom. sap. – that was seen by Aristotle [I am using Rigby’s words] – seems curious if one believes mankind is a part of rather than apart from nature. Even if you don’t go that far, the techne / physis [given / made] divide begins to look less stark as we slowly become aware that hom. sap. may not be the only species that [as it were] marvels at rich colours and wonders what they could do with them.

Other creatures also make marks, and some of these look quite art-like. 2D ‘artwork’ by primates is widely acknowledged. Its promotion and sale as art is currently under discussion on the Web. Painting by elephants has quickly joined the world of gallery and shop. Although they hardly look made for it, it seems that both dolphins and seals are taking up paint-brushes, too. And ravens.... The question being asked by some animal behaviourists – “When we provide an elephant or a chimpanzee with a brush and canvas, are the paintings they produce art to them, as well as to us?” – is one that it might not be disrespectful to ask of the Magdelanian emerging from the cave. Or, indeed – though I have yet to find anything on their work – to ask of Little Green Men.... [note 3]

Note 1 I know this is extreme, but it serves as an ‘conceptual’ example, and also represent the growing impact of urbanisation. Wikipedia notes:

“The Pan-American highway is the subject of a 2006 conceptual art piece, The School of Panamerican Unrest, where Mexican-born artist Pablo Helguera is attempting to drive a portable schoolhouse for the length of the entire route.^”

Note 2 From a 2001seminar paper ‘What are poets for? Heidegger’s gift to ecocriticism’ at http://www.arts.monash.edu/cclcs/research/papers/.

Note 3 The question is raised by Gisela Kaplan & Lesley Rogers [2006] Elephants that paint, birds that make music. Do animals have an aesthetic sense? Cerebrum, 1 October, at www.dana.org/news/cerebrum/detail.aspx?id=74 This article gives links for seals, ravens, &c.. Thierry Lenain [1997] Monkey painting, Reaktion, London, is a good introduction to primate painting.

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