is it art?
by lavinia plonka

“ ‘Chaos theory’ or the study of ‘chaotic’ processes is related to the study of fractals because such processes often generate fractal shapes, or will yield a fractal image if a certain attribute is plotted on a graph.”

Robert P. Munafo – Mandelbrot Set Glossary and Encyclopedia
I was an artist in the schools for the Guggenheim Museum for eight years, part of an experimental program to teach literacy through movement.

My favorite students were from the South Bronx, labeled “at risk”. Because these schools had been virtually abandoned by city bureaucrats, I had carte blanche to wreak artistic havoc without lesson plans, weekly reports, or politics. We danced on desks, wrote with our toes, crafted mythological epics to hip hop music and even prowled like lions down the halls —to the consternation of some teachers and the delight of the vice principal.

Like a Mandelbrot set, classes were an endless dance between chaos and order. Just when I thought things were moving smoothly and I thought I could settle into autopilot, I would find myself in the midst of anarchic explosions ranging from fistfights to sailing spit balls to hip hop dancing in the corner. (“Lateesha, stop jumping on Ishmael! Ishmael, did you steal her gum? What were you doing in her desk anyway? Whoa! Whoa! Hey, Freddy! Christian! Please don’t stand on my boombox. I know you’re working on a piece where you jump off a bridge, but can you pretend you’re jumping? Quoneesha, where are you going? To lunch? Lunch isn’t for another two hours. What do you mean you have special permission. Hey! Hey, hold on, I can’t believe 15 of you have special permission to go to early lunch, get back in your seats……”)

There were other moments when a passerby might think chaos reigned, but in fact, the children were deeply at work creating stories using stage combat techniques, moving from chaotic, incoherent movements to tightly choreographed scenarios. My own inner order was constantly challenged as suddenly, roles would reverse—one day the class informed me “Miss Lavinia, you dance just like a white lady!” Do I resist the flow and impose my world? Nah. For the rest of the session I was drilled by 3rd graders on the fine points of The Grind, Salt and Peppah and The Slide.

A highlight each year is a field trip to the Guggenheim Museum itself. I am a little nervous taking these unpredictable packages of energy – do I dare call them quanta? to the Retrospective of Modern Art from the 1960’s to the 1990’s.

I take a tour of the museum in advance—so that I can better “teach” about art. I stroll up the ramp, greeting old favorites with a knowledgeable nod, congratulating myself on my mature grasp of the arts. Abstract expressionism, modernism, super realism, I understand all of it. I‘ve spent years going to museums, reading art catalogs. I am cultured. I am in control.

I nod to the Jackson Pollacks, hardly bothering to stop and inspect pieces I know so well. I am stopped by an installation. A piece of glass set on cinder blocks with some sand underneath and on the glass. “What the hell is this?” I ponder. I stare at it. I harrumph. And move on, completely forgetting its existence.

The day of the trip arrives and the children tear into the museum. 75 random particles swirl chaotically through the museum’s ordered environment. They descend upon Claus Von Oldenberg’s outsize sculptures. “Miss Lavinia! Miss Lavinia! Look! You showed us that piece of pie! You’re right, it is larger than life!” The children bounce and fling in unpredictable patterns up and down the ramp. The rest rooms and water fountains are as noteworthy as the Andy Warhols. The elevators are masterpieces – boys comment on the smooth chrome, the silence of the movement, the beauty of the empty space as they enter. I have to tear them away, even as I muse to myself that I’ve never quite noticed the elevators quite this way before.

When they get to the Jackson Pollocks, one of the boys runs next to it and mimes vomiting. “Look man, it looks just like he puked all over and put it in the museum.” A girl comes over and imperiously pushes him out of the way. “Look at that. Just look at that.” The class crowds closer. “MMmmm, Mmmmm, Mmmmmmm.” She gives three snaps. “Now that is what I call art.” She turns to the class. “That is what real art looks like. This is be-oooo-ti-ful!” The class murmurs in approval. We move on.

I intend to rush them past the glass and cinder block thing. They would certainly scoff at such a pedestrian attempt at profundity. But a group of boys stop dead. “Man, look at this!”

“Hey Miss Lavinia! Look! If you lie on the floor and look up you see little patterns!”
“Hey, these cinder blocks are like the ones by our project! It looks cool with glass on it!”

“Look at the sand at this end!”

“Miss Lavinia, this guy is phat! He knows what he’s doing.”

I look at the group admiring the construction. Their faces glow with inspiration and delight. Two of the boys plan to meet in a back lot to create their own installation using abandoned car parts, sheet metal and that hideous orange plastic fencing. They want it to be about light.

I gather my motley group together and send them on to the next piece as I stand silently looking at the cinderblock installation. It looks completely different now. Instead of a random chaos of unrelated elements, it tells a story, has a pattern. As I look down at the glass, I see my face reflected, the sand travelling across my cheek. And in the reflection are mini reflections of me and the sand, getting smaller and smaller, each containing the whole.

Suddenly, I’m nine years old. My parents are fighting downstairs. My head is exploding with confusion. I run to my mother’s vanity. It has three mirrors – one main one and two panels on either side that fold in so you can see the back of your head. Or, if you fold them in close enough, you can see yourself endlessly reflected in each panel, smaller and smaller. I sit, enclosed in the panels, looking at my myriad reflections and start talking to them. “Hello, my name is Lavinia, what’s yours? I’m Lavinia too. And you? My name is Lavinia too.” I reach out with my mind to the furthest Lavinia reflection, talking to my universe of Lavinias until my breathing becomes quiet, my head stops hurting and I feel safe.

The beauty of the Mandelbrot set is how the mathematics of chaos can create an infinite order. No matter where you zoom into a Mandlebrot fractal, you can find the same image endlessly repeated, like a mantra, or a universe of Lavinias.

The children’s voices sweep over me. They are pondering a Rauschenberg, “Hey look, he stuck newspaper on the paint!”

“I’m gonna do that with Christmas wrapping paper!”

“We are gonna be really great artists!”

“Yeah!”

When not trying to decipher Rothko and Twombly, Lavinia spends her time helping people learn to understand their own patterns. She teaches The Feldenkrais Method® of Somatic Education for groups and individuals nationwide.[ laviniaplonka.com