Wide-eyed Wonder: an artist's musings on three-dimensional vision

Some are color blind. I am stereo blind.

Archive for the ‘two dimensional artwork’ Category

Relax. Let go. Give your brain permission.

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I’ve been following this VT patient’s progress reports with interest. Today’s post “Stop trying so hard and just SEE” mentions a common hurdle to diverging our eyes, the ability to RELAX those rogue eye turn-in muscles! “Stop LOOKING” my VT would often say. LOOKING to isolate something normally fixates both eyes on an object, or in my case, unconsciously fixates one eye while turning in and suppressing the out-of-alignment image of the other. “Soften your gaze” was another frequent VT exhortation.

1218randotLast week, random dots did the trick of NOT LOOKING for this VT patient, and I think I understand why. The randomness of the thing viewed eliminates the worry about getting a “right” answer, and therefore is less stressful than “Is the elephant or the fly popping out for you?” which can trigger frantic LOOKING.

Randomness is the opposite of representation, therefore the brain lets go of the need to comprehend and interpret an object. As an artist who strives to accurately represent objects, a good dose of randomness may be exactly what my brain needs to stop trying so hard.

This is why, for me, letting go also requires giving myself permission to allow a new way of seeing to emerge, to be visually open-minded.

I’m rejoicing that random dot stereograms are working for this patient to overcome her eye turn-in along with the many awesome mind-opening exercises her Vision Therapist is tailoring to wake up her brain.

By letting go and giving herself permission to see a new way, her world is opening up into the third dimension I long to experience.

 

Eyes Contact Redux (or what happened in the optometrist’s office, part 1)

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“The Colors of Relating” 19 x 24″ pastel on Canson paper by Lynda Rimke, 2009 Akron Society of Artists Open Model Night for Akron ArtWalk 

During my vision therapy hiatus, I would from time to time succeed at looking at both my eyes in the mirror in the way most people make eye contact, “the act of looking directly into one another’s eyes.” 1

My felt need for mirror-practice is because “Strabismus … interferes with normal eye contact: a person whose eyes are not aligned usually makes full eye contact with one eye only, while the orientation of the other eye deviates slightly or more.” 2 I wrote more about this in 2010 where I had recently discovered the difference:

“Most people make two-eyed contact, with right eyes gazing into left and left into right. Al enlighted me of this fact only last week. It’s really eyes contact.” 3

While mirror practice is really right to right eye and left to left, softening my gaze to see both eyes at the same time achieves the same purpose. Since starting back on the Brock String in late June, I have been practicing in the mirror more.

When I explained this to my optometrist on Tuesday, he wanted to see if I could pull it off. For a second or so I couldn’t get it, then I tilted my head just slightly to the right. Then it happened: my first full connection with another human being— Real. Full. Eye Contact.

“You tilted your head,” he noted, and then warmly related how sometimes his vision doubles and head tilting is a way to get binocular function back. While I am not happy that this is happening to him, I am comforted in that whatever research he will be doing for me may also be of benefit to him.

I also used the Brock String with him holding the other end. My nervousness and the angle of the string, and difficult overhead office lighting made for less than ideal conditions. I think I got the “magic X” through the yellow center bead only for a millisecond or two at 15” and was not able to converge and diverge between the closer green bead and yellow bead.

But I digress. The actual genuine eye contact was THE huge milestone with psychological and social significance. I fake genuine eye contact pretty well, as my misalignment is now so slight as to be practically imperceptible to others. But I am always missing the connection by half. To have made that full connection, even for clinical purposes, is huge.

I mentioned this at dinner, after taking in a 3D movie with my folks and husband on Saturday. Dad, who claims to have always had a “lazy eye” took immediate interest, and we attempted genuine eye contact. I was surprised when he told me he was alternating, and I (and my husband next to me) could see his eyes doing it! We’ve suspected that my condition runs through his family, but this was an “Aha!” moment to see his alternating esophoria (or tropia) in action. We laughed at our struggle and then lovingly made left “good” eye to left “good” eye contact.

My husband has become the next victim, as I will not let go of my goal to improve my newfound full-eye-contact skills, and he happens to be the most handy human being around. We normally do a lot of talking with occasional face contact. He too, grew up with an impairment to real eye contact: congenital cataracts and coke-bottle glasses. I’m sure this is what made him easy to be around at first, as this made him undemanding in the eye contact arena. I did not mind tunneling down through his glasses with my one good eye. While the pop-bottle lenses are long gone, gaining that full eye connection has been a challenge, because face contact has been nothing less than eye contact in his mind his whole life and all that I felt I could easily accomplish. But he is patiently putting up with me, and why not? Every enduring marriage needs a little magic!

Written by Lynda Rimke

July 24, 2016 at 2:22 pm

“Why Don’t You Ask Me?”

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I can’t begin to describe my emotions. This desire to keep working at vision therapy in some fashion has never left me over the last five years, since the March 2011 Branch Retinal Artery Occlusion brought my program with my Developmental Optometrist to an irreversible halt. “You are not binocular” I was informed one year out, with what felt like a firm, conversation-ending “period.” Even so, I sat there and meekly persisted to ask about doing vision therapy exercises, although the visual field in my half-blind right eye had not changed. “You can play around with it …” she offered. Whether this was her intent or not, I received this withering assessment as hopeless, and allowed hopelessness to bury my desire.

But desire simply squirmed in rebellion from time to time at the bottom of its grave. This deep inner writhing has occurred, without fail, every spring when my work outdoors brings fresh binocular-like quales, those take-your-breath-away sightings of something more.

Am a really so hopelessly “not binocular”? Isn’t binocularity a continuum? Are my quales perhaps peripheral fusion or ARC? Can’t I work to become a wee bit binocular?

Who has stopped me from working at it? No one.

Not even God, Himself.

Shortly after the “You are not binocular.” office visit, I suffered a painful irony: In June 2012, my artwork had earned a “People’s Choice” prize that cut me to the quick.

I had to make a special trip out to the gallery to pick up my prize, which turned out not be the badly needed cash I was anticipating (we were tied up with two homes at the time), but a “how to paint” DVD of some smiling unknown artist with his simple barn painting.

About half way home, when I stopped to pick up groceries, I swallowed my “I painted a better barn at this competition!” vanity and opened myself up to the idea that maybe, as an artist, I could learn something from this particular barn-painting demonstration. So I read the back. In all caps, this unknown artist stated:

I LOVE TO PAINT. I LOVE TO CAPTURE THE ESSENCE OF A THREE DIMENSIONAL SCENE IN TWO DIMENSIONS. IT’S MY PASSION.

I don’t cry often, but this was an astounding dart to my heart from the blue. I fought back the tears, threw the DVD on the seat and went grocery shopping.

Enroute home, about 100’ from my driveway, I sputter at God in a howl “What is this, some kind of cosmic JOKE? You KNOW I can’t see three dimensions!!!” This Creator gave me a brain that prefers alternating esotropia. This Creator allowed that tiny blood clot to enter the branch artery of my dominant right eye and stay there. What was He thinking?

As I brought the car to a stop, a question invaded the wound in my heart: “Why don’t you ask Me?”

And so I have continued to ask, haltingly, not for an answer to what this Creator is doing, but to see more with the two eyes He has given me, more than I ever have seen before.

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“Kishman’s Barn” oil on canvas by Lynda Rimke. Painted “en plein air” June 2012