Quoted below and at length are Matt Rentschler’s quadrant distinctions for making and viewing art, and by which I am planning a painting project for my Integral Art course. It’s a still life of a little shrine to the intersubjectivity of my mom (Ruby) and me.

We’re so much alike that we have often clashed in our similarities, and I come by my tendency to ask big questions straight from her. Based on the four theories of art critique, which correlate to the AQAL quadrants, varying views of the still life are arranged by quadrant, and will be depicted in corresponding styles. Upper Left (individual-interior) as Expressionism; Upper Right (individual-exterior) as Realism; Lower Left (collective-interior) as Impressionism; and Lower Right (collective-exterior) as Symbolism.

I chose to use a framed picture from a family trip to England in 1977. This is the only picture of Ruby and me together from a batch of slides my sister and I recently converted to digital. Of course, a teapot for her undying Britishness, with plant cuttings to symbolize growth and new life.

This Wedgewood box she gave me and reminds me of her. It holds the charm bracelet she built for me over the years as I grew up. A candle because it’s a shrine. And, an old book for learning and the possibility of other lands and times.

As I shopped for props to fill out my shrine, I found my self thinking about my relationship to Ruby. As the oldest child and a girl, Ruby and I have struggled over some boundary disputes. I like the photo because I seem to be pulling away from her a bit, and, you can’t really see it clearly, but she has her arm wrapped around my right leg, holding me close. I love Ruby and deeply respect the courage it must have taken to leave family and country behind for a new world. All she ever wanted to be was a mommy, and she’s pretty much dedicated her life to caring for us and preparing us to go out into the world. A new chapter is unfolding for Ruby as she faces life with grown children—sufficient and prospering without her—the terrain ahead foggy and undefined. Stand by for further updates.

The ambivalently-attached  driver is anxious and excited. She is intimidated by the driving instructor, who holds the key to solo, licensed emotional driving. The instructor is entrusted with not only the driver’s training, but also her safety. The driver begins cautiously, carefully following instructions and repeatedly looking to the instructor for affirmation. As inexperienced drivers tend to do, she comes up to an intersection a bit too quickly.

“Give it some more brake,” I bark.

She over compensates and we feel the gravity of seat belt and pavement. I can see tears forming and lip wobbling.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Everyone does that at first. You have to get used to the distances and the speed—when to start applying the brake and how hard to push. I know it feels awkward now, but soon you’ll be doing it without even thinking about it.”

“No, I’ll never get it right,” the ambivalent driver wavers. “I can’t do anything right. I’ll never get my license and my mom will have to drive me everywhere.” 

She pauses. Attempting to hold off a frustrated flood of tears she looks over at me as the light turns. “I can’t do this. I should pull over so you can drive. Are you angry?”

“Of course not. I do this for a living. You’d have to be a lot more reckless and a much worse driver to shake me up. Come on, let’s just get to a safer place to pull over and I’ll take over if you want. Maybe a parking lot would suit us better for the rest of this lesson.”

“Okay.” As it’s her turn to go, determination and concentration take over her features. She accelerates slowly as the traffic in front of us stretches out ahead one car at a time. “Which way should I go? Is this too fast? Which lane should I get in?”

“You’re doing great. We’ll make a left at the next light into that shopping center. You can put your turn signal on now. That’s good. Now slowly veer into the turn lane. Great. That was great!”

“Well, I think I can maybe still drive a little more. Maybe just in the parking lot for a minute.”

“I think you’re doing fine, and the parking lot will be good practice as well.”

“Okay, thanks.” She makes the left turn without flaw and a slight glow of confidence begins to radiate from the corners of her eyes. She’s almost smiling.

Attachment Theory