Powers of Detection
the art of attention and the attention of art
Spring is the season when poems begin to bloom. As spring unfurls, we start to notice; we step beyond our shells and become alert to the greater world.
As I sit up and sniff the air, I find myself seduced by questions of attention. How do we caress existence with our attention? How do we allow our consciousness to accompany what is? How does attention work, and how can it work for us in our ongoing quest for inspiration and presence?
The following mini-musings— SCIENCE | ART | CULTURE— are my attempts to capture your attention and my own. Feel free to skim them as you like, although… you might miss the point.
ATTENTION IN SCIENCE
Biologists, neuroscientists, and cognitive psychologists agree: human attention is limited and selective by design. We are busy little prediction machines, measuring our prior beliefs about the world against the sensory data we absorb. Whether through prediction models like the free-energy principle, attention models like the biased competition theory, or consciousness models like the global workspace theory, science reminds us that we are constantly forecasting what the world is like and then confirming or revising those predictions. Scientific studies also show that when our brains become more plastic— when we meditate frequently, or take psychedelics— we are more likely to transcend our “high-level priors or beliefs, thereby liberating bottom-up information flow”.
I feel heartened by these conclusions. In a world of rigidly-held beliefs and puritanical dogma, it’s helpful to remember that reality is… just our best guess?! Every single moment of our lives, our minds are tangoing between established stories and new phenomena. Our brains are creative, crafty, clueless, resourceful, and hopeful.
Furthermore, our brains limit our spheres of attention to keep us alive. We can’t live in a constant state of rapture— we’d walk into traffic or forget to feed ourselves. Instead, our brains direct us toward high-priority data… which means that we stay focused on pressing matters but occasionally miss what’s right in front of us.
True attention, therefore, is a prized and elusive state of consciousness. French philosopher Simone Weil declares: “The highest ecstasy is the attention at its fullest.” Bulgarian essayist Maria Popova describes attention as “that crowning glory of consciousness.” This superlative praise makes sense given how well-earned and hard-won attention can be.
Whenever we strive for attentiveness, we are swimming valiantly against the current of our own evolutionary programming. In those rare instances when we do manage to achieve a state of deep presence, it can feel transcendent. American philosopher David Abram writes: “This awareness of my elemental, thingly presence to the tangible things that surround me— has remained, for me, the purest hallmark of magic … Magic doesn’t sweep you away; it gathers you up into the body of the present moment.”
So… how do we conjure the magic of the present moment?
ATTENTION IN ART
Here are three things that I feel to be true:
We are composed of Art.
Existence is composed of Art.
The Universe exists within and without, and when we make Art, we acknowledge the essential truth of that connection.
But how do we begin making Art? What happens when we feel stuck or uninspired?
I believe that noticing— listening, seeing, feeling— is the fount of all sincere expression. In a previous piece, I wrote about poetry as the act of stumbling upon reality. Poetry is a fact of life. It cannot be helped; all we can do is invite it in for tea.
In my experience, I don’t write poems; instead, I amble outside and try to catch poems with a butterfly net. If I’m lucky enough to unearth a line of poetry, it does not feel like it is mine to claim. I have simply excavated (what I feel is) a quiet truth that I get to pass back to reality, saying: “I paid attention today!” Art is the practice of handing life back to itself.
We are all of us born poets: meant to draw connections and to associate, to bind meaning to beauty. In fact, there is poetry thundering through our veins right now: our organs and synapses and cells all waltzing in concert.
When we observe the world, we occupy the exalted present-tense— and it is this heightened, meditative state that primes us for creation. For instance, writing poetry is a tremendous act of faith and optimism: it invites us to sit beneath the moon and behold it, for as long as necessary, until we discover what the moon is like for us. As American poet Rick Barot writes: “If you look at something long enough, it will have something to say to you.” Or as American poet Gregory Orr puts it: “Everything’s waiting for you to wrap your heart around it.” While it’s true that professional poets often wield their wit or vivid powers of description, mostly they are just great noticers.
We can do what poets do: allow ourselves to witness something and be moved by it. We can let our essence imprint upon existence, or let the essence of existence imprint upon us— either way, Art bubbles up from those two contexts interfacing. As Irish poet David Whyte observes: “Enlightenment is being in conversation.” In fact, poetic devices (like metaphors or similes) are just fastening tools: they help us stitch one fragment of existence to another (“hope is the thing with feathers”). Poetry insists upon the interconnectivity of all things, and when we notice the world’s interconnectivity, we are rewarded with art.
The sunlight of attention works in both directions: Art loves to be noticed. Just as we can taste the sky and clouds and rain and sun and toil and grain in the food we eat, Art contains a kind of fermentation, or distillation, of the experience that begat it. Life gives birth to Art, and in return Art cradles Life, honors Life, pressurizes Life into glorious little containers. If we pay more attention to Art, Life emerges. If we pay more attention to Life, Art emerges.
ATTENTION IN CULTURE
Last week, I watched The Residence on Netflix (all in one day because I am, in fact, a troll person). Uzo Aduba steals the show as Cordelia Cupp, a world-famous detective hired to solve a murder at the White House. It was delightful to watch Aduba exhibit the insouciance and hauteur historically associated with the figure of the (typically white, male) detective— her snappy retorts alone are worth the watch.
Cordelia Cupp is an avid bird watcher. She applies these skills to her detective work, for both disciplines require patience and a keen eye for detail. After binge-watching The Residence, I realized that the figure of the detective— from Sherlock Holmes to Hercule Poirot to Benoit Blanc— is lauded for an almost superhuman attention to detail. Detective stories fetishize the art of attention; relishing the idea that a detective solves a case merely by noticing what the rest of us have overlooked. At the end of a mystery, the detective figure— always with a flair for the dramatic— proceeds to take audiences back through the evening’s events, which are now furnished with the insights of the detective’s eagle eye. Unlike the superhero figure, the detective figure’s sole superpower is… attention.
So by this logic… are poets the new detectives? I’m not sure, but I do know that paying close attention increases our chances of discovery and affords us a richer existence.
My money-minded language here is intentional— for while the detective deals in investigations, we might think about any attentive person as dealing in investments. Attention is one of humanity’s most valuable currencies; revered as it is in both artistic and scientific realms. We pay attention the same way we pay homage or respect: by consciously giving a part of ourselves over to the present. To borrow another financial term, we can generate interest (which is a product of money + time) by shifting our chosen currency (to an investment of attention + time). When we trust in the age-old recipe of time plus attention, we are guaranteed a return on our investment with something that will inevitably generate our interest.
When we pay attention, it doesn’t matter what the resulting “poem” is: a poem could be a moment of shared grace, a heightened sense of communion, a thrilling discovery, a deep breath, or an actual poem. Time spent with the world is its own reward.
CODA
In summary (*clears throat in detective*), our minds help us to stay alert and focused on high-priority tasks— often at the expense of our most expansive forms of presence and attentiveness. When we recommit to the present moment, we court possibility in the form of super-sleuth epiphanies and poetic illuminations.
Dear bossy little media algorithms: thank you for your service, but we’d like to rest now. Dear chariots of capitalism: thank you for your service, but we’d like to rest now. Dear sweet efficient human brains: thank you for shielding us from the overpowering glory of existence… but we’ll take it from here.
Life is short: a parade of beauty impossible to catch in its entirety.
Attention is one way to gild Life, anoint Life, race Life to the finish line. Attention is one way to cast out a line and return with praise. Attention is one way to foxtrot with existence— and she’s a damn good dance partner.
Shall we take to the floor?
__________________
If you’re interested in (or worried about) attention in our fast-paced world, I highly recommend Tobias Rose-Stockwell’s Outrage Machine and Max Stossel’s Social Awakening.
Thank you to Jake Orthwein and Anne-Lorraine Selke, who shared scientific theories of the brain that were so absurdly beautiful, I wept at the dinner table.
If you enjoy my writing, go wild and click the ❤️ or 🔄 button on this post so more people can discover it on Substack.