Inkblots

May 14, 2026

Are you a glass half empty or glass half full person?  The simplicity of the question suggests that we should be able to choose one of these two options that best represents our disposition and our overall outlook on life; if only it were that simple…

There are people who may be content with any amount of full; others are disgusted at the idea of anything less; some might want to know what’s in the glass, regardless of how full or empty it is; some might ask “what type of glass is it?”; others might be struck by how beautiful the light shines through it and may want to photograph it or sit down and sketch it;

If the glass contains poison, does it matter which half you choose?; maybe I’d want to measure the contents of the glass for accuracy; for another person, this may trigger a traumatic moment from childhood, as they proceed to slam the glass down on the floor, shattering it to pieces; and still, most of us probably feel, on some level, the need to say, “well, it all depends on the situation.…”:

Brain Storm

I’m not necessarily suggesting that we can substitute any glass containing fluid with a functional Rorschach test; however, the symmetrical nature of the inkblots does render more stereotypical responses than asymmetrical images– sort of like the half/empty glass paradigm, where the choices of what can be interpreted by this physical object are drastically narrowed down for us, to a more accessible stratum than infinity.  

This is why most early researchers decided to abandon an asymmetrical inkblot model, in favor of the symmetrical design.  The latter presented the patient with a much more objective visual stimulus, thus rendering more predictable and measurable responses; while the majority of patients simply rejected the asymmetrical (subjective) experiments outright.  

Through this very significant distinction, the imagination is purposefully directed or guided, which is a part of the experiment in itself and completely logical in the simplified and settled upon version of the Rorschach test.  And it’s not just about what the patient “sees” hidden within these obscure shapes reflected upon themselves, it’s a full scan of their behavior: the timing of how long it takes to respond; how much of the image was actually used in the patient’s interpretation; varying metrics, determinants, physical ticks and all that jazz.  

Despite the fact that it looks like the researchers have this all dialed in, I can’t help but wonder: why is it still so much more difficult for patients to conjure up any significant meaning from an asymmetrical image that does not mirror itself?  Is it because we crave order and simplicity? Duplicity? Do we love mirrors, are we innately conceited or do we just need something to bounce the proverbial ball off of?  

These inkblots spell out repetition, imitation, patterns and balance.  They reflect the way our brains and our bodies are structured, the nature of the sun and the moon, the tree and its roots, the iceberg, the yin and yang– it is summed up for us, into an art composition, a language that we can muster, distinguish, and bring to bear.

These identical, conjoined figures are always secured together as one complete form.  Again, this simplifies the neural processes for which we formulate perception and language; but it also may speak to the feeling of being helplessly attached to a part of us that perhaps we didn’t ask for; but that we need– in the deep and unspoken way that we “need” our own shadow.

Watts Up?

Is this supposed need for opposition, or a counterpart (or a shadow) linked to the fulfilment of a necessary part of our “darker” emotional self?  In this theoretical position, we cannot live with the inner polarity, the dichotomy, the chasm of what it means to be us– so we treat everything in the external world, more symmetrically.

Just look at the way the earth flows on a map, with its curves and undulations, and squiggly lines; then notice the mark of human presence within the predictable patterns of squares, cubes, right angles and straight lines that jut into the flow wherever we could physically jam them in.  This is a very real representation of how rigidly we attempt to make sense of such a fluid universe (according to Alan Watts).

Perhaps it’s much easier to psychoanalyze a person when they’re in think mode (i.e. objectively deciphering existing shapes), instead of dream mode (i.e. subjectively conjuring shapes).  The plane of comprehension in think mode is much more surface level for the patient, allowing them to communicate more clearly what is occurring in their brain.

While people can certainly formulate more cogent responses (verbal or otherwise) within the think mode approach, it seems a bit problematic with regard to observing and resolving emotional experiences that run deeper than mere language.  For one, the longer we spend inside of our own heads, the further we embed opinions and perspectives that are often inaccurate or even harmful, thus perpetually influencing our interpretations of what we’re capable of seeing, feeling and expressing.  

As a species, we also possess very little understanding of what is actually happening when we talk about consciousness (for all intents and purposes: dream mode).  Language is a beautifully useful tool, but it brings with it limitations that only allow us to be capable of reciprocal communication regarding concepts which we can, at least moderately, comprehend; and it does little to address the hard problem of consciousness.  

To be rendered speechless is a bit of a cliche, but to stare into a dark mass of confusion and obscurity with the task of “finding” something, is a spiritual undertaking.  This seems to be why ayahuasca, hypnosis, psilocybin and MDMA therapies are gaining popularity. 

The people seeking these experiences don’t just want to be moved, they want to arrive at a deeper understanding of themselves and how it fits within the context of the world in which they appear to exist.  If this sounds like a stretch, then it’s a fine introduction into the maddening world of phenomenology. 

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

Having fewer choices is always easier than wading through an ocean of possibility;, but it is in this ocean where we can remove a little bit of reliability, take our existential self and transcend our level of awareness.  It’s also the place where we can begin to imagine crazier outcomes than what we’ve seen up to this point in our lives and start to cultivate acceptance, particularly of the unknown.  

When people are describing two opposing concepts, they often use the phrase “It’s like night and day”’.  In my son Milo’s 1st Grade class, the students were given a riddle for the week: “The world is made up of two things. What are they?”.  At the end of the week, they all learned that the answer was “Straight Lines and Squiggly Lines”. 

I’m not sure if his teacher had been reading up on Alan Watts, but I thought it was an excellent topic of exploration for the little ones.  When we look at things as being either half empty or half full, it’s important to remind ourselves that the spaces that exist in between night and day are among the most beautiful we can experience; and to think I considered Milo a shoo-in when he confidently submitted his response: “Life and Death”.