The irony of beauty

One of the aspects of the art experience that I find most interesting is the tension between the physical beauty of a composition and the darkness of the subject matter. Take these two paintings of Mao Zedong for example (brought to mind by the Beijing Olympics, which in itself is a bit ironic - who can forget the beautiful voice of the little girl singing the national anthem at the opening ceremonies, which turned out having belonged to another little girl, who was deemed by the Chinese authorites as not being pretty enough to sing it in person??)

The figure of Mao is problematic - a communist dictator who persecuted and oppressed the people of China and began a dark chapter in this vast country's great history. But yet these two paintings are technically "beautiful" to observe - Warhol turns Mao into a pop icon, similar to his portraits of Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor - and instantly we smile at this man's face, which normally should make us uneasy.

And Kiefer reminds us of the natural beauty and grace of flowers in abundance, even while they are thrown (all 1,000 of them) at the feet of a dictator, shown here in a Hitler-styled posture that brings to mind another set of sorrows. So here we are, as viewers, caught between the beauty and the darkness - and where do we go? Where do our minds and souls rest in between this tension? How do we resolve it internally? This is where I believe "art" resides - in this dialogue - in this relationship between us and the painting, us and the artist, and within ourselves.

Andy Warhol, Mao

Anselm Kiefer, Let a Thousand Flowers Bloom

Finding spirituality through art

Before I can begin discussing artworks in this blog, I'd like to put some parameters around my own concept of art and its relationship to the spirit (the soul). Because the definition of "art" varies depending on with whom you're talking, where you're looking at it, and how it's being perceived. It's been debated, discussed, written about, lectured on, and defined by scholars, art critics, dealers, curators, auction house professionals, gallerists, collectors, professors, and artists themselves. So what is it? I don't think anyone has agreed upon one particular definition - but here is my interpretation - formulated during the time I wrote my master's thesis:

Art exists in the space between the artwork and the viewer. It is a movement, a cause and effect, a relationship. It happens when an artwork (painting, sculpture, text, music, etc) causes movement in the viewer - makes them stop what they were doing, stand, look, observe, think, contemplate, consider, debate, become energized, sad, happy, enlightened, disheartened, humbled, encouraged, etc. At some point the soul (heart, mind, etc - however it's experienced by that individual) is moved - put into motion - and is restored to itself or energized from within. From that place of restoration and energy, the soul is then lifted upward to a new place of understanding of either itself or the object being considered. That is art - or rather - that is where art exists.

So for me, for my first post about the meaning of "spirituality through art" and my observations thereof, I will share this image of Tintoretto's masterpiece, which I viewed for the first time in Venice in 1997. It literally stopped me in my tracks, forced me not only to look, but to "see" with my mind's eye the real, historic suffering of Jesus Christ - through not just the Protestant cerebral understanding of what Christ's death symbolizes - but what Jesus, the man, actually went through during his physical suffering and death, as Tintoretto so dramatically brought to our attention. In other words, it actually happened -- and this is what it most likely looked like -- a very real crucifixion in a larger context of onlookers, executioners, mourners, witnesses, and landscape, including heaven's response through the darkened skies above.

And in this process of my own spiritual conversion while viewing this painting, I also experienced a deep and powerful understanding of both the power of an artwork (either religious in subject matter or not) and an individual's ability to receive this artwork and be moved by it. The experience changed my life forever; it led the way towards my confirmation in the Catholic church a year later, and opened the door to a new journey for me in which I began my graduate work and career exploring theology, art history, art theory/aesthetics, philosophy, and the trials and tribulations of the art market. It has been and continues to be quite an adventure.

Jacopo Robusti detto il Tintoretto, Crucifixion

Art through the eyes of my son

"God, where are you?" asked my 3 year old son, as we were walking through the National Cathedral this morning before mass. It was only his 5th of 6th time accompanying me to church, and as we had approached our destination in the car, in order to make the experience a bit more accessible, I had told him that we were headed to church to say "hello" to God. So I guess his question was the natural, logical progression from my set-up: "God, where are you? We're here to say hello to you!" We wandered through the maze of small stone stairways, which were tucked away from the main corridors, and into the little chapels, prayer alcoves, and various altars. Eventually we made our way down into the crypt where we continued our journey. In one quiet chapel, set aside by the cathedral for meditation and personal prayers, my son somehow instinctively said "No loud noises, Mama", as if he had known instantly the spiritual purpose of this room, to which I smiled and giggled as I watched him slowly make his way towards the back wall where a colorful mosaic stood waiting for him.

As we approached the last few destinations in our quest, we stumbled across a little nook marked for prayers of The Good Shepherd. Above a little altar was a sculpture - a stone relief of Jesus as a young man, lovingly holding a sheep in his arms, and gazing down at us. My son looked at me with great concentration and said quite seriously and simply, "This is where God is sitting". I almost fell on the floor - because as he said it - I felt an immediate sense of the holy spirit enveloping us both. And what does Christ say? When 2 or more are gathered in His name, that is where church resides. For me, this morning, in that quiet and humble nook, in that sacred fleeting moment with my son - that was my worship service. Through his eyes, I could see.