May 06, 2008
Why Is Christian Art So Lame These Days?
(Jimmy Akin)
That's a question that's worth asking.
I mean, it isn't as if Christian art has always been lame. A visit to the Sistine Chapel or a read through Dante or a listen to Mozart will tell you that.
But for some reason, right in the here and now, an enormous amount of Christian art--whether visual, literary, or musical--is just really, really lame.
And it's not driving the culture the way it used to.
Instead, it feels like a shallow copy of secular culture.
That's something explored in a recent article at Salon.Com. Here's the money quote:
For faith, the results can be dangerous. A young Christian can get the idea that her religion is a tinny, desperate thing that can't compete with the secular culture. A Christian friend who'd grown up totally sheltered once wrote to me that the first time he heard a Top 40 station he was horrified, and not because of the racy lyrics: "Suddenly, my lifelong suspicions became crystal clear," he wrote. "Christian subculture was nothing but a commercialized rip-off of the mainstream, done with wretched quality and an apocryphal [sic] insistence on the sanitization of reality."
SOURCE [WARNING: There are a few just plain gross references in the article.]
The article largely focuses on culture schlock in Evangelical circles, but we all know the same thing is true in Catholic circles, as the insipid folk-esque musical spoutings of Oregon Catholic Press or the chunky abstract patterns that pass for stained glass windows in many parishes reveal. Those are just cheesy ripoffs of secular music and secular art (and dated ripoffs at that.)
So why isn't contemporary Christian art better than it is?
Posted by Jimmy Akin in Art | Permalink | Comments (71)
February 18, 2008
But, Is It Art? - Abstraction Pt. 1
(Tim Jones)
From Old World Swine, the long-ago promised
conclusion to my "But Is It Art?" series, Part One;
I titled this series "But, Is It Art?" because that was the question I sought to answer regarding non-representational (purely abstract) art, like the Robert Motherwell piece at left. My first instinct - my bias early on - was to say that, no, it wasn't really art. As I have explained earlier, I have come to modify that position, and in the process have come to a new appreciation of abstract art in its proper place.
I'm sure that in part my reaction against abstract art was due to the particular kind of art education I slogged through as a young man. The new broom of modernism had swept the academy clean, and it was made plain again and again that only the dullest sort of hack artist would bother to paint a straight, traditional portrait, still life or landscape. The concept of seeking Beauty was actually derided, and one poor grad student who let the term slip out during a critique was met with snickers and the shaking of heads. She was done for.
In regard to non-representational art, we were trained not only to see things that were not there, but to write papers about it... with footnotes. We were all expected to take seriously the idea that a canvas with a few lines and blobs of paint on it was as significant and praiseworthy as Caravaggio's Crucifixion of St. Peter. Not surprisingly, I don't recall any student in the MFA program I went through who wasn't simply adrift as an artist. There was no sense of connection with history or tradition beyond the last 100 years, or so, and indeed little sense of connection even with one another. There was very little in the way of technical help or instruction, and even less in terms of personal artistic development, no cohesive approach or philosophy - no rules, except "There are no rules". We were all making it up as we went along, with more or less success.
It took quite a while for me to begin to see past this, to gain some perspective. When I at last reached a point where I decided it was just a matter of plain sanity to prefer beauty to ugliness or meaning to emptiness, I was no longer painting at all, but was doing design and illustration. It was no doubt due to my embrace of historical, orthodox Christianity and the influence of writers like Tolkien, Chesterton and C.S. Lewis that I came to think about the mystery of beauty at all. In my new enthusiasm for tradition, meaning and beauty, I turned smartly on my heels and completely dismissed non-objective art as a fraud and the last refuge of talentless duffers.
But I digress.
In my next post I will give what I consider to be the strengths of modern abstraction and talk about in what contexts and in what ways I believe it does function well. In this post, though, I will focus on why I believe non-objective art can not be placed in the same category as the truly great works of art history.
Art is one of those magical, mysterious things - like writing and music - that only humans do. It sets us apart from the animal world by a gulf that is incomprehensibly wide.
There are two things - two fundamentally mysterious and magical things - that traditional representational art does that non-representational art does not do. The first is the most obvious; representational art, well, represents something. It calls to mind something that is not there, or that never existed except in the imagination of the artist. It communicates symbolically in a way analogous to writing. Writing is just ink on a page, figures of varied kinds that we string together to make words, and then sentences and presently we are drawn into a world, with its own people and events... we are with Frodo and Sam on the slopes of Mount Doom, or tied to the mast with Odysseus. One undeniable mystery of visual art is this power to symbolically represent things that are not really there. It's something we may not often think about (because we are too busy doing it), but the fact that I can draw a few lines and make you think of a goat or a sailing ship is just indescribably awesome. It's something only we humans do... even cavemen knew that.
The second mysterious thing that traditional representational art often does can be related to the first, but they are not the same; this is the breaking of the "picture plane", or the property of taking the viewer past the surface of the painting and into an illusory space. One can represent an object in a very flat and abstract way (again, think of cave painting or modern road signs), but the ability of the artist to create a believable space, with its own sense of light, atmosphere and perspective adds a dimension to the experience that is, again, powerful and mysterious. It gives the viewer the sensation that they could reach past the frame and into the painting. Most often they see past the surface of the picture without thinking about it. That's magic. Alice through the looking glass.
These two properties are so fundamental and potent that they could very nearly be the definition of what fine visual art really is. Without them, what is left are the merely formal aspects of visual art... composition, color harmony, texture, etc... all important things, but by themselves inadequate to move the viewer in anything like the way representational art can.
Now, there is a line of thought that holds that symbolic representation and the illusion of form and space are irrelevant to the appreciation of visual art, or even that such things get in the way, which to me is exactly like saying "That could have been a great novel, if not for all those characters, locations and plot developments getting in the way", as if the true essence of a novel were in formal concepts like "paragraphs" or "grammar".
The formal aspects of art are very significant, and can be appreciated and admired for their own strengths, but there's one problem with that way of thinking; every great novel and every great work of art possesses these formal strengths and uses them to great effect anyway... and in addition also provides the kind of narrative and symbolic communication that gives meaning to the whole. In other words, with any great work of visual art, you get the symbolic communication, the illusion and the brilliant use of the formal aspects (like composition, color, texture, etc...) thrown in, so the experience of traditional, representational art is much more comprehensive, making use of all the strengths of abstract art, but in service to the substantive mysteries of symbolism and illusion. The great thing about, say, a Sargent portrait is how a dash of paint can function so completely, powerfully and simultaneously as both a vital and evocative bit of brushwork and as a totally believable reflection on the bridge of a nose or the curve of a shoulder. We see it as one, then the other, then both at once. The passage resonates with the energy of this meaningful dichotomy.
The point being that if you're going to toss out
representation and illusion to begin with, you had better have
something pretty damned powerful up your sleeve to give meaning to the
formal properties of the piece... that is if you're after fine art.
There is another way of thinking that says that visual art shouldn't be compared to the concrete symbolism of writing, but rather to the abstract patterns of music. Being wholly ignorant of the subject, I will not even try to write in any meaningful way about how music works, how it engages the emotions, but I will say that art, music, writing, dance, etc... all enter the mind and move the human consciousness in very different ways. Art is not meant to affect us just as music does, or one of them would be redundant. In a similar way, it would be a mistake to push the analogy of art to writing too far. Fine art can be a great deal more like visual poetry than straight visual story telling. There certainly can be a very musical sense of rhythm, texture and mood to a piece of visual art, but the mystery and power of visual fine art flows from its own spring and can't be understood simply and solely as visual music.
There is a kind of art that functions something like visual music, though... decorative art, which figures large in the next (and final) post.
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (96)
January 31, 2008
The Nekkid Truth
(Tim Jones)
Another from Old World Swine;
I remember the first time I sat in a figure drawing class and worked from a real, live, nekkid model. I was a little nervous before, as were probably a lot of us wet-eared art undergrads. I don't know how everyone else responded when the young lady dropped her bathrobe, but I expect their experience wasn't too different from my own; there were a few moments of awkward ogling, a few moments of stern and studied pretense at ignoring the obvious, and then - something else. I began to think about how I could wring a good drawing out of the pose. As I started to draw, my brain began to break the model down into her component elements... line and form, light and shadow, muscle and bone. Within a minute, and for the remainder of the class, she registered no more on my libido-meter than a clay pot or a fern. And I was not nearly such a paragon of virtue and restraint as I am now.
Not everyone has had the benefit of such a class, of course, but it did demonstrate to me in unmistakable terms the very real difference between appreciating the beauty of the human form and what might be called the Look of Lust. I had the great privilege of having my view of the female form somewhat redeemed and baptized long before I knew anything of John Paul II's Theology of the Body. In this work, he makes brilliantly clear that the mere repression of lustful thoughts is not enough, and may even be unhealthy in the long run. We must learn - through the help of the Holy Spirit, the teaching of the Church, the sacraments and prayer - to change the way we perceive the human body. We must have our thoughts redeemed. We should work toward being able to thank God for the breathtaking beauty of the human body, and through giving thanks and praise to the Creator, disarm and disable Lust.
The idea is not to cage our lust, but to drag it out into the light where it can be transformed by the Holy Spirit.
Not that nudity is something to be treated lightly. We are fallen, after all. There is nudity - even under the pretext of art - that is wholly inappropriate. If it is intended to excite lust, or if it in fact does so, then it is unhealthy.
How do we tell the difference? Obviously, this is a matter of judgment. For one aware of his own weakness, one sincerely committed to trying to please God in everything, one familiar with Original Sin, one who has been trained to respect the dictates of conscience... a certain amount of confidence in personal judgment is possible, and can be developed. In the words of St. Augustine, "Love God and do as you please".
For one lacking these things, it may be impossible, though I believe that even based only on natural law one can tell the difference between a painting that is basically an act of praise and homage, and one in which the body is displayed like a piece of meat in a butcher shop window. In the first case, the viewer's response is "Yes, that is beautiful - God does great work". In the latter case, the viewer's response is "I want that".
In short, if you are truly concerned about lust in regard to viewing nude figures in art, then the battle is half won already. Trust your judgment, and be watchful of your own thoughts. Where truly great, classical, historically significant art is involved, I don't think even children need be cocooned and shielded as much as one might think. Most children likely have a much saner and simpler response to these things than we give them credit for. If you have concerns for kids, look things over for yourself first, but don't get too wound up over them seeing this or that body part, in the right context.
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (133)
January 11, 2008
Winding Up to a Conclusion
(Tim Jones)
(Note; I use the word "abstract" in this post as a synonym for
"non-representational" art, that is, art that doesn't depict or
represent any object. In truth, all visual art involves abstraction,
but I use the word here as a less cumbersome way of saying
"non-representational" - T.J.)
The topic of this post (at my blog Old World Swine) brought me back to a series I authored here at JA.O , on how I understand modern abstraction in terms of where it fits in the broad movement of art history.
In retrospect, I see that project was too great a stretch for a layman and average schlub like myself. I have absolutely zero credentials as either a philosopher or art historian. I am a working artist (Masters Degree, thanks) not that widely read or traveled. What I can do is talk very honestly about art from my own non-expert perspective and hope that this becomes a useful bit of grist for the mill. I'll begin with a little background that might help explain why it has taken me so long to finish this series of posts.
A commercial art client with whom I worked for years had a very large abstract painting hanging in his office. It was dreadful - the kind of thing one would buy at a discount furniture store - a mass produced vomitous mess of cream and "earth tones". It was bad in every way that a painting can be bad. The abstract equivalent of a black velvet Elvis.. I saw this painting off and on for years, and one day the undeniable bad-ness of it got me thinking; I had seen a lot of other abstract paintings that were much better than this one. If they really were better, I thought, what made them better? If we can talk at all about "bad" and "good" abstract art, that almost proves there must be something worthwhile in the good abstract art, doesn't it?
Where I had been all set to consign abstract art to the dustbin, I decided to hold off and rethink my position. I mulled things over for quite a while, and ended up reaffirming my first intuitive response to abstraction (that it is a subset of decorative art), while at the same time developing a genuine appreciation of abstract art in its proper place. I can now say that there are a number of pieces of abstract art that I think are successful, interesting, even engaging... just not what I consider to be great art, for reasons I'll get to in the next post. One of the things great art does is move the viewer, and I have never once been moved by a piece of abstract art. I don't see how that works.
There is, of course, the real possibility that I may just be missing something, that I am a thick-skulled, irrecoverable rube - what C.S. Lewis called a "trousered ape" - who simply lacks the imagination, the emotional depth and psychological complexity to plumb the mysteries of abstract art. That's fine. I'll admit the possibility... but it's not for lack of honest effort.
I have looked at and thought hard about abstract art for years. In some circles - circles I occasionally run in - verbalizing a lack of sufficient enthusiasm or appreciation for abstract art is a social blunder on the level of making fun of the handicapped - much worse, in fact (in the latter case, one could always pull a Mel Gibson and claim it was the booze talking). This is just not something a sophisticated and civilized person is ever supposed to say... particularly an artist. It will change what people think of you. It will cost you work and connections and references. I once knew an art history professor who was denied tenure partly because (he seemed certain) he had spoken well of Norman Rockwell.
I'm convinced that many people, especially in the art world, never say what they really think about abstract art because they are keenly aware of the social stigma attached to such opinions. They are frightened to death of being shut out and denied opportunities, of being thought of as ignorant hicks. But it is only by moving beyond this stigma and speaking plainly that we can begin to have a real conversation and honestly evaluate the benefits and detriments of the modernist movement in art, which began over one hundred years ago. We are in a unique position in history (the information age) that allows us to calmly and rationally toss out the bad and retain the good when it comes to the visual arts. We need desperately to get about this work. We need especially to develop an aesthetic of beauty that resonates with the modern world. That is our job as artists.
Next - my thoughts on the good and bad of modern abstract art.
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (37)
December 23, 2007
No "There" There
(Tim Jones)
Tim Jones, here. From my blog, Old World Swine;
The painting at left, by Italian artist Angelo Casciello is an illustration that is part of the new lectionary approved by the Italian bishops. Sandro Magister comments;
The Italian bishops' conference has entrusted the illustration of the new Lectionary to thirty contemporary artists, with their styles. It's the first time that a liturgical book has been associated with modern images. An audacious undertaking – and one immediately criticized
I have tried to find a clearer version of this piece of art online, but so far have been unsuccessful. I would like to see it better so that I can do a more fair critique. I realize there might be objections to critiqueing the piece in this format, but right now it is all I have to go on.
I also Googled up the websites of the other artists named in the Magister article, and they all seem to be pretty well within the same broad stylistic milieu.
Where to begin?
Let me just say what this painting is not; It isn't beautiful, it isn't technically accomplished, well composed or evocative. It probes none of the human experience of the event it depicts (the healing of the man born blind), and it utterly fails to draw the viewer in or make them care about seeing it again.
It is not really a work of art. Like so many modern abstract pieces, it is a placeholder representing the idea of a work of art. There should be a little rectangle in the middle with the words "place artwork here". What this painting is, is easy. The shame of it is, there are probably many living artists in Italy who could have provided, even in a very simple format, art of beauty and depth.
Now, of course, there will be those who will counter that they like this piece and find it terrific in all kinds of ways, but I can only respond in advance that lots of people liked disco, too. I would like to hear explained why and how this is a good painting. To fall back on "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" is a cop-out. There is certainly a subjective element to beauty, but that is not nearly the end of it. Some things are really beautiful and some things are really ugly, to the point of making mere opinion superfluous. This is why people drive as fast as they can through Nebraska to get to Yellowstone Park, and not the other way around. Sorry, Nebraska. I give thanks for you every time I open a bag of tortilla chips, but there is just not much to look at there.
According to Catholic News Service, there are a number of translation and typographical errors in this new Italian lectionary... so many that they are issuing a set of corrective adhesive stickers to cover them all. One wonders if they could not issue a new set of illustrations in the same way.
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (54)
December 01, 2007
Combox Critique Roundup at Old World Swine
(Tim Jones)
I just wanted to thank everyone who came by my blog, Old World Swine, to participate in may first ever "Combox Crit" (this is when I put up a piece of art for critique on my blog).
The project was a rousing success. I have posted a summary of my thoughts on the painting and the comments I received. I will definitely do this again soon.
Again... thanks!
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (1)
November 29, 2007
Combox Critique
(Tim Jones)
I want to ask Jimmy's readers for some help with an experiment over at my new blog, Old World Swine.
From time to time I would like to gather opinions on a selected piece of artwork posted on my site. This critique is not restricted to artists or art professionals, though they will be much appreciated. All that is necessary is that you give a brief, honest response - including negative stuff - and be as specific as possible. For the purposes of the online "crits" I would rather you take a pass on comments such as, "I like it, you're very talented" or "I hate it. I hate realism". That doesn't really help.
Other than that, I would like to get your thoughts. The usual rules of combox etiquette still apply, of course.
Thankee!
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (7)
April 26, 2007
Dr. Tim's 3D House of Space!
(Tim Jones)
Jimmy's 3D Mars Man post reminded me of those 3D posters that were popular for a while back in the '80s/'90s. They usually resembled a cross between the white noise on your TV screen and some kind of LSD trip (at least, from what I hear). It was said that if you looked at the posters in just the right way (kind of crossing your eyes) that a 3D image would emerge.
It took me a while to actually make one of these work, but after that it got easier, and eventually I could make out the 3D image within a few seconds. Not that the actual image was anything to write home about... they were really sort of like crude paper cut-outs, but they were there, if you looked hard. It was a moderately interesting effect.
WARNING! ANALOGY ALERT! Barely thought-out spiritual musings ahead...
It occurred to me that in some ways, these posters are like the way we might approach religious faith. I heard from numbers of people I trusted that these posters really worked, and that there was something - some kind of image not immediately visible - "inside" them. There was the apparent image (which could look pretty chaotic), and then there was the image within the image. Thing is, to make out the deeper image took a little work. It did not just leap off the paper. To even give the thing a decent effort required a certain amount of trust. It took me quite a while, looking at a number of different images, before I could see what others already saw. If I hadn't kept at it, I would never have seen that deeper dimension.
Now, that reminded me of another sorta-related thing which I found very cool;
Akira Inaka creates 3D images of pictures from the Hubble Space Telescope. These images work in much the same way as the 3D posters I mentioned above. It might take some experimentation, but they really do work, and the effect on some of the images is pretty striking, giving the viewer a little sense of the spatial depth that is lacking in regular photos of galaxies and nebulae and other neat stuff. Inaka gives instructions on the site on how to make the things work. One note of advice; if you do this for too long, you might run into some serious eye fatigue, and maybe a headache. If you start to notice that happening, just quit and come back to the site later.
I found the site by following a link on the Hubble Heritage website (which I've plugged before). The site offers a convenient way to look at some very beautiful images of the cosmos. The captions can be as fascinating to read as the images are to see. The vast distances, mind-boggling dimensions and sheer energy represented by some of these photos can be truly staggering.
Pretty SCARY, eh keeds?! Ooooohh...
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (6)
April 06, 2007
Abstract Art Discussion
(Tim Jones)
Hey, Tim Jones, here (not Jimmy).
I did a series of posts on the nature of art a long time ago, which I left unfinished, due to the fact that I had not thought through all the implications of my earlier assumptions and categories of thought, especially in regard to the place of non-objective art ("abstract" art that depicts no recognizable subject).
I have been doing more thinking on this recently, and though I am still not prepared to draw any huge, sweeping conclusions, I have clarified my thought considerably. I will be completing that series of art posts soon, but in the meanwhile, I stumbled on an interesting art blog, where the author and I have been engaging in a discussion about non-objective art that some readers might want to scan.
Basically, I'm not convinced, yet, that non-objective art is really capable of substantive communication, but I am open to argument.
The subject came up as a result of an upcoming opportunity I have to meet and view the work of artist Makoto Fujimura (above). I have heard a great deal about his work, and have been reading some of his articles and interviews, trying to get some insight into his understanding of the function of art, and why he prefers to work in such a highly abstract way. Fujimura is very open about his Christian faith, and his work has found increasing recognition in the secular art community. He speaks with great conviction both about the Christian faith and about the power of art, and so I look forward to meeting him and seeing his work. I will post about his exhibit afterward.
Visit The Aesthetic Elevator blog. In addition to our discussion, he addresses the chocolate Jesus sculpture of recent infamy. My take on it? Flippant, empty and of no consequence, artistic or sociological. Calculated to gin up publicity by means of controversy... *yawn*. Anyone could think up a project like this every twenty minutes.
See the work of Makoto Fujimura.
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (29)
January 25, 2007
Amazing
(Jimmy Akin)
Well, this is a more effective argument for the existence of God than most.
CHT to the reader who e-mailed!
Posted by Jimmy Akin in Art | Permalink | Comments (49)
September 08, 2006
SDG who?
(SDG)
Yes, the red name above isn't Jimmy, Michelle, or Tim J. In a rare foray from guest-blogging limbo, I've returned to… share some pictures from my summer vacation.
Wait! Come back! Don't worry, I'm not talking about a slide show of My Trip to the Grand Canyon or anything like that. It's just that last week, vacationing in North Carolina, I contributed an entry to a sand sculpture contest — and won — and, given the subject matter, I thought Jimmy's readers might like to see the results.
Granted, on this particular blog, graced as it is from time to time with Tim J's stunning artwork, my summer-day diversion isn't as impressive as it might somewhere else, but still, I'm pretty pleased with the results.
This was my first complete crucifixion sculpture; last year I made a couple of unfinished studies that gave me the confidence to tackle this project in spite of having only 75 minutes to do it in before the contest judging.
(The conditions weren't ideal… The tide was high and rising; the time to sculpt sand is when the tide is receding, which allows the best access to wet sand. For awhile I wasn't even going to enter the contest, but eventually I decided to give it a try, and was pleasantly surprised at how well the relatively dry sand above the tide line handled.)
In previous years, I've done sharks, crocodiles, mermaids and sea serpents.
Well, that's all I have to say about that, so… see you next summer!
Posted by SDG in Art | Permalink | Comments (16)
August 31, 2006
Memento Mori
(Michelle Arnold)
"Remember, O man, that you are dust and to dust you shall return." --Ash Wednesday liturgy
A few weeks ago, Jimmy mentioned the unexpected death of a friend. This person was also a friend of mine and a colleague here at Catholic Answers. Let's call him T. Although T. had been ill for quite a while, his death came as an unexpected shock. I had known him for over five years and had worked closely with him for several of them. His death was particularly difficult for me since he and I had had a couple of meetings earlier in the week before he died and it was stunning that it seemed that he was there one day and gone the next.
In the weeks following T.'s funeral, another colleague who was quite close to T. was allowed by T.'s survivors to go through T.'s apartment and collect any religious items that he thought might find a good home with Catholic Answers' staff members. When the announcement was made that the items were available in the library for the taking, I hotfooted it over to see if I could find something by which to remember T.
What caught my eye immediately was a large handsomely-framed print of the painting you see on the left side of this post. (You can click on the image to enlarge it.) To me, it appeared to be a monk holding a jar. Since it was a rather large picture, I wasn't sure if I wanted it but I took it back to my office to decide. I figured that I could always return it to the library if need be.
The back of the print said that it was a painting of St. Francis of Assisi by the seventeenth-century Spanish painter Francisco de Zurbaran, a master from Spain's Golden Age. A colleague in the next office who came over to look at it pointed out that St. Francis wasn't holding a jar; he was holding a skull! Right away then I knew that this was a painting from the memento mori genre, an artistic genre in which the subjects are intended to remind the viewer of death.
Some research on the painting revealed that De Zurbaran was very interested in the memento mori genre and did more than one painting of his namesake saint contemplating death.
It might seem strange to think of St. Francis of Assisi contemplating death. In the popular imagination, he is a happy-go-lucky friar who liked to preach to birds and commune with nature. In the minds of some, he might even be considered a prototype for the radical Sixties hippies. But St. Francis himself would not have considered it strange for an artist to portray him in such a seemingly "morbid" manner.
"May Thou be praised, my Lord, for our sister, bodily death,
whom no man living can escape.
Woe to those who die in mortal sin:
blessed those whom she will find in Thy most holy desires,
because the second death will do them no evil."
The quote above is taken from St. Francis's Canticle of Brother Sun.
Once I realized what I had, my decision was made. There could be no more significant memento of T., one that would remind me of him and remind me of the ephemeral nature of this life and the need to be always prepared for the next.
Please take a few moments and pray for the repose of T.'s soul and for the final perseverance of all who will die today.
"Watch therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. ... Therefore you also must be ready; for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect" (Matt. 24:42, 44).
Posted by Michelle Arnold in Art | Permalink | Comments (18)
August 17, 2006
On Mary, Kolbe and Suffering for Your Art
(Tim Jones)
I was in good spirits Monday, as I drove to the local community college. I had received word a few weeks before that I would be teaching some classes there in the fall, and was on my way to sign my employment contract. The job seemed ideal. It would provide me with a solid, steady income, yet leave me a good deal of free time to work at my fine art projects, especially the religious and liturgical art that I hoped to pursue.
It had been a grindingly long year, as my art income had been spotty, and this new job promised to ease things considerably. I had applied for several positions, and tried to drum up as much freelance business as I could, but we had slowly and continually lost ground. Maybe now I wouldn't have to worry about stopping at Sonic occasionally to buy the kids a milk shake. We could buy a few clothes, perhaps even replace my old Dodge Neon next year.
While driving, I tuned in to the local Catholic radio station. It was the feast day of St. Maximilian Kolbe, and I listened as the hosts and guests discussed Kolbe's spirituality. Standing out in my mind was Kolbe's understanding that any apostolate goes through three stages; preparation, the apostolate itself, and then the suffering that makes the apostolate fruitful. I considered that my new focus on liturgical art could be understood as an apostolate, and I looked back on how God might have prepered me for it, how I felt that He called me to it, and how we had even suffered financially, somewhat. I quickly decided that, though it had been a rough several months, I really couldn't call it suffering... not in the big scheme of things... especially in comparison to the suffering of saints like Maximilian Kolbe. Nonetheless, I was happy and relieved to have my new teaching position.
Tomorrow would be the Feast of the Assumption, and we (me, my wife Martha, and kids) would attend the vigil mass at our parish that night. It would be a great opportunity to offer thanks for my new job. It also happened to be the day that I finished, and officially signed, my first real liturgical art piece, an Immaculate Heart image, in the classical realist style that I have happily, even gratefully, settled into over the last few years. I had prayed for some time about this new direction in my art and had decided to paint the Immaculate Heart as a way of expressing my new devotion to the Blessed Mother, as well as to ask her blessing on all my artwork, especially any religious pieces. Finishing the piece just as we would be celebrating Mary's assumption was very gratifying and meant a great deal to me.
Overall, it was a day of milestones. Everything seemed steeped in significance.
I arrived early to sign my contract, and so decided to drop in and visit for a minute with the head of the art department. She had someone in her office, but looked up and greeted me, introducing me to her guest, another art instructor. Then she said "Did you get my message?".
"No", I replied. My cell phone had been in need of a charge.
"Oh... well, I'm sorry..." she began, "but I'm afraid we had to take away your classes." She went on to explain that class enrollment had not been as heavy as they had anticipated, and that one teacher they thought would be gone had indeed decided to stay. My classes were needed for the full-time faculty already on board. She was apologetic. She had never had to do this before. Things just didn't work out. She had tried to call me that morning to let me know that I did not need to come out to sign my contract.
I don't mind telling you that I was numb. It was something like having the wind knocked out of me. I said some things about how it was okay, and to keep me in mind if something opened up. I said thanks, I think.
At mass that night, I was comforted by the readings, and was reminded that my trust is in God, and not in any created thing. Had I put too much stock in this job, and lost my focus on Christ? If my priorities had been straight, would I have been so deeply stunned and disappointed? It wasn't really a time to look for easy answers, though, more a time to lay everything before Christ and to trust in his providence. A time, also, to petition the Blessed Virgin and ask for her prayers.
So now the painting above takes on, for me, even more significance. I had thought for some weeks that in this new venture into liturgical art, I would be working with a net - so to speak. I am now, once again, working without a net.
And so comes the shameless plug. The photo above is a rather poor digital camera snapshot of my Immacualte Heart oil painting. The original is 18 x 24 inches, and is on wood panel. The model is a lovely lady from my parish, who condescended to pose for me. I have high quality prints of the original available in a variety of sizes which are appropriate for individuals or churches. The original is also for sale. If you like, you can find out more on MY WEBSITE.
I am also anxious (and this is the whole point, I guess) to execute more custom fine art pieces for churches that are in need of liturgical or devotional artwork. I will be happy to consider murals, as well. I pray that this piece is only the beginning of a fruitful career providing very high quality artwork that will be truly edifying to Catholic worship and devotion, both public and private. My art is informed by very traditional sensibilities, but is executed in a way that I hope is powerful and fresh.
I covet your prayers. If you have read this far... God bless you!
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (13)
April 06, 2006
About a Boy
(Tim Jones)
Hey, Tim Jones, here.
I just wanted to share with you all a neat experience I had lately in my work. The recently finished painting at left will always hold a special place for me, for a few reasons.
For one thing, it is the first portrait commission that I received through MY WEBSITE. It's pretty cool that we live in a time when artists can find customers anywhere in the world. The entire thing was done through e-mail. The client sent me a photo as an attachment, and I sent a preliminary sketch (as well as the final painting for their approval) in the same way. The fees were handled through PayPal. The client even commented in one e-mail how odd it was that we had this transaction without ever speaking to one another. And they were right!
Another thing that made this a good experience was the fact that the customer was a very kind Catholic family, and the boy in the painting is their recently adopted son. I'm thrilled that my work allowed me to be involved with this family in such a personal way. I know the painting is very meaningful for them. Our families have actually been praying for one another since pretty early in the process, and that is a perk for which I am really grateful.
Finally, the whole thing went so smoothly. I am always a bit nervous to begin a commission because things can go off the rails. I recently had to pass on a nice commission because the customer's needs and my artistic goals just didn't fit well in the end. I didn't want to take on a project that I wouldn't be proud to put my name on. Alot of things can happen; what if the customer doesn't like the sketch? What if they like the sketch, but don't like the final painting? What if they want changes that you feel make the artwork worse, rather than better?
I have been blessed, in that I have not yet had a commission go south on me like that, but it does happen. It would be especially uncomfortable if the project fell apart when it was half finished and half paid for! I've heard horror stories.
So, as I said, I was a bit nervous while I waited to see what kind of portrait it was that the client had in mind. I usually work from life, or at least from my own photos. Working from someone else's photography is a crapshoot. The goal is to end up with a painting of a person, not something that looks like a painting of a photo of a person.
I was delighted to see that the photo was not a cheesy commercial portrait or a badly composed snapshot, but was worthy of framing on its own. Portraits of young children always run the risk of being overly sentimental, but this photo had depth and subtlety. I was intrigued by the boy's gaze, and found the soft lighting a worthy challenge. I also found his Russian features very striking. Overall, I could not have asked for better source material from a client.
The painting does lose something in reproduction, but it did turn out well, and I am glad to have a copy of a high resolution digital scan of it tucked away in my files.
Jobs come and go, but this is one that I will always remember fondly, and for which I will always be grateful.
I just reorganized my website, and have added a few new paintings. Y'all drop by, ya hear?
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBack
March 16, 2006
The Art of the Grant
(Tim Jones)
For some weird reason, FOX News found it worth noting yesterday that actor Alec Baldwin and a bunch of other artsy types gathered in Washington for Arts Advocacy Day, in order to encourage lobbying for arts funding. That means, among other things, the National Endowment for the Arts. I guess my invitation got lost in the mail.
Baldwin and others addressed a "crowd of... lawmakers and state arts officials". I'm sorry, but as an artist I find the words "state arts officials" really creepy.
I can't say that I really know that much about how the NEA funds things like dance or theater, but they have become notorious in recent years for funding controversial, shocking, offensive and ugly art exhibits. They probably fund a lot of other stuff, too, but they are best known for bankrolling modernist, anti-Christian claptrap.
I have considered applying for a grant, myself, but in the end I just couldn't do it. It generally means attaching your art to some (liberal) cultural theme like "Art and Global Warming", "Art and the Inner City", "Art and the Goddess", or some such... it would just kill my soul.
Personally, I think the only visual art that the government should fund is art for public spaces. Murals, sculptures, that sort of thing. They should also feel an obligation to fund art that is not so "current" that it will fall out of style a couple of decades down the road. We owe it to our kids to leave something beautiful behind us, rather than rusting hulks of scrap metal.
Back in the Nineties, Congress made some big cuts to the NEA after it endowed some particularly stupid pieces that got a ton of press. It looked like they might let the agency dry on the vine.
No such luck. In his speech Tuesday, Baldwin said "If you told me back in 1996, we would have a Republican president and Republicans in charge of both houses of Congress, and the NEA would be flourishing and would be safe, it wouldn't be possible...".
Amen, brother. Amen.
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBack
March 10, 2006
But, Is It Art? Part III
(Tim Jones)
Hey, Tim Jones, here.
It has been several weeks since my last post in this series on art, but my schedule was cruelly interrupted by some paying work. Things have slowed just a bit, so I want to encourage all of you to VISIT MY WEBSITE.
Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, y’know.
In my FIRST POST, I offered a framework for thinking about the different aspects of man-made objects (design, decoration, illustration and fine art).
In the SECOND POST, I broadly defined some categories of visual art (realism, abstraction, non-objective and non-representational art).
Now I want to talk about the implications of these categories for artists, offer some views on the opportunities that visual art presents, as well discuss the problems and strengths of different kinds of art. This time we’re talking about realism.
THE GREAT THING ABOUT REALISM the Joker The Riddler on the original Batman TV series) could do that. Dean Martin was entertaining to watch, but Gorshin’s impression showed everyone what it was that made him entertaining to watch. Gorshin studied, analyzed and practiced Dean Martin until he was almost more Martinesque than was Dino himself.
This is the kind of power that realism can have, whether we are watching an impression, or looking at a work of art. Great realism can grab people and stop them in their tracks. At an art exhibit, you might hear people saying things like, "Wow. How do they do that? I can’t even draw a stick man.". This is perfectly natural, and nothing to be ashamed of. People admire great skill, whether they see it in art, hear it in music, watch it demonstrated in dance or in any other human endeavor.
Neither artists or art lovers need to apologize for appreciating, or striving for, a high degree of realism. It not only can have great visual power, but is one of the few ways of actually measuring artistic skill (gasp!!). Oddly, this makes it seem both controversial and dangerous to some. Though most people readily acknowledge that not everyone can be a great musician (just watch American Idol), or dancer, or athlete, there are those who behave as if everyone is born an artist, and the one thing we must never talk about is whether they deserve the designation.
I earlier offered a very broad definition of abstraction, saying that every piece of art, even the most "realistic", is to some extent an abstraction. I will add to that a very broad definition of realism as any faithful representation of the physical world. This doesn’t necessarily mean expressionless copying, or one-to-one reproduction of every detail, but simply art that is inspired by and faithful to the physical aspects of reality. This broad understanding of realism can include a wide range of styles, from hyper-realism up to and including impressionism.
Realism can be quite expressive. Simply in the selection of the subject, the composition, the lighting, or the surroundings, a straightforward realistic depiction can express quite a bit of subtext. In other words, a lot of the artist's self expression can be present before the brush ever touches the canvas. A good deal of it can happen at a subconscious level. This is one reason that I tell my art students please not to worry too much about self expression, as it will happen on it's own as they mature and develop their skills.
The work of Ralph Goings (left) is a good example of highly realistic art that functions effectively as an authentic artistic expression. In his obsessively observed and subtle renderings, we can get a sense of why he paints the things he does. He finds great beauty and interest in the most mundane objects and settings. He apparently loves to hang out in diners, and that means he can’t be all bad. His stuff is just fun to look at, and you get a sense that in his work he celebrates his fascination with everyday life.
In terms of learning, realism is by far the best way to start developing the physical and perceptive skills that a good artist needs. For this reason, there was for a long time a strong emphasis on realism in academic art training. Not that realism ought to be an end in itself, but it is a natural starting place for visual art. Every discipline has rules, and you need to know the rules before you can meaningfully break the rules.
The work of Nicolai Fechin (left) is a good example of art that is faithful to reality, but also ventures into meaningful abstraction, and even a kind of expressionism. A typical Fechin painting includes interesting abstract passages, highly energetic brushwork, bold use of color and an obvious love just for the paint, itself. But holding all that together and transcending it, is Fechin’s clear understanding of light, space and physical form. A study of his work reveals a deep knowledge of anatomy and the subtleties of the human face. Frequently in his work, the realism of the face serves as an anchor for the rest of the piece.
THE PROBLEM WITH REALISM
A painting can be a very realistic representation and still be trite, silly, dull, or in any number of other ways, just bad art. There is such a thing as an accurate, but lifeless, representation.
A great deal of 19th century academic realism was bad art. It sometimes seemed to be a cold, academic exercise. At the opposite end of the spectrum, it was just as often the victim of maudlin sentimentalism. The same problems plague artists to this day, and are hardly unique to realistic art. Modern art suffers much from the same diseases. There is such a thing as calculated spontaneity, and manufactured angst.
Great realistic art doesn’t just give us a dry representation of the subject, but also highlights and enhances what is unique about the subject, as well as offering some insight into the artist’s feelings about it. The caricature of Orson Welles (at left), by the famous Al Hirschfeld, is a great example. Hirschfeld had a wonderful knack for reduction, simplification and enhancement. If Welles’ head were really shaped like that, of course, he would be in a long-term care facility. No one’s head is really shaped like that... and yet, somehow the drawing looks just like Orson Welles. Hirschfeld departs from strictly literal realism in order to emphasize the most Welles-ian aspects of Mr. Welles. He distorts, but (and this is important) it is a lovingly faithful distortion that draws its inspiration from Welles himself. Hirschfeld studied Welles... in a way, loved Welles. It seems a simple drawing, but I guarantee that it was not simple for Hirschfeld
In addition to what the image says about Mr. Welles, though, we have the delightful calligraphy of the drawing itself, the crisply rendered shapes, the flowing lines... overall, an elegant simplicity combined with an exuberant energy and humor that begins to tell us a great deal about the artist. This is art (simple as it is) that is firing on all cylinders. It is the result of preternatural giftedness (talent), combined with careful study, hard work and enthusiasm.
This highlights the important distinction between a work of art as a representation of something else (subject), and a work of art as an interesting and beautiful object on its own. Great art is both.
Next: "Modern" Art, and Why Art is Important.
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBack
March 03, 2006
Gumming Up The Works
(Michelle Arnold)
A young boy has learned an expensive lesson: The painting pictured to the left was not a trash receptacle for his wad of gum. (Click on the image to enlarge.)
"A 12-year-old visitor to the Detroit Institute of Arts stuck a wad of gum to a $1.5 million painting, leaving a stain the size of a quarter, officials say.
[...]
"The gum stuck to the painting's lower left corner and did not adhere to the fiber of the canvas, officials told the Detroit Free Press. But it left a chemical residue about the size of a quarter, said Becky Hart, assistant curator of contemporary art.
[...]
"'Even though we give very strict guidelines on proper behavior and we hold students to high standards, he is only 12 and I don't think he understood the ramifications of what he did before it happened, but he certainly understands the severity of it now [that he has been suspended and disciplined by his parents],' said [school director Julie] Kildee."
I certainly hope that Ms. Kildee is correct that the boy did not intend harm, but stories like this have me shaking my head over how much longer it takes children to mature these days than it did fifty to one hundred years ago. Or, even twenty-five years ago, considering that when I was twelve most kids knew better than to stick a wad of gum to an artwork. They might stick it to the underside of the desk, which does show immaturity, but they knew better than to stick it to a painting.
Posted by Michelle Arnold in Art | Permalink | Comments (33) | TrackBack
January 09, 2006
But Is It Art? Part II
(Tim Jones)
Suppose an advanced alien race gives you an exotic, high-tech gizmo capable of making a perfectly precise plastic replica of anything. Let’s say it can exactly reproduce every color, texture and detail. Excited, you quickly use it to create a life-sized copy of Regis Philbin to adorn your foyer.
The alien gizmo would take certain information about the original Regis (like size, shape, color, texture...), and reconstitute and re-present it in plastic. However, the copy would lack other original "Reej" properties (like speech, movement, intellect, etc...).
In other words, the copy would be an abstraction of the original Regis Philbin.It could represent Regis Philbin, but it couldn’t work a live studio audience with the verve and panache (what I call the "X-factor") of the original Regis.
Still, anyone familiar with Regis Philbin could walk into your house, look at your plastic Regis monument and think "Wow, this guy really like Regis Philbin" , even if they thought that meant you needed professional help.
Now, if you made a photograph of your alien-tech Regis statue to carry in your wallet, you would find that the image would lose even more of the original information in the process, making the photo more of an abstraction. If you were to use the old office Xerox to make copies for all your co-workers, the images would be even more abstract, though they would still probably carry enough of the original data to be recognizable to fans of daytime television.
Abstraction is just the reduction or simplification of an object, from a complex reality to a less complex representation. In this sense, even the most realistic art is an abstraction. All artists make decisions about how much original data to retain, and which specific pieces of information they want to exclude.
Art that retains more of that original data appears more realistic (like the William Bougereau painting at left), while art that discards more information is more abstract (like the Picasso below). Though many people use the term "abstract" to describe images that are unrecognizable (or nearly so), in fact all art is abstract.
Or is it?
True abstraction presupposes an original object that is being abstracted, even if that object is imaginary. I could imagine a blue-skinned, reptilian, evil Anti-Regis and make a picture of that. It would still be an abstraction.
But there is art that does not represent or refer to any object. Not surprisingly, it is often referred to as non-objective art. Many proponents of this type of art assert that it transcends ordinary, traditional art, because it is not mired in the emotional or intellectual baggage associated with a recognizable image. People can respond directly to it’s native, visual properties, without interference.
Non-objective art often represents something, though, even if it is just a feeling, or an idea (Kandinsky was known for this type of image - like the one at left), so it must be distinguished from art that truly represents nothing. This kind of art (the Mark Rothko piece below, for example), which is called non-representational art, is so transcendent and self-existent that it refers to nothing outside itself. It passes beyond any attachment to the reality we understand, and (it is argued) establishes a new, independent reality.
There are problems and pitfalls associated with all these different categories. I’ll talk about those in my next post.
In the meantime, what’s your favorite piece of art?
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (19) | TrackBack
December 30, 2005
But, Is It Art? Part I
(Tim Jones)
Hey, Tim Jones, here.
I've been asked by some commenters here at JA.O what I thought about abstract art, and whether I appreciate any modern art (like that of Robert Motherwell, shown at left).
Now, I am no expert on anything. I am a practicing artist (a painter ) *begin hypnosis - VISIT MY WEBSITE - end hypnosis* with a Master's degree in Fine Art. Maybe something worthwhile rubbed off while I was in college, but I do not present myself as any kind of Art Pundit.
I am also really not that well-read, so I can't lay claim to any great depth of historical knowledge.
What I can try to do is to clarify some terms and state, in very simple language, what I believe art is and is supposed to "do". Art should not be presented (in my view) as the exclusive purview of highly trained experts. If you have to read a paper to understand a painting, it has already failed as a work of art, in my opinion.
I had a professor once, who traced the meaning of the word art back to it's Latin root ars, pointing out that this was also the root of the word artificial. He went on to say that, in a sense, everything that is not from nature, that is "man-made", could be called "art".
This was received with knowing nods of approval at the time, probably even from me. It is an idea that still holds a great deal of sway in the world of modern art. The idea was that we should not take a narrow view of what is and is not art, which sounds okay, until you try to really begin talking about art.
The truth is, this is just not the way that people think and talk. In this broad, philosophical view of art, the tissue that I just used is "art". So is the notepad I just scribbled on, my shoelace, and every other human artifact you can think of.
The logical conclusion to this kind of thinking led the Dada-ists to hang latrines in museums, and still resonates to this day.
So, what separates art and fine art from non-art? Here is where it might help to draw and define some broad categories. You will see that there will be a good deal of possible overlap between them.
To get the ball rolling, I offer these working categories:
DESIGN - Everything that people make has a design. A tent, a spear point (like the one pictured) a clay pot, a mocassin, a tissue - all are made with an ideal design in mind. The actual object may be more or less close to the ideal, but the design is still evident. The design of an object can be pleasing, but this is not necessary. While some man-made objects may incidentally strike people as pleasing, the same is true of non-man-made objects. Design - in itself, then - would not be what we would call "art" in any commonly understood usage of the word. Art certainly incorporates design, but art is more than just design. Some design is so consciously elegant, though, that it becomes...
Some of these decorations had symbolic meaning, and some did not. Decoration could be a simple geometric pattern, or an actual picture of something else. The purpose of the decoration, though, was always to add something (appeal, interest, information, etc...) to an already existing object, and was not there to be appreciated simply for itself. So while art can incorporate elements of decoration, decoration - by itself - does not constitute art. Decoration can, however, begin to take on the characteristics of...
ILLUSTRATION - Now we come to the real magic of art; that is, the ability to invoke, or to make present (in a way that is truly mysterious) something that is not there. Not only objects and creatures, but events and environments can be re-presented, merely by the etching of lines or the arrangement of pigment. You probably already have an intuitive grasp of something else that separates illustration from decoration - storytelling. Where do we generally find illustrations? In books.
Illustration exists, not to enliven some existing object or tool, but at the service of a story, or narrative. Many great pieces of art are illustrations, including so many of the wonderful religious icons you are familiar with. Norman Rockwell was proud to be called an illustrator. The strong narrative (story) element in his art makes it very illustrative. All illustration is art, then, but at times it can be elevated to...
FINE ART - What sets fine art apart from illustration is the way it treats this element of narrative or story. All images tell some kind of story, of course, but in fine art the narrative element is subordinated to the visual, sensual properties of the depicted objects (like in the piece at left, by artist Jeff Legg).
It might be a landscape, a woman, a bowl of fruit... but a piece of fine art exists as an homage to some discreet part of creation. Fine art is meant to be appreciated in itself, and by itself. It needs no underlying narrative (as a religious icon or other illustration does) to make sense of it.
Many great illustrations (like Michelangelo's Pieta) cross over into the area of fine art, owing to the importance that they give to the native visual properties of the depicted objects, environments or people. Great artists often walk a line between illustration and fine art.
There is a danger, in pushing an illustration toward becoming fine art, that the visual elements of the image will overwhelm or detract from the desired narrative. This is why many religious icons are so graphic and simple. Too much attention to realism would actually serve as a distraction. As long as people can readily recognize who the icon symbolically represents, things like realistic shading or accurate anatomy are unnecessary.
There is, conversly, also a danger in allowing a piece of fine art to become bogged down in sentiment and narrative, to the detriment of the image. If an object can't stand on it's visual properties alone, then it's presence in a piece of fine art becomes questionable.
Now, because of the arrangement of the above categories, you may have the idea that I think that fine art is superior to illustration, illustration to decoration, etc... . This is not the case. All of these things are good and necessary in their own right. The reason they are placed in a kind of ascending order is because each successive category comprehends, or incorporates, all the previous categories. So, all art involves design, but not all design is art. This will also be important in the next post...
BEYOND? - There are those who posit another kind of art that passes beyond mere illustration or representation, and becomes something greater. I will examine that idea in my next post, where I discuss Realism, Abstraction and Non-Objective Art.
There will be a quiz next Thursday. Bring two #2 pencils.
If you have read this far, God Bless You!!
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBack
December 22, 2005
Monkey Bild-ness
(Tim Jones)
I had to do a quick post on THIS STORY out of Switzerland, via an Australian news service.
Seems that art expert Katja Schneider (ALERT: Tim's first rule of Life in the Real World - "EXPERTS GROW ON TREES") of the State Art Museum of Moritzburg in Saxony-Anhalt (everyone got that located on their globe, now?) had pegged the artwork of a local chimp as that of the famous (??) painter Ernst Wilhelm Nay.
He really is famous. Honest! He won a Guggenheim prize, and everything, so you can be assured that he is a GENIUS.
According to the article;
"The canvas was actually the work of Banghi, a 31-year-old female chimp at the local zoo.
While Banghi likes to paint, she is not able to build up much of a body of work as her mate Satscho generally destroys her paintings before they can get to the gallery."
See? Even in the animal world, creative types are misunderstood and oppressed.
Now, animal "art" is nothing new, but this expert got caught in a big faux-pas, and it must be explained in some way.
There can really only be two explanations: Either chimps are under-appreciated as creative artists, or a lot of modern "art" is meaningless garbage.
Which way do you think the art community will split on THIS one?
Can we look forward to a major retrospective of Banghi's surviving works?
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (14) | TrackBack
November 17, 2005
Timothy Jones' Fine Art website
(Tim Jones)
Well, I have been so spotty about contributing here lately at JA.O that I was hoping to do a couple of posts on topics of general interest before I came out with a shameless plug for my website, timothyjonesfineart.net.
I had planned to do one about our cat, Ozzie, for instance, but for some weird reason, I am not able to process images right now the way I have been, due to a mysterious software glitch. He is a Cat of Unusual Size. I photographed him next to a yardstick to give some sense of proportion. Anyway, I want to assure everyone that it was going to be a pretty hilarious post, wherein I would make no mention of my new website, timothyjonesfineart.net.
I also had a post about Electric Light Orchestra on the back burner (somewhere behind my cerebellum), but this fell prey to my thumb-wrestling contest with Fortune City's "Easy Site Builder" program, which is supposed to be kind of a sanitarium for the Technologically Challenged.
I have been working on the thing for several days, and I still have some bugs to work out. F'rinstance, I don't have the e-mail feature of the site working yet, so visitors have to copy and paste my address into their e-mail program. R-r-r-r-r-...
See, I am on what you would call a rather spartan budget, so I had a choice: I could keep putting off the web page, or I could put it together myself. So I plunged in. The site does everything I wanted, so I can't complain.
I published just a couple of days ago, but was still tweaking. Then I saw a post from Barbara Nicolosi in the combox, and I blurted out the address (timothyjonesfineart.net) in hopes she would drop by the site. I really admire Barbara's work and enjoy her website, and I would respect her opinion as another member of the Catholic creative community.
So the chat is out of the carnassiére, so to speak. So, should you visit my site, thanks for dropping by. I hope you enjoy the art.
Wow! it occurs to me that I haven't said anything in this post that people could really comment on (or work up a decent argument about), so reproduced below is the Mission Statement published on my website. There have been so many neat comments here lately about Art and Truth and stuff (Michelle's last about film, for example) that I was itching to jump in.
MISSION STATEMENT - Life, Truth, Beauty, Unity
“Painting is a language that can not be replaced by any other language.” - Michelangelo
LIFE - Philosophically,
I come from the perspective of historical, orthodox Christianity (I am
a Catholic), which means that I accept as given that the universe has a
point, a purpose that comes from beyond nature. Nature is, in
this way, a sort of continually unfolding metaphor. Creation points to
the Creator in all its details. In my art I hope to call attention to
the hand of God in nature, and so the purpose of my art is to point to
nature, which in turn points to God. In the words of Somerset Maugham –
“Art for art’s sake makes no more sense than gin for gin’s sake.”. Art
should represent, not an escape from life - or an attempt to set up
some independent or alternate reality - but a deeper understanding of
life.
TRUTH - Artistically,
I am a “classical realist”, though the definition of “realism” can be
somewhat flexible. Without getting into a long discussion (I’ll save
that for the blog) I can describe it as art that is faithful to nature.
That does not necessarily mean “photographic” or highly detailed. It
does not mean expressionless copying. The great impressionists (like
Monet) played down details and defined edges in favor of emphasizing
light and color, but they were describing a natural light and natural
colors, not mere invented color harmonies or abstraction. They were
still in love with their subject. This type of art is (consciously or
not) an act of worship. Art should tell the truth while appealing to
the higher aspirations of the human spirit, not pandering to the baser
instincts or following the latest fads.
BEAUTY - All
who admire nature glorify God, whether or not they mean to. My job is
to help people to admire nature. I hope that my artwork will encourage
those who view it to slow down, to observe carefully, and to appreciate
the infinite, exuberant complexity and beauty of the world. I am
fascinated with every piece of fruit, and I hope this comes through in
my paintings.
UNITY - All
things find their meaning and purpose in their Creator. Life, truth and
beauty together constitute a unity or harmony of purpose that reflects
the significance of a fully human existence. An attack on one of these
principals is an attack on all. Art that celebrates ugliness,
destruction or meaninglessness could therefore be described as
sub-human or even anti-human.
The above described approach to art and nature is independent of any use of overt symbolism or religious imagery. It is a kind of visual philosophy.
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBack
October 13, 2005
Hysterical Criticism, Part 2
(Tim Jones)
My last post was an obvious (I hope) attempt to parody some of the excesses of Higher Criticism and it's devotees.
Now I would like to tell you how I wound up posting such a piece.
As I was in the final stages of the painting that I featured in the aforementioned post (Copper Pot), I ended up thinking a good bit about just how literally I should render a few things, like the pattern on the china.
It occured to me that this process could be analagous to writing, and I thought how it might apply to the Gospels particularly.
There at least a couple of big mistakes one could make about the painting. One would be to think that it was a complete fabrication, a product solely of the imagination. This might lead to absurdities like finding all kinds of hidden meanings where there are none, like the Higher Critic of my parody piece.
The other extreme would be to assume that it was like a photograph, and that even the smallest details were a verbatim reproduction, an exact copy of concrete reality. This might lead to equal absurdities, like if someone were to ask me where they could buy the particular china pattern on the little dishes.
In this particular painting, I simplified and muted the pattern on the china in order that it not draw undue attention in the overall composition. So, in a sense, I did fudge a bit, but that's my job. Certain shadows are deepened, certain colors are amplified, edges are blurred or sharpened. If I blur the edge of a pear, I doubt anyone would accuse me of asserting that pears are fuzzy, or would assume that I need new glasses.
The truth is that it is a painting, a work of art representing real things, but crafted in such a way as to emphasize certain aspects of reality while downplaying others. All the items depicted are real and could be identified by anyone who bothered to rummage through all the junk in my studio (I love flea markets).
I find reality endlessly fascinating and full of surprises. I strive to be faithful to reality, but not obsessed with minute, photographic detail.
BIG RED DISCLAIMER - Unlike Jimmy or Michelle, I am not an apologist. I am not a Bible or a literary scholar. I do not claim to know how the Gospels were written, let alone how Plenary Inspiration would work. I am just an artist speculating wildly on how it might have been. If I venture into heresy or nonsense, I am counting on Jimmy and his readers to put me straight.
Based on my experience as an artist, and applying what I know about the creative process to the Gospel writers, I think that I might venture to make a few assertions;
1) The Gospel accounts are faithful representations of real events, but this does not mean that we should expect the same level of detail or attention to exact chronology that we might find in, say, a modern legal document. The writers were concerned primarily that people understand Who Jesus is and what He did, and not with the minutiae of his daily life. We know that Hebrew writers (as well as their audience) were less concerned with the sequence of events than with the substance and meaning of events.
2) The Gospel writers made full use of their human creative faculties (under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit) to emphasize certain aspects of Jesus' life and message, while downplaying others. For instance, Jesus' life as a youth simply doesn't figure as prominently into the proclamation of the Gospel as His passion and death. The writers wanted to present all that was essential, with little extraneous material. Deciding what to include is the first creative step. Some gospel writers included more, some less, but all are faithful representations of real words and events.
3) Being, in some measure, free in setting down the events of Jesus' life, the Gospel writers may have used different creative or poetic methods to emphasize certain aspects of His teaching. Placing Him in different settings, or at various times, the writers may have symbolically emphasized the substance of His teaching. We needn't insist, for instance, that the Sermon on the Mount really happened on a mountain or hill. It may have, but it is not essential. Neither could we call this a "mistake" or an "error" any more than my changing the china pattern in my painting was an error. It was a creative choice that placed the non-essential at the service of the truly essential. Both the hyper-literal and the ultra-liberal interpretations would be wrong. The china dish is real, but the pattern is simplified. The pattern is not the essence of the dish, as it would continue to be a dish even with no pattern at all.
In an age before cameras, if I were asked to make a visual record of some object or person, I like to think that I could take some artistic license without being accused of lying or making a mistake, especially if I enjoyed plenary inspiration. We can trust that God guided the process, and that the creative input of the Gospel writers only served to draw out and clarify the essential truth of the historical events depicted.
JIMMY ADDS: Tim, if the painting thing doesn't work out, you should try apologetics!
Posted by Tim Jones in Art | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBack
Hysterical Criticism
(Tim Jones)
Whodathunkit? While walking downstairs with the painting at left, I suddenly encountered a wormhole in the space-time continuum (located in one of our kitchen cabinets), and the painting was sucked in before I could stop it! Fortunately, I was able to reach in and find it again, but when I pulled the painting out, the following analysis of the painting came out with it, apparently written by some future historian.
Go figger...
"The first thing we must learn about this artwork is who painted it, and this will give us a deeper understanding of the piece.
It is signed T.Jones in the lower left corner, and has been traditionally accepted as the work of Timothy Jones, an obscure, mid-level painter of the early twenty-first century, who signed his work in the same way.
We now know, of course, that this is very unlikely. There are a number of pieces signed T. Jones in existence, and they differ widely in style and content. This painting does not resemble the large, abstract pieces that are also attributed to T. Jones, so most modern scolars no longer accept that this is an original T. Jones work.
Who, then, painted it? Most modern scholars agree that it was the product of several artists, over a period of time. Perhaps it was based on a sketch by T. Jones, but the painting we now see was revised and developed within the Jonesian community, and reflects