Why I Love Holy Week

There are many reasons, of course. But one big one is the lack of ambiguity. From one day to the next, I don't have to think about what to do because it's already decided. I don't have to wonder what it all means because I already know. The focus is clear, the to-do list pre-determined, and there is nothing left for me but to submit. It's like Sunday, writ large. Liturgy, how I love thee!

"Go to dark Gethsemane,

All who feel the tempter's pow'r;

Your Redeemer's conflict see,

Watch with Him one bitter hour;

Turn not from His griefs away;

Learn from Jesus Christ to pray."

Lutheran Service Book 436, Stanza 1

Le Saintes Femmes au Tombeau

William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905)

Mini Art Lesson: The Copley Family

Last week while in Washington, D.C., we were able to visit the National Gallery of Art. We had only a few hours to spend so saw only a small number of rooms. We made a point of seeing Michelangelo's David-Apollo, currently on loan from Italy. And we sought out the French impressionists and the Americans.

One painting that held our attention for a while was this one by John Singleton Copley. (I'm sure our tarrying near it had nothing to do with the fact that there was a nice bench, big enough for all of us, positioned right in front of it.) Copley was a Colonial painter born in Boston who moved to England in 1774 for artistic, not political reasons, and ended up spending the rest of his life there. Copley was known best for his portraits, and the painting below is one he painted of himself and his family. We knew from the label in the museum that this painting was of the Copley family and that it was painted in 1776, but we didn't know anything else and so set about trying to interpret it. After some discussion we decided that the seated gentleman is probably father to either the woman or the man standing behind him and we wondered if perhaps his sour expression reflects some dissatisfaction with his son/son-in-law. Could he be a Royalist and the younger Copley a Patriot? We also noted the older gentleman's disinterest in the little girl on his lap and wondered if his unhappiness is due to the apparent absence of a male heir (all the children looked female to us). We also noted that the little girl in front seems to reflect a seriousness and maturity older than her years--she struck us as almost queen-like. And we thought that there must be some significance to the doll that has been tossed aside. Could that in some way represent the loss of innocence of a young nation?

Most of our conclusions were wrong. (Hey, we are musicians, not artists, remember?) We were right that the seated gentleman is the grandfather of the family. His son, standing behind him, is John Singleton Copley, the artist. But it turns out there is a male heir--the youngest child, sitting in his mother's lap and commanding all of her attention. (We forgot that very young male children of the period typically had long hair and wore long gowns.)

We sincerely enjoyed looking at this painting. It is a very large work, almost life-sized, and there was just so much story in it. We wanted to find out more about it so did a little research when we got home. Here is one article I found that, although it is highly gender-driven in its approach, nevertheless had some interesting and helpful observations.

In Search of Art, or "What the Heck is He Trying to Say, Anyway?"

Last year for literature, Caitlin and I started using this text:

Between our relaxed homeschool pace and several detours into other reading adventures, progress has been slow. We are just now starting the second section of the book, the one on "Beauty." It, like the other main three main sections of the book, begins with several excerpts from philosophical writings related to the section's dominant theme. For the "Beauty" section the excerpted writers are Leo Tolstoy, George Santayana, and John Dewey. The question at hand is, "What is art?" and, by extension, "What is beauty?" (assuming that man's pursuit of art goes hand-in-hand with his appreciation for that which is beautiful). I found this material to be quite challenging reading and decided to write a blog post as a means of helping me to process and summarize it. And you, my lucky readers, get to come along for the ride!

The excerpt by Tolstoy was by far the easiest to comprehend. It was taken from a long essay entitled, amazingly enough, "What is Art?" (The essay is available for purchase in book form.) For Tolstoy, art equals communication. The artist (who in Tolstoy's world is not an uppity guy in a beret but anyone with a story to tell) has something to share; when he successfully does so, that is art. In Tolstoy's words, "Art begins when one person with the object of joining another or others to himself in one and the same feeling expresses that feeling by certain external indications." He elaborates by saying what art is not. It is not "the manifestation of some mysterious Idea of beauty or God" or the release of "stored up energy" or the mere "production of pleasing objects"; it is, more than anything, the act of one who has experienced something using some medium to "infect" another person with that same experience; according to Tolstoy, "the stronger the infection, the better is the art." And since art is primarily about communication, it should only be concerned with communicating that which is worthwhile; according to Tolstoy, a Christian, the ancient Greeks are not worth studying since in their art they don't uphold Christian values. That which is most worthy of artistic communication is that to which the common man can relate and that in which he can find spiritual nourishment.

I found Santayana extremely difficult to follow, so if you're a Santayana geek, please feel free to correct me. Santayana was a materialist, so his emphasis is on the physicality of art. He does not think that humans have the capacity to go beyond the physical. (See his poem "On the Death of a Metaphysician.") He defines beauty as "pleasure objectified." There is a utilitarian element to his view of art as something that makes the rest of life bearable: "The appreciation of beauty and its embodiment in the arts are activities which belong to our holiday life, when we are redeemed for the moment from the shadow of evil and the slavery to fear, and are following the bent of our nature where it chooses to lead us." Because art is based in physical experience and every person with his individual identity and unique history experiences the world a little differently from every other person, art is therefore subjective. One person's experience of a work of art will be different from another's because of what each individual brings to the work. I think, then, that Santayana would disagree with Tolstoy's view of art being primarily about accurately communicating the artist's perception of something. He would see that as an impossible goal.

The last philosopher excerpted in our reading was John Dewey. It is a name I have come to highly distrust due to its association with lots of things that scare me--for example, progressive education, radicalism, pragmatism, and the importance of "socializing" the individual. But I appreciated a lot of what Dewey had to say about art. Here's a summary:

Art is first and foremost an experience. All of life is experience, but art is "AN experience" with a meaning that goes beyond the immediate.
Any subject matter is fair game for art. "The interest of the artist is the only limitation . . . . " (This specifically refutes both those that would say the proper subject matter of art is only that which lifts us above the common as well as those who, like Tolstoy, say art should only be concerned with the "everyday" to which we can personally relate.
The one "all-important characteristic of art" is the "artistic sincerity of the individual artist."
The experience of a work of art is more than the sum of its parts: "About every explicit and focal object there is a recession into the implicit which is not intellectually grasped. . . . A work of art elicits and accentuates this quality of being a whole and of belonging to the large, all-inclusive whole which is the universe in which we life."

I like Dewey's argument that art takes us beyond ourselves and connects us to something bigger. What scares me about Dewey, though, is that the "bigger" is not what it is for me--a sense of wonder and of the True and the Good that ultimately comes from the Creator--but rather, the "bigger" is the Borgian social fabric that sees the individual, with all his desire for personal sovereignty and fulfillment, as a hindrance.

I would be interested to hear from any of my philosophically astute readers whether I am correctly understanding the three writers above. I would also be interested to hear my readers' definitions of art. What is it, and how do you know when you've been in contact with it?

From My Daughter's Hand

I'm thinking this one could really take off. T-shirts, coffee mugs, the whole bit. There are so many applications. And it gets the point across incredibly well, don't you think?

Portrait of a Lady

I have always liked this painting, Song of the Lark (1884), by Jules Breton. My first memory of seeing it was some years ago at the Art Institute of Chicago. I was reminded of it again today while reading a post at the Concordian Sisters blog. Rebekah writes about what makes a Lady and concludes that she is not one: "I don't feel like a Lady. I feel like a peasant. Ladies live in manors, and I'm just not running a tea-and-crumpets operation here. More like, we're out of napkins; wipe it on your sock. Most days I hope to pass for 'windblown' rather than 'unwashed.' If there's a Ladylike way to dig up turnips or deal with an abominable diaper, I haven't found it."

I have never met Rebekah in person. For all I know she could be Roseanne Barr's twin sister. But having read her ponderings, corresponded with her off and on over the last few years, and listened to her reflections on motherhood on Issues, Etc., all I can say is she sure talks and writes like a lady. As I wrote in the comments section on Rebekah's post, I think that ladylikeness is not so much a matter of class or lifestyle--of getting manicures and having tea with your macaroons and turning on the air conditioning so as not to faint from the heat--but rather a question of temperament. My comment:

"It's about gentleness. And you don't have to be beautiful or particularly feminine or wear make-up or dresses or have smooth heels and elbows and no dirt under your fingers to be gentle. What is it they say about gentleness? You can't really have it unless there is strength there--a strength that is being reined in so as not to cause harm. I think ladylikeness is about humility and grace and subtlety. A Lady doesn't barge into a room; you just suddenly notice that she's there and you wonder where she came from. She doesn't call attention to herself by speaking loudly, but more often by speaking softly. She listens. She is not in too much of a hurry. She is kind and considerate of the feelings of others. She does not intentionally draw attention to herself.

"You can do all of those things without smelling good or getting a salon haircut or having a clean house. I'm betting a lot of CSPP gals who pooh-pooh the lady title are really closet ladies and just don't want to admit it. Come on, girls, embrace your Inner Lady! She's nothing to be ashamed of!"

I might add that I think a Lady is modest, not flashy. And she appreciates beauty. That is what I see in the painting: a young farm woman who has gone to the field to work in the early morning hours but who is distracted from her work by the song of a bird and who takes time to listen to and appreciate that song for a few moments.

So maybe I am all mixed up. And maybe the culture at large would disagree. But I think Ladies are strong when they need to be and gentle when they need to be. They are not afraid to get their hands dirty. They don't think they are too good to serve others. But in their strength and hardiness there is still softness. And they go about their vocation in quietness, without a lot of fanfare.

Here in my opinion is another painting of a Lady, this one by Camille Pissaro, 1881:

Young Peasant Woman Drinking Her Café Au Lait

Taking a few moments out of her day to have a cup of coffee by the window? That is not just a lady. That is One Smart Lady.

(And by the way, most of my friends and I have both our Ladyish and our Un-Ladyish moments. Just ask our families.)

Found Art

I think it has some real possibilities, don't you? I call it "Juice With Straw on Mantel."

If it's not art, well then, biology. (The teenagers are studying bacteria right now.)

The glass apparently sat there for several days. I never noticed it. Other people noticed but saw no reason to remove it. And as with all good art, there's actually a story here. Anyone wanna guess which member of the family is responsible for inadvertently creating this artistic moment? And what the back story is?

Where Did She Learn to Do This?

Not from her dad or mom, that's for sure.

Isn't she awesome?

Look

My talented and amazing daughter has a new blog devoted to her artwork. I hope you'll pop over and check it out. She just put up a new drawing and has challenged her readers to guess the subject. I think some of you might be able to come up with the right answer. Give it a whirl!

The Art World's Latest Find

You are probably familiar with the painting Arrangement in Gray and Black: The Artist's Mother by James Whistler, widely referred to in popular culture as Whistler's Mother.

In the tradition of that great masterpiece I now humbly submit for your artistic edification this new work, surely destined to launch a career:

Evan's Mother: Arrangement in Magna-Doodle

Thanks be to God for the modern technology (uh, camera) that has preserved this creation for generations to come!