"As long as God has not assumed flesh, and the invisible made itself visible, man is prone to adore, together with the invisible powers, the Signs and the Things through which his art brings them to his eyes; he is all the more prone to do so as his art is more profoundly art, or endowed with a stronger symbolic figure."
Even in my rather threadbare state of mind, I had to stop and think about that a bit. Art brings our world into contact with The Divine. And that's what early (if not the earliest, which seems to have been of more pedestrian intent) did, right? It made it possible for us to visualize that which is beyond our ability to conceive. The work of art was a conduit, and we sent our thoughts (also known as prayers) through it, while The Divine sent back to us whatever it is that The Divine sends: inspiration, hope, love.
Hmpf.
And then I started thinking about Giotto's mountain peaks replacing the gold backgrounds of early Medieval paintings. The gold background was a way to indicate that divine nature of that which was being depicted. It actually removed The Divine from the reality of our world. We could see and venerate it, but we could not cease to be aware of the fact that it was of a separate order. So when you bring mountain peaks into the picture (so to speak), you have made a truly radical shift, haven't you?
Hmpf.
Also, this has consequences for how I (and John Gardner, I believe) see the function of art . . . and the responsibility of the artist. I feel gravely offended when I encounter a work of art which seems profoundly negative. I see it as only adding to the misery of the world. And who needs more piss in this already polluted swimming pool? Anyone can throw a brick through a window, but it takes skill to build a brick wall with a window in it. I even (though I tried not to) struggled with enjoying the work produced by artists who were shitty people. ("Struggled" because I'm pretty sure that concepts of artist and art should be kept separate . . . though I'm not completely sure about that.)
But I still believe that the function of art is to enable, uplift, and inspire. Not in a namby pamby way, of course. In a very real way. So bringing the divine into a closer correspondence with the reality we conjointly experience . . . putting in the mountain peaks . . . might be a way of enhancing our spiritual experience.
It reminds me of the first time I heard a selection from Jesus Christ Superstar. I was in a junior high school chorus class--probably 7th grade, but I'm not sure--and the teacher put the record on and played "Heaven on Their Minds." And it completely blew my mind. "Tables, chairs, and oaken chests, would have suited Jesus best, / He'd have caused nobody harm . . . no one alarm." I don't think I realized it then, but it was the first time that I had experienced the idea of Jesus Christ as a real figure. And it enhanced His appeal to me immensely. It was a Jesus I could believe in. I bought that album--one of my first . . . and I still have it, by the way--and played it over and over and over. I memorized it. I remember performing it for my mom, climbing up the side of the bunk bed in my room to add to the drama. Jesus Christ Superstar made me love Jesus.
And it's been a rocky road since then, let me tell you, but I still love that music. When Ted Neely and Kurt Yaghjian came to Louisville to present the movie you can bet I was there for it. (And I've seen the movie at least fifteen times.)
And then I decided I might as well give up on the whole going back to sleep this morning thing.
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