Art


Wanna see my new tattoo?
Oh, you could already see it since I’m wearing a tank top?
Yes, it did hurt like hell…or that’s what my friend who watched it go down told me after I sobered up.
Its not much to look at right now, I know.
This one just sets up the characters you know. Kinda introduces the archetypes that will be appearing. What I like about this first one is that it works as a stand alone project.
Its got its own merit.
But this isn’t the end. No. There’s gonna be a sequel.

Dude. Check out my new tattoo! Oh, you could see it since I’m not wearing a shirt?
I forgot that I wasn’t.
This one is a little darker isn’t it? You see, I knew that my audience had aged and would be a little more jaded than last time. There’s definitely some surprises in there huh?
Well, as if you couldn’t guess, there’s gonna be another one. Kinda to wrap up the loose ends.
I know, I know, it’ll be hard to wait but it’ll definitely be worth it when it all comes together.

Hi. What’s up?
Not much. I just uh, been hanging out.
What? A tattoo? The last installment of my tattoo trilogy?
Yeah. Uh…Its done. I uh gotta run and pick up my niece….okay, okay.
Here. Look.
There were production problems. I don’t know where it went wrong.
The story was there, but I guess its just past its time now huh?
Shoulda struck while the iron was hot. All the themes that seemed so
pertinent under the Bush administration just aren’t as applicable in today’s new culture of “hope”.
I blame it on the lighting. It just looks fake. The first Hulk movie had better graphics.
Oh well. Hey! I got this great idea for the next tattoo though: A remake of my first tattoo but this time set in the future!

Like most Mindflowers readers, Ryan and I were once young girls with hairless armpits full of teenage estrogen angst and chopped-up doll parts. As an adult, I’ve always sought mature ways to utilize the trunks of decapitated Barbie heads and limbs I’ve kept through the years. Jeweler Margaux Lange has some ideas, as seen in her Etsy shop. If I didn’t just blow my wad on a new clutch for my kickass pickup I’d probably buy you all of these. PS: The setting for these seems to be a giant golf ball!!

ring

another-ring

hands

earings

more-ring

Derek Hess
Overcompensation
Pen, ink, acrylic
2006
            Derek Hess is a Cleveland based artist who was first noticed as a music poster artist who has now gained widespread interest for his religious and politically motivated art. He has recently added most recently to the political landscape most directly in his design of an Obama “Change” poster. In 2008, he provided the illustration and mixed media art for Please God Save Us which also featured political essays by Kent Smith an Education Board member in Euclid, Ohio. The inspirations Hess cites there are the “hard Christian Right, religious extremists, John McCain, and intolerance.” Hess’s work draws from political and religious iconography and at times co-opts directly Christian proselytizing publishing material. His art, populated by murderous angels, self crucifying figures, and apocalyptic urban landscapes are polarizing and confrontational lending themselves to debate and discussion that hopefully will exceed the brash bombastic nature of his art. Hess’ pieces often retain their sketch lines, their feeling of immediacy and incompleteness which lend them to the interpretation that they indeed are only to be approached as launching discussion and further debate-they are not the final word. As prophetic, they condemn, rile, abuse, and wait for the response. Repentance often requires time, and these pieces engage the interpreter/participant in such a way as to initial shock, but with repeated viewing and over time, allow for pushing back against the message.
            Hess’ Overcompensation can recall the image of Michaelangelo’s sculpture of David. One arm cocked at the shoulder, one arm lowered but tense as though beginning motion, the weight shifted on his feet. David, depending on the perspective is just victorious over his foe or just beginning to take up the fight. Which is it that Hess has in mind for his elephant headed monster? Whereas David has in hand his sling and a small stone, Hess has girded his warring giant with what he calls his “Crosstika” symbol, a synthesis of the swastika and the Christian cross and what appears to be a Bible. The Elephant head aside, there are a few discrepancies to note: Hess’ figure is much more muscular, and there is more motion implied as if in a swaggering forward. The monster’s genitals too have been decreased in their size leaving the interpreter to muse on their own understandings of Freud and Lacan.
            The crosstika and scripture as weapons signal the kind of destruction being depicted in the piece is that of ideology, rhetoric, the battle over minds, memes, thoughts, emotions, the battleground of the soulish space that society lives in. As to the weapon of the crosstika: both the swastika, a symbol of good luck shared between Hindu, Greek, and Indigenous American Nations among others, and the cross can be seen as symbols that have been greatly misused and bastardized over time. Together in the crosstika, Hess causes one to reflect on the crucifixion of our symbols themselves and their continual need for maintenance, their incompleteness, their inability to speak to our values and complex spiritual lives. Just as the cross in American culture is seen by some as an offense, so do many see it as something that needs to be defended, recaptured from those who would ‘misuse’ it. The same can be said of the Bible in the monsters other hand; as much as scripture is read, it acts as a symbol. The clutched Bible in a stalwart hand can be seen at political protests and its magical use as symbol has been ritualized in swearing-in ceremonies of our political officials. Hess acts as a prophet calling one to see not these symbols or artifacts as dangerous, but in their ambiguity-their defenselessness against their appropriation. An interpreter is brought to reflect in how they may have used religious or spiritual symbol or frameworks to harm another. As one who has participated in ministry, I can attest to how easy it can be to mislead and harm, albeit inadvertently, another.
            Of course, the Red Elephant head here is Hess’ much recreated demonic recasting of the Republican Party icon. Hess sees the Bush administration years and its neo-conservative agenda setters’ unholy alliance with conservative Christians as creating a poisonous atmosphere for the American culture. Yet the elephant head can be seen as a mask-only a cover for the murderous monster underneath that would seek to see others beneath it. This again can interpreted as another example of the fluidity of symbol: how much is the Republican Party itself only a symbol? How it may act as a divisive or unifying force in our society as an organization should not be confused with the individual Americans who belong to the Party. If the Red Elephant head is seen as a mask, who is hiding behind it? The prophetic voice calls once again to ask each interpreter how they might prop up Political Parties, or Politicians as caricatures, use affiliations or voting histories to deride or dismiss a fellow human being, or hide themselves from individual responsibility in society.
               The people trampled at the bottom of the piece are first and foremost those who suffer the crimes of emotional, spiritual, ideological demeaning. We are met with a prophetic call to repeat of how we overcompensate our perceived enemies with antagonistic polemics, slander, jargon, and bigoted thoughts that we give life to everyday in our interactions. Is the Monster shown here a Republican or ourselves? I believe that Hess’ title of Overcompensation may act as a clue to us. Is he overcompensating by creating a piece that could be said to show a Republicanized Christian Right marching through corpses? I would say yes. Only because I believe that any prophetic voice must first resonate within oneself before it could possibly be applied to anyone else. Has the last eight years of neo-conservative politics been oppressive to the poor, people of color, LGBT communities and families, our youth, the environment, and the innocents of Guantanamo and Iraq? Yes. However, I believe that America will not succeed in its hopes for a positive and reconciliatory change if the need for justice is not begun within myself first.
            So I approach Overcompensation as contrite myself. I reflect on how I have in the past stood by and allowed others to slander entire groups of people, both religious and political. I reflect on how my own stooping to the lowest common denominator in public discourse has only led to polarizing others and not to understanding and patient debate. The Monster here is not of any particular party or religion afterall. It is the force that lies within me to overpower, to dominate, to use and abuse the symbols around me to my own ends. I need to myself take off the masks that I have chosen and face individually my responsibilities. While the people trampled here I believe are victims of a thought life-those that one would like to see as having a value less than ourselves, it is important that my thought life has real world effects-for justice and peace or violence and hatred. It is for fear of creating more victims, that I see this work as firstly and foremost prophetic to me.        -Ryan McGivern

            Australian artist Stelarc (born Stelios Arcadiou) is currently serving as Chair in Performance Art, School of Arts, Brunel University West London and as the Senior Research Fellow and Visiting Artist in the MARCS Labs at the University of Western Sydney, Australia after sustaining a career as an internationally respected artist since the late 1960’s. His creations and performance art have changed over the years, yet have retained repeated themes on embodiment, incarnationalism, identity in virtual bodies, and thinned lines between humans, their artifacts, and what might be considered ‘nature’.
            Sterlac draws attention to the most core of our existence: embodiment. However much hygiene-related-paranoia driven religious tradition influences our contemporary period, we remain dealing with the fallout of the Cartesian res extensa, as a body-seen as not really ‘us’. We live in what he calls absent bodies, which is exposed in the language of  “having a body, not being a body.” Our bodies can often fall into neglect, a way of being in the world that is only brought to our attention when we stub our toes sufficiently enough.
            Our created tools and cultures, says Stelarc, have evidenced a pattern of distancing and remoteness that can be overcome, perhaps counter intuitively, not by resisting technologies, but integrating them with our corporeal selves to the larger array of the creaturely/created world with intention and engagement. Over the years, he has developed cyborg applications extending him bodily and acting in a harmony that breaks down the subject/object distinctions that many cannot imagine their world without. Yet, his art is only a celebration and furtherance of what is happening in many digital cultures already. The mouse and tethered devices (iPod, Blackberry, Bluetooth) that accompany so many are already pushing the limits of cyborg hybridity but are overlooked for their mainstream acceptability. The transformation and alteration of our bodies being shattered over the information saturated landscape will likely continue in this way, uncritically and without reflection as long as our comfort is streamlined. As long as our bodies are absent, we may passively allow technologies to be laid on us and seen as antagonistic to our existence. However, by embracing our bodies and the products of our highest imagination, aesthetic, and innovation, we can come to find that we have always been at once ‘zombies and cyborgs’ and in turn celebrate our fully relational selves incorporated into the world around us.
            Stelarc performed his Suspension series from 1976-88, which consisted of the driving of large hooks through his flesh in such a way that he could hang naked without further harnessing. Using himself to hang in space gave a mystical floating appearance and is reminiscent of some ascetic practices of self denial in search of transcendental achievement. However, Stelarc is emphatic that there is no transcendental connotation. The body is present, immanent, and tangible; the aesthetic appraisal of the performance can stay engaged with the body without having to invoke a spiritualized interpretation let alone an otherworldly denial of the flesh. Stelarc allows his body to be another sculpture in a world of sculptural beauty-sometimes rocks amidst crashing waves, other times alongside gargoyles of the urban cityscape. The body becomes beautiful in itself, its own foundation stone and pyramid.
            Stelarc’s works, sometimes met with skepticism to revulsion, bring the body to the fore and open avenues for others to accept, reside in, and control the destiny of their bodies. It is easy to see the destruction of the flesh all about us in our cultures: dietary choices equivalent to poison, unnecessary world hunger and disease propelled by greed, drug abuse, domestic violence, all of which often receive less dismay or opposition than Stelarc’s work when encountered. The body and its unique place in the universe as a thinking, feeling, dancing, and loving event is too easily forgotten. Some religious traditions calling the human body the ‘pinnacle of creation’ have left little room for its discussion aside from its need for punishment, asexuality, judgment, and denial. Stelarc takes seriously the possibilities of our existence as embodied selves and celebrates them, without moralizing or fear.
            The body is obsolete, says Stelarc. He claims that our technologies can replace redundant organs, microscopic robots be tasked with aiding our overtaxed immune systems, our skin designed to absorb more nutrients from its immediate environment. This is not playing god-or at least anymore so than we regularly do on a daily basis. The corn, wheat, chicken’s eggs, and apples that we eat have been crafted; the highways carving scars along our land have made many landscapes unrecognizable from their former selves. We are always acting as artisans, innovators, creators. Stelarc gives the opportunity for owning up to our actions, seeing the possibility inherent in our bodies as beautiful and celebrated and acting as co-creators in a universe where what is profane and holy is decided by each of us.

            In 2001, New York comedian and Upright Citizen’s Brigade improvisational performer, Charlie Todd formed Improv Everywhere. The public performances organized and created by the team have spawned such national and global phenomena as “No Pants Day”, celebrated annually in Austin, Boise, San Francisco, and San Antonio, and the now international spontaneous art events inspired by “Frozen Grand Central” where crowds stood still as living statues. Charlie Todd draws from Web enabled ‘smart’ or ‘flash mob’ events that grew out of the juncture of public performance art and social activism. The art events of Charlie Todd and Improv Everywhere have the distinction over some other ‘spontaneous’ public hijnks (think Jackass, Punk’d) in that they are never geared to belittle or frighten the public but instead as stated in their website, ‘cause scenes of chaos and joy in public places’.[1]

            Hugo von Hofmannsthal wrote, “Of all secular institutions, the theater is the only remaining one of any power and universal validity that links our love of festival, our joy in spectacle and laughter, the pleasure that we take in being touched, excited…”[2] Whether one believes that Hofmannsthal’s statement is injected with hyperbole, it is clear that theatre’s ability to incite joy is palpable and universal. Todd’s intention to make space for the human potential for joy through art should be taken seriously before discarding it along with some whose efforts reach no higher than ‘gotcha’ scares and prankster practical jokes.

            Charlie Todd and the I.E. art collective reveals the playful art and community that is available in our everyday lives. In many ways, their public, participatory, collaborative theatre model characterizes what Hans Georg Gadamer describes in TheRelevance of The Beautiful. Todd helps orchestrate what might be called a celebration or festival, of which Gadamer writes, “Celebrating is an art…If we ask ourselves what the real nature of this art is, then obviously we must reply that it consists in an experience of community.”[3] Art as festival dissolves individualism and expands by deleting walls of exclusion and spills over in liberality and elation.

            Todd and I.E.’s artwork Food Court Musical or Can I Get A Napkin Please? as it is commonly known as, exemplifies the festive celebratory character. In the piece, a local mall’s food court is transformed from mundane venue for unpalatable faire into a singing, dancing fair of a musical revue. A woman jumps up from a spill and asks for a napkin and soon sixteen performers are spiraling about in the sun filled atrium. Community is more than the physical closeness our urbanized spaces offer increasingly. Community needs also intention “that unites us and prevents us as individuals from falling into private conversations and private, subjective experiences.”[4] The tragedy of a hurricane or flood, the hardships of poverty, the round of beer, or the sports competition can draw out the availability of community in unsuspected and astounding ways, and festive public theatre is no different. Food Court Musical drew private subjective experiences together into not only an audience, but a community of interpreters, interacting and participating freely in art as one.

            The experience of community changes us. It creates a new way of seeing the world and being in it. One way that Gadamer explains it is through distinguishing ‘empty time’ and ‘fulfilled time’. In empty time, normalcy reigns and is epitomized in the experience of boredom which is related to the angst of existence. Another character of empty time is the hurriedness of errands, the frantic dash of calculated agendas that never are given space to the moment, but are projected into deadlines before us. In contrast, fulfilled time puts aside management and calculation aside and time is brought to stand in what Gadamer calls an artistic ‘organic unity’. Improv Everywhere’s art includes openly and without distinction to interact with and participate in the work-to be co-creators. As interpreter/participants the joy of art is also met with what Gadamer calls the temporality of art. The temporal of fleeting of theatre is similarly experienced in the other public art surrounding us, the architecture, icons, and religions. This is coupled with the experience of an actor/creator: “We recognize ourselves as the plaything of the mighty, suprapersonal forces that condition our being.”[5] Accompanying the joy of art is also the unsettling of new horizons, which Todd calls ‘chaos’.

            The shaking off of one’s blinders to see the possibilities and joy gracefully availed us can be difficult and chaotic, but unlike the angst of empty time, it is a positive breeching into newness. Charlie Todd gives opportunity to lift ourselves from the easy expectations into a novel platform of inspection. In his Frozen Grand Central participants come to a complete stop all at once for a period of time in the bustle of the New York train station. Here, those human faces and people that had existed in the background of the day suddenly pop forward to exist in their own right. Like Heidegger’s transition of what is taken for granted (Zuhanden) to that which is present at hand (Vorhanden) the inhabitants of the city become more than just obstacles, they stand unmoving but startling present. It can create a chaotic spike of dissonance in one who encounters such a performance; having been presented with humanity where only passive moving objects had been before, but it opens one up all the more to the human experience.

            The correlations between religious gatherings and improvisational street art are clear. Both find greater and deeper humanity in all of its joy and chaos. Both rise into a different way of living and being in time. However, as art can operate freely from theology, the nonjudgmental inclusivity of Improv Everywhere sets a higher standard for our religious institutions to emulate. While our religious expressions set aside time and place for the celebration of values, improvisational street theatre takes the highest value of human life and gives that time and space back to the public sphere.

 

 

“Our agents returned to whatever they were doing before the song broke out, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.” –Charlie Todd on the Food Court Musical performers.   (www.improveverywhere.com)



[1] www.improveverywhere.com

[2] Hugo von Hofmannsthal, “Komodie” Prosa, IV, ed. by Herbert Steiner (Frankfurt: S. Fischer, 1955), 95.

[3] Hans Georg Gadamer, The Relevance of The Beautiful and Other Essays  (New York: Cambridge University Press. 1977), 40.

[4] Hans Georg Gadamer, The Relevance of The Beautiful and Other Essays  (New York: Cambridge University Press. 1977), 40.

[5] Hans Georg Gadamer, The Relevance of The Beautiful and Other Essays  (New York: Cambridge University Press. 1977), 64.

Junko Chodos Metamorphosis: The Transformative Vision of Junko Chodos

            In Metamorphosis, Chodos exhibits art of various media; pencil sketch, abstract oil paintings, collages of photograph, and mixed media amalgam collages using at times paint and photograph. Her work typically is large generally being many feet square. Its size would welcome a sense of enrapture, and its abstractness allows for a dazzling myriad of possibilities as one’s eye tries to find a recognized object. In her collage, she uses such small strips that it often is difficult to parse what images they may have been originally. A closer look will reveal what seems to be a scatological assortment of often ephemeral objects; entrails, parts of crabs, roots, are mixed in with slivers of machinery, statues of humans in pained expressions. The whole is greater than its parts, but the strips of counter-intuitive components invites the interpreter to reflect on existence in all its haphazard harmony.

            Chodos was born in 1939 in Tokyo, Japan in the heat of the Second World War. She studied philosophy of art and Eastern and Western mystical traditions. In the background of her studies was Martin Buber, and her thesis work was titled Spirituality in Line: Interrelationship of Art and Theology. From her life’s war-torn beginning, the formative education of Buber’s relational dialectic, and questing into art for semblances of the transcendent, she later moved to the United States and as an artist has created works that daringly explore the sacred.

            Chodos states that art does not become religious or spiritual by its use of religious image, and implies conversely that art with explicitly religious themes is not necessarily ‘religious art’. The theme or subject of the artwork plays less a role in its transcendence and spirituality than the process of the artwork’s life. Its birth in the artist, expression, and its dialectic life in the interpreter ignite what she calls the ‘centripetal force of art’. This force is what acts against the shattering forces of nihilism, isolation, and meaninglessness. Drawing from Buber, Chodos calls revelation the act of drawing forth the art from the fragments of the self into the center of the artist’s psyche and then centripetally draws artist, art, and interpreter together. The artist and interpreter in a mystical way enter into a co-creation. Thus all that is required for any artwork to be transcendent, or ‘religious art’ is for a free and honest process of an artist to meet an open interpreter who both conjoin in participation, responsibility, and commitment.[1]

            She writes of the irony found at the core of religion, using the deaths of both Jesus and Buddha as examples. It is the irony of finding victory, peace, and life in the moments of these two figures’ deaths that she compares to the irony of ‘great art’ conveying beauty by means that may conceal beauty. Irony and impossibility are bound to Chodos’ concept of transcendence also. She relates the metaphor of a mole living underground who believes there is a better world above ground-when the mole does at last break through the earth, it instead finds “flaming fire, and the thundering sound of wind around him. His body is burnt by the sunbeams and in the light of the day he becomes blind and deaf.”[2] Due to the very nature of transcendence, it must remain for the mole to perceive it in darkness, in ugliness. The glimpses that the mole may inadvertently catch through cracks in the earth only instill a deep anxiety, an impending feeling of doom, an ‘experience of thanatos’.

            It is the artist who grasps this abyss, this fear, this awe, and finds that reason cannot aid them in resolving their situation. Only through the leap of ironic creation, can one face their human situation. Religion and its theologies are one expression of this and art another. If they are neglected or aborted in reliance on reason alone, it will result in what Chodos says is ‘insanity’. While these two ironic endeavors are both forms of relief keeping alive transcendence’s tension, they differ in that religion’s theologies and narratives become authoritative by degrees of sanctification and narrowed repetition. Art on the other hand dispels authority, invites consideration and devotion only through the power of experience instead of culturally approved hierarchies. Art acts against one’s will. Its transformative power lies in the unseen and unplanned routes it will draw one on their centripetal journey towards relation with the work, artist, and themselves.

            Chodos’ work is an expression of possibility for new relationships between art and theology. She speaks of the grace that brings new light to their interaction which will allow them both new outcomes that subvert our expectations. One way she suggests that this can occur is to reexamine the usual assumed cause and effect relationship between art and theology. She states that Western culture too often sees only narratives and theologies as inspiring artists. Instead, she suggests that art be given equal consideration as forming our theologies. For example she suggests inquiring into how Van Gogh’s paintings of shoes have influences modern theologies. Following this, it might be possible to also ask how depictions of dying gods influenced early Christian theologies.

            Recalling her mole analogy, Chodos’ Roots series of sketches and mixed collages speak to the transcendent in the forgotten, the unseemly, and the ordinary. In the series, she explores levels of abstraction where Root Series Number 2 falls on the end of greater abstraction, and Root Series Number 10, The Fasting Buddha lies on the other with its titular image more accessible. The tangled array of roots are created with other organic components, lending themselves as metaphors of the unseen or underappreciated life sustaining web that supports humanity. The series is useful as a meditation on the somewhat arbitrary cultural definitions of sacred and secular. Like the mole among roots who would be consumed by the light of the sun, our daily goings-on are the fruit of the transcendent in its graceful and ironic self-giving and are the source of our divine seeking imagination.

            Roots Series Number 17 Garan (Cathedral) is a great example of the culmination of these themes. While at first glance appearing to be only a teasing and erratic mix of color comprised again of unrelated images, it begins to pull into a three dimensional place of worship. The eye carries to the lower center which is darker, alluding to a holy of holies, or door to mysteries. The jagged forms of the collage may be the expressionist architecture similar to Antoni Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia Cathedral, the stalactites of a primordial cavern, or the fronds of a dense jungle forming an apse. We partake of Cathedral, we cannot merely passively consume it. One enters in via the path laid in detritus of the collage’s bottom and as all cathedrals, one makes it holy by their presence, not vice versa.

            I am drawn to Chodos by her great trust in her art’s interpreters. She weaves the machined products of technology seamlessly together with organic threads (Interplanetary Icon series) in a natural way that is honest with our world’s surroundings without judgment or pandering. She stylistically and abstractly reinvents icons, our selves, our notions of the holy in a way that seems unmanufactured and doesn’t lead its interpreter’s by the hand. Her Relic, a mixed media collage inspiring the interpretation of a human ribcage dances where reason cannot venture, where our biology, experience, and sense of the divi



[1] Junko Chodos, Spirituality and the Process of Creating Art (Lecture. Graduate Theological Union, October 9th 2003)

[2] Junko Chodos, Spirituality and the Process of Creating Art (Lecture. Graduate Theological Union, October 9th 2003)

            The life and community of faith could not exist without the arts. Art exudes from each pious endeavor, every religious expression. While our cultures’ greatest spiritual aspirations have always included art, their interaction with and understanding of art have been in continual flux. Christianity’s relationship to art has historically and contemporarily revealed feelings of neglect, opposition, celebration, and mutuality with art and its theological endeavors, no matter the context, have rarely been able to remain absolute in their stance for long. Our world and cultures are constantly in flux and have been made all the more dynamic with recent technological developments and globalization. The conversation between art and theology has reached a point of great importance, in part because of crises of ethos and ethics within and without the Christian faith.

Whereas religion as a cultural expression is aptly conceived of as an art, the endeavor of theology proper should not be conflated with art. “The ordinances of religion and the power of law are efficacious as they are clothed with pomp, a dignity and majesty that are the work of imagination.”[1] Religious ritual, community cohesiveness, expression through vestments, chalice, and iconography are all properly art, but the task of theology as a reasoned discourse and study of the Divine is not the same as the artworks that can be related to it. While “art and theology share common artistic elements, such as the use of imagination and intuition, mythic language and evocative symbols, metaphor, image, and narrative,”[2] it is misleading to conflate the two. Just as Graham Howes writes the aesthetic must not be confused with the religious, art and theology must remain contrasted although in conversation.  

The clearest examples of art and theology’s contrast lay in their character and consequences. Art’s character is to remain hanging over mystery while attempting to relate truths of the human situation and human relationships. Theology’s character lies in the attempt to explain, systematize, or concretize the meaning of a religion or religions. As theology has adopted new language and approaches such as apophatic theologies and even the objectivist atheology of atheists, it remains intent on drawing boundaries of thought and legitimizing narrow constructions of interpretation within those boundaries. The character of art is to overflow with meaning so that its challenge is never consummated and its meaning is multiplied through participation with it.

The consequences are contrasted, but not opposed. Art implies freedom, mystery, and brings a radical responsibility to be fully engaged in all of one’s humanity. The interpreter, or participant, is posed with the awe-full task of self-creation, relating in a new and intentional way with their world, and humbly finding truth that is infinitely unfolding. Theology’s consequences act as an inadequate description via verbal or written expression and grant some measure of respite from the dance of dense relation.

Theology in its reliance on the word has been critiqued for its limitations, but modern innovations to correct this have not escaped similar trappings. Karl Rahner questioned the privileging of verbal arts and feared that by doing so it may “unjustifiably limit the capacity of the arts to be used by God.”[3] As the Theopoetic movement of Amos Wilder through to John Caputo has gained strength and acceptance in academia, the clergy and laity, practices of ‘visual theology’ and diverse non-verbal theological constructions have been undertaken. However, as Mark C Taylor sets out in Disfiguring, these theoaesthetic ventures have still fallen prey to the limitations of privileging Being and presuming coherences between artworks and the Divine, and imposing cognitive and theological prejudices. His A/theoaesthetics, however helpful to the contemporary debate still reflects the continued necessary conversation between art and theology.

Taylor represents a post-structuralist/post-modernist perspective that wrestles seriously with the prospect of continued human progress in an atmosphere where God and the Divine have been largely voided of their past cultural power. George Steiner in Real Presences speaks of some modern cultural contexts as having become where God’s presence cannot be entertained in theory nor experienced, and the numinous weight afforded to art had been excised. Steiner suggests that one approach art and the world ‘as if’ in relation to a Creator and ‘as if’ transcendence was somehow attainable[4]. This Pascal-like wager is attractive in its playfulness and resignation to the human imagination, but it falls short for at least two reasons. First, it appears to pacify a need for transcendence that has already larger been increasingly deemed unpalatable in secular and religious realms. Secondly, in its ‘as if’ proposition, it necessarily narrows fields of possibility by placing a structure of imagination. The playful creation of “behave as is God is watching you” may end up straight jacketing life as much as the theologically supported “behave well because God is watching you.”   

            A middle ground for those searching a viable and honest post-modern seat at the table of art and theology’s intersections may find helpful clues for doing so in Robin Jensen’s The Substance of Things Seen. Rigidity of correspondence implied at times in theoesthetics can carry on assumptions and privileges of past theologies and has shown its limits, but the Void or Abyss spoken of in Taylor’s A/theoaesthetics can be intimidating. If Steiner’s ‘as if’ narrows or limits theological imagination, then the multivalent meanings availed in Jensen’s hermeneutics can offer a new ground for the Church and secular circles. She depicts an ever expanding horizon of possibilities where each can interact with an artwork through many different lens as they ‘live with it’. This suggests that just as we grow in ourselves, and in our relationships with those in our communities, our interaction with theologies and art will be in flux. It can be spoken of as a synthesis of the hermeneutical ‘circle’ and ‘spiral’; as we spiral in our considerations of artistic context, culture, intent, and the vibrancy of our interpersonal relationships, we also ‘circle’ or return to ourselves in greater possibilities of personal development.     

            When Matisse said that if he were paint a Virgin, “I would be forcing things. God would leave me to myself,” may reflect a wider sentiment of the modern barrenness of traditional Christian systems of symbols. This degradation of their power of evoking the divine with gravitas was explored above as a cultural reclamation and reform of power away from the Church was explored above as a cultural reclamation and reform but this coup was in part aided by phenomena among Christian faithful without the intent of disrobing their symbols of power. The phenomena referred to here are what may be called iconoclasms of well intentioned misappropriation. The most accessible of examples is the at times ironic hybridization of Christian symbol with commercial icons.

            In 1984 a local church in Elgin Illinois opened in their basement ‘God’s Gym’, a derivation of the popular ‘Gold’s Gym’. Since then, God’s Gym t-shirts and various merchandising are near ubiquitous across America. The ironic play off the mainstream icon “Gold’s Gym” and their fitness themed images (“His pain, our gain.”) at once rides the coattails of an accepted commercial image, subverts it, and becomes a form of ironic art. A pedestrian on a city sidewalk wearing a shirt that writes “Jesus Christ” in the Coca-Cola brand fond with the subversion of the company’s motto “He’s the real thing.” acts in the same way. In this hybridization, what is of most impact is the contemporary Christian acceptance, support, and continued patronage of these bastardizations of corporate advertizing triggers the same immediate brand recognition that can be criticized as symptomatic of a consumer culture and gives it a veneer of creedal Christianity.

            This thwarts the traditional use and milieu of iconography and the credal in art. The synthesizing of spiritual themes and art and commercialism can result in a neutralizing of the original perceived icon or a conflicting ambiguity towards a clear portrayal of the blurred lines between the sacred and profane. Margaret Miles of Harvard writes, “The way to discount a symbol is not to walk away from it and ignore it, but place it in a decorative rather than religious context.”[5] This phenomena is not limited to Christian symbols however. Writes Michael Heim, “Star Trek lost any sublimity it may have had when it came to occupy Kmart shelves along with electric flyswatters and noisemaker whoopee cushions.”[6] Seen as ironic art, it too begins a cycle of parody that resurrects the “Jesus Is My Homeboy” merchandise of modern Christian fashion as “Jesus Is My Babydaddy.”

The changing role of the European cathedral has been well documented and may crudely be explained in broad strokes as a shift from place of worship to a space of  historical or cultural interest like that of a museum. While the portrayal of the grand spaces of Chartres, Notre Dame, or Sistine as destinations of tourism is accurate, implying that they are merely so is reductionistic. The full ministerial life and worship schedule of Ely Cathedral[7] belie this caricature. Yet, as Martin Heidegger asserted, something changes when the context of religious art is changed. His example of displacing the Greek Temple’s art into museums points towards the real impact of an artwork’s larger context being implemental in the relation to it, and the power vested it.

More regularly than religious artifacts being secularized by crowds of vacationers or the revealing light of a museum’s curator, religious art and expression is undergoing a crisis of decontextualization that has occurred through the open forum of the internet and media. The grassroots hacker community Anonymous has opened Scientology to exponential skepticism and criticism, Magnolia Pictures’ 2006 Jesus Camp documented Pentecostal youth ministries to much mainstream concern, and videos of both Rev. Jeremiah Wright and the Wasilla Bible Church have taken their turns stirring controversy and derision. The issue of how religious images have come under skeptical scrutiny must now be expanded to religious expressions including worship, liturgy, dress, and dogma. The modern church has transparent walls and the all seeing eye of the internet has finally transformed Christianity from what was a marginalized mystery cult into a subject as open to analysis as a celebrity’s fashion or sports’ highlight reel. While this will require intense reflection on art and theology’s relationship for those inside and outside of the faith, if “…religious art in an ostensibly secular setting such as the National Gallery can serve as an effective vehicle for religious meaning”[8] it is most likely that some fundamental characteristics of their relationship will remain.

 Art’s relation to theology can play a role of disclosing or causing to seen that which had remained unconsciously or uncritically adopted into one’s life. Using the examples of ecoprojects, Deborah Haynes portrays the role of art drawing into focus that which had been absorbed into cognitive backdrops. Kim Abeles says of her The Smog Collectors, “[they] materialize the reality of the air we breathe…They are reminders of our industrial decisions.”[9] Just as Abeles gave embodiment to the environment that so many can take for granted, Marc Chagall’s White Crucifixion in a powerful way brings the Jewishness of Jesus again to one’s consciousness. In many modern contexts, interplay with Christian art depicting hell acts to call to the fore of Christians’ minds again a theology that otherwise may have been unconsidered or uncritically accepted.

            Art acts as a prophetic critique interrupting our status quo of relationships. It challenges and disrupts paradigms on levels personal, such as that of John the Baptizer, the tribal/national-Jeremiah, and lastly appealing to universals as that of Amos. John Dewey recalls poet and social critic Matthew Arnold’s saying “poetry is criticism of life” to portray this fundamental aspect of art’s function. The strength of art as prophetic and correctional, writes Dewey lies in its appeal to imagination and possibility. Acting through sign, symbol, the immediate and radically relational, art implies a required moral judgment on behalf of the art’s participant. Dewey found its strength in its opening and disclosure of possibility and the nurturance of the imagination. “It is by a sense of possibilities opening before us that we become aware of constrictions that hem us in and of burdens that oppress.”[10] In other words art opens humanity to its fullest potentials of justice and compassion through the divinity that lies within humanity itself.

            The fullness of humanity’s potential has never been reached and one function of art is to call its interpreter’s to refigure the unplumbable depths of human greatness. Art as prophetic seeks to secure greater justice, inclusion, and compassion, through sometimes shocking and unsettling means but are always advocate a turning (repentance) from one way of life towards an awakening to new life. The challenge that prophetic calls housed within dogma or theology face is that they can more easily be approached as ethical impositions that come from without and “moral lessons have been experienced as indoctrination, not challenge.”[11] By giving body and expression to the prophetic through art, it confronts the interpreter and through the hermeneutic process creates an ownership of the repentance that would have been unachieved through other means. As justice is a means and process rather than a goal or end that will be reached, it is only to be found through the relationality that art affords and demands.    

            John Dewey cites the poet T.E. Hulme’s Speculations when speaking of art’s inability to be understood alone in its isolation. Instead, writes Dewey, art is encountered as a fine-tuning of humanity’s experience in the world. In our hermeneutic mood we meet the art’s creator, their culture, their religion, the spiritual and theological ethos that accompanied its forging. Through this process, while keeping all individuality and uniqueness, the universality of human experience is met; where culture was once obscured by language, novel theologies, and disorienting worldview, it is granted a medium of transcendence. In an intentional hermeneutic we open our relationality, connect to the shared humanity that stretches through all culture, and our ‘self’ is shaken from the disillusionment of isolation. The arts “effect a broadening and deepening of our own experience, rendering it less local and provincial”[12], and prevent cultures aside from our own from being patronized in a fetishistic exoticism or being dismissed out of hand.

             Thus art as universally empowering in a theological era dominated by the lost projects of Modernism, is finding its place in Post-Colonialism. The fuller actualization of all peoples is progressing and their exploitation is endangered. Domination of Empire and imperializing theologies have been severely threatened. Art and art supporting technologies play no small part in this. Post-structuralist movements and current trends supporting open-source philosophies are reaching into technological innovation as well as civic governance and point towards a greater democratic and non-hierarchical model of human organization. The empowerment of web technologies are only the latest iteration of the freedom availed in art. It is a process of greater liberation as art and theology’s relationship has been made more complex. However, the increased freedom and density of possible meanings in art, religious and not, calls for a heightened responsibility, creativity, and intentionality. Heraclitus’ aphorism in Fragment 93 stating “The Delphic god neither reveals nor conceals, but gives a sign.” is an early philosophic clue of the uneasy job of negotiating truth via sign, symbol, and icon. The task is only becoming more compounded as we become media saturated in a world exponentially encoded by sign.

            Mark C Taylor’s examination of the deep responsibility and opportunity availed through web technologies as one illustration of the contemporary situation of art. Networks, he writes, make space for a co-presence with others that is neither here nor there which acts as a constraint on influence through a critical distance that remains collaborative. As the Greeks’ physis increasingly is becoming mimesis through heads-up displays (HUDs) and street level marketing, and we are related instantly through web interaction, our hermeneutical stance often requires heightening. Although, the web structure is also inherently volatile and vulnerable and our responsibilities are expanding to include an ability to stabilize the web and the world with one’s own personal art.

            As a counter-point to hermeneutics stands the burgeoning field of study and art known as heuretics. Heuretics is at once an applied theory, philosophy, and art form that takes seriously the role of the interpreter in the hermeneutical task; “The perceived meaning of any piece of art depends on the experience, social location, interests, needs, and predisposition of its audience…Interpretation depends on the circumstances and character of the interpreter.”[13] As much as an art piece gives us as individuals and the world, so we also give back to it and all our relations. Simply, instead of hermeneutics’ task of relation with others through their artifacts, it creates opportunity to relate by re-creating their artifacts. Michael Jarrett of Penn State writes, “hermeneutics asks ‘what can be made of the Bible?’ Heuretics asks, ‘what can be made from the Bible?’”. In popular culture, we see this process in Terrence McNally’s theatrical depiction of a contemporary Texan and homosexual Jesus in Corpus Christi, in fanfiction resurrection the mythic adventures of Harry Potter and Luke Skywalker, and the sampling mash-ups of musician Girl Talk. In technological terms, we are all hackers-decoding, recoding, thieving, pirating, and reposting in our globally available art galleries of Facebook.

Heuristics has always occurred, yet only recently has begun to receive its place in thoughtful mainstream academia. The human race is artists, whose art is piecemeal from the ashes of the past, and collaged from the relationships they share. It is the additional ‘And’ that we put forth along with our affirmation of the world. Theologically, its implication is clear. We can espouse no creed or tradition without taking full individual responsibility. It means that just as free adults take responsibility for their actions, so too when we articulate the Divine in our words and art we stand as the sole creators. In a pejorative sense this can be misconstrued as ‘buffet Spirituality’, or syncretistic and ‘watered-down’ Christianity. More appropriately, it is a restatement of the Christianity of Soren Kierkegaard. To mimic or parrot the status quo of what Kierkegaard called Christendom is to hide oneself from the true relationship with the God/Man and to avoid even achieving an authentic selfhood. A creative, authentic self cannot be negotiated within the system of Church dogma or Hegel’s speculative philosophy, but instead by remaining in the absurd. Kierkegaard’s definition of faith as ‘the relation which relates one’s self to itself and the power that constitutes it’ is as close a theological frame for the absurdity of the heuristic life.

            Robin Jensen looks into the future of the dialogue between theology and art and how those in contemporary Christian contexts may undertake portraying Christ. She suggests that the Church may be open to new depictions of Christ that are daring and challenging. She suggests renewed theological commitment towards entertaining complex and shocking religious art. While these are valid hopes, they fall short. A more full vision for the future of art and theology might also be hinted at by Jensen herself. She writes of the Baptist and Greek Orthodox experience of humanity as an image of God, and despite one’s interpretation of that theological statement, it articulates emphatically taking seriously humanity’s first responsibility to one another. Art confronts. It confronts us with our deep relationality with the past, our own and diverse cultures, the artist, our perceived enemies. Even in art’s expression of the brokenness and despair of the human condition, one experiences the unique, sublime ability to be confronted within the dialectic of relation. Without having to ascribe to humanity as being an ‘image of God’, art nonetheless reveals our existence’s tragic grandeur-a grandeur that when experienced can only be responded to by love or art; whose distinctions if any, are few.

 

 

 

“[Words] belittle the yearnings of the heart…Words, solely from personal vocabulary, speak only to a portion of the mystery and revelation of God…Both God’s and the world’s imaginative revealing may be missed.”[14]

             



[1] John Dewey, Art as Experience (New York: Perigee Press. 1934), 326.

[2] Deborah Haynes, “The Place of Art” Arts, Theology, and the Church (Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press. 2005), 164.

[3] Karl Rahner, ‘Theology and the Arts’, Thought: Fordham University Quarterly 57 (1982)

[4] Graham Howes, The Art of the Sacred: An Introduction to the Asthetics of Art and Belief (New York: I.B. Tauris. 2007), 154.

[5] Mark C Taylor, Hiding (Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1997), 180.

[6] Michael Heim, The Metaphysics of Virtual Reality (New York: Oxford University Press. 1993), 124.

[7] Full daily worship services and humanitarian/social justice work remain accomplished to this day in the historic Norman cathedral. http://www.elycathedral.org

[8] Graham Howes, The Art of the Sacred: An Introduction to the Asthetics of Art and Belief (New York: I.B. Tauris. 2007), 57.

[9] Kim Abeles, Encyclopedia Persona A-Z (Los Angeles: Fellows of Contemporary Art. 1993), 86.

[10] John Dewey, Art as Experience (New York: Perigee Press. 1934), 346.

[11] Robin M. Jensen, The Substance of Things Seen: Art, Faith, and The Christian Church (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 2004), 87.

[12] John Dewey, Art as Experience (New York: Perigee Press. 1934), 332.

[13] Robin M. Jensen, The Substance of Things Seen: Art, Faith, and The Christian Church (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 2004), 33.

[14] Sidney Fowler, “Revealings” Arts, Theology, and the Church (Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press. 2005), 237.

I know this’ll sound crude but if I wasn’t at work I’d masturbate to these landscape collages by Hilary Pecis:

Columbia University’s Religion Department Chair Mark C Taylor has established himself over thirty years to be one of the most compelling thinkers in the area of art and theology. He has chaired research committees in the American Academy of Religion (AAR), written extensively on religion in the postmodern era, and become a philosopher who has aptly dealt with the intersections of art, theology, technology, and philosophy. The strength of his perspective lies in the avenues he opens to discuss art and theology to those who fall outside of mainstream theological traditions. Non-theists, Process Theologians, ‘Death of God’ proponents, and others like Taylor himself who without believing in God find connection to the sacred can find valuable and empowering insight into the art and theology conversation.

            Taylor places himself in the philosophical tradition stemming from Heidegger’s reframing the question of metaphysics which sought to reset the Western philosophical tradition with a new thread of thought challenging onto-theology. Taylor, as a student of the late Jacques Derrida, continues this deconstruction by bringing to light the hidden onto-theological bias in theoaesthetics and complicates what he sees as the uncritical granting of God’s Being, meaning and manifestation of the Absolute in aesthetics, and a correspondence between God and art. Though other Christians have questioned God’s Being such as Jean Luc Marion and Process Christians have created space for Becoming, Taylor examines possibilities beyond both being and becoming which leads to what he has called ‘the abyss’. In keeping with Derrida’s treatment of chora, which is seen as the virginal nothingness and nonexistence where everything finds place and is inscribed. Chora is a third option outside of the Eternal and the sensible and as Derrida writes, it does not exist but it is not nothing. By accepting Derrida’s Chora, Taylor is led to speak of the impossibility of meaning, the ‘trace of a trace’, ‘the sign as a sign’, and ‘Serpentine Wandering’. Like Heidegger and Nietzsche, Taylor remains outside of what could be called nihilistic and has conceded that his writings can and are read ‘spiritually’.

            In Disfiguring: Art, Architecture, Religion Taylor offers A/theoaesthetics as a way to approach art and theology for our contemporary period. It is a negotiation between theism and atheism and any dogmatism of thought. He pits Barthian transcendence against Altizerian extinction of God into radical immanence to find that the two are alike in their easy affirmations and conclusions. He finds that they are also placing the divine-Barth locates a Kingdom of God as afar and transcendent and Altizer places the Kingdom as present but Taylor wishes to unlocate the sacred. An aphorism that summarizes much of Taylor’s thought is neither/nor and writes “The unavoidable void, which neither is nor is not, must be rendered by a figuring that is a disfiguring…disfiguration uses figure against figure to figure what cannot be figured.”[1] This disfiguring creates form of critique to view modern and contemporary art. Abstract art and modern architecture he likens to Barth in its seeking of purity a la Mondrian. Like that Kingdom placed afar, abstract art and modern architecture is seen as an attempt to transcend history and sense. Pop art and postmodern architecture on the other hand like Altizer embeds itself in the doctrine of immanence in part characterized by Warholian omnipresent and homogeneous modern commercial product. Perhaps the strongest critique of abstract art from Taylor lies in what he calls its accompanying ‘Reaganesque hollowness’ and social conservativism that could be interpreted in strengthening psychological and cultural retreats to fundamentalism.

            Taylor represents just one critique and interpretation of abstract art and while it brings with it its own strengths, it can reveal an interior weakness in its seemingly awkward silence on other theologians’ appraisals. One can point to the contrasting points made by Harold Rosenberg and Hans Kung in regards to abstract movements. Rosenberg on the one hand cites that secularized persons are left unaided by psychologically inaccessible abstract works and modern art is unable to provide for their ‘inner nourishment’. On the other hand, there lies the critique of Catholic priest and theologian Hans Kung, who wrote that when the meaning of the divine has been shattered, meaninglessness can pervade all of the human experience. Nevertheless, Kung finds that the meaningless reflected through modern art can bear its own meaning in the interior imaginative life of an artist and the larger culture. This human existential leap is near that of what Taylor speaks at is hinted at in his quotation of Maurice Blanchot: “Art is not religion…But in the time of distress, which is ours, an age when the gods are missing…art is justified, for it is the intimacy of this distress: the effort to represent through images the fallacy of imagery and eventually the ungraspable, forgotten truth that lies behind this error.” The erring imagination that rises from modern iconoclasm draws Taylor towards Kung but without bringing other theologians into purview, his own stance can be felt as historically afloat and reflect the same abstracted sensibilities he seeks to criticize. As Gregory D. Alles writes, “Taylor’s account dismisses at the very beginning almost all other work in the study of art, architecture, and religion…The problem is that it allows Taylor to write in a virtual theological vacuum.”[2]

Alles brings other criticism to Taylor including his narrow and reductive examination of selected arts and artists. This, Alles points out, is a preferential examination of ‘high art’ hailing from Europe and America and neglects often other cultural voices. In this narrowing, he also conveniently avoids difficultly of artists that use explicitly religious art such as Chagall, Dali, and Warhol’s religious series. But Taylor is not only overly selective in which art he allows into his discussion. His predilection for Kierkegaard, Hegel, Nietzsche, Heidegger, Derrida is clear and Alles and other discerning readers may wonder what Taylor would make of an analysis that included Wittgenstein, Foucault, Tillich, and Kung.

            Taylor is useful in his ability to draw many types of art into discussion including currency, architecture, body art, fashion, and emergent web technology as art. In terms of fashion, he details how the industry has literally draped our flesh in the rent and rending symbols of globalized culture both shattered and clastic. We embody in our chosen disguises the sentiments of Yeat’s The Second Coming “things fall apart; the center cannot hold.” Taylor’s critique of fashion can shed light onto the post-colonial theology of our contemporary period. Just as justice grows and sheds its straightjacket of Empire, our religions’ theologies have burst the same seams that attempt to bind (religare) us.

            Taylor also offers to the Process theologies which are influencing contemporary religious thought. In his evaluation of web technologies as another example of art, he describes their parallel, non-hierarchical structure and existence in co-creative feedback loops. It is a fully empowering dialectic that subverts traditional subject/object dichotomies. While everything and everyone is enmeshed in the Web, there is infinite possibility within the finite structure. Endless shifting and ethereality of the web shapes and empowers to shape just as Whitehead explained our determining God as equally as God determined creation.

His A/theoaesthetic acts to address our cultural/theological/aesthetic situation as a form of critique but it also offers itself as a positive approach to equip for novel progressive thought and creation. He writes that it is an education that at once subverts traditional theoaesthetics but it remains an affirmation towards the project of finding inroads between art and theology. It does so by rejecting transcendent spirituality while not falling into the disrepair of nihilistic resignation. It is a discipline that is also an ethic of humbling relation to the non-limited Other. Hearkening back to Kierkegaard’s angst-ridden Christianity, he utilizes the Kierkegaardian ‘double movement’ to represent the negotiation of a religion that is once void of salvation but remains unresigned. Its is an ethic towards art and theology that “requires us to linger with the negative by forever resisting the repression that structures inevitably inflict. Since repression eternally returns, the struggle of resistance is endless.”[3]

            Thus A/theoaesthetics represents itself as a form of creative iconoclasm. At once it dons and celebrates the image as its only possibility and assails its irreference over a void and abyss. Just as Heidegger’s destruction was established in a constructed framework and served to strengthen life’s possibility and shore up against nullity, A/theoaesthetics is constructive and positive. It serves to consider again Anselm Keifer whose work in ash disappears in invisibility, consumed in and consuming in grey. Its enigma rises in phoenix like triumph as its vacuity pulls from us/invites us to excitation of spirit to fill that very vacuum. Taylor’s A/theoaesthetic as deconstruction is not “a destructive attack on valued traditions and institutions, [rather] deconstruction is a sympathetic diagnosis of pervasive symptoms of psychological insecurities and social uncertainty we are inclined to overlook or conceal.”[4]              

            Reading Taylor in conversation with other Christian thinkers including Kierkegaard can render benefits to both. Jean-Luc Marion in addressing love and non-being can be well coupled with Taylor’s appeal to Baudrillard’s simulacra and in their call to intentionality towards the other. In this spirit, Taylor quotes Eliot’s Little Gidding: “We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”[5] Our experience of and existence with art in an age where God’s Being is being trumped by Agape love calls for heightened authenticity that can establish a perpetually humble negotiation with alterity and a continual reflection on self that defies easy definition-in architect Bernard Tschumi’s words, “masks hide other masks”.

A/theoaesthetics can be likened to a new narration of the long road to Emmaus where the Stranger remains along with us and where the bread is never broken in epiphany, what does remain is Derrida’s ‘wounded word’. The Emmaus Road is an erring, Serpantine Wandering that while mournful, calls one to travel perpetually akin to Mircea Eliade’s eternal return. This returning is an inward and outgoing process that as Nietzsche stated will determine our character. Will we respond with a ‘yes’ to the Stranger accompanying us who offers only questions and no answer?

Mark C Taylor has yet to make his name known and his influence felt within the mainstream Christian consciousness. However, his body of work can serve a vital function in the rounding out of the discussion between art and theology. To the non-academic initiated, he also brings a renewing air to the considerations to the life of faith and considerate religious life. First, he speaks to a kenosis that all humanity is involved in. To engage in the humbling powerless of our art is to find a graceful existence that rests in the Emmaus Road. It also opens the dialogue to those of any faith or non-faith. To those who have been alienated by previous onto-theological traditions and former religious frames for theoaesthetics, he offers an open place where there is always room for more at the table. In what some could see a cross negating and deleting our power and possibility, he sees triumph and power. In our errant sojourning we still remain the codehackers, the sculptors, the dancers co-creating our world playfully suspended over the abyss.  

 

 

Bibliography

 

Alles, Gregory D. “A Book Review of Disfiguring: Art, Architecture, Religion “Journal   
          of the American Academy of Religion”, 64 number 1 Spring 1996

Eliot, T.S. “Little Gidding” in The Norton Anthology of English Literature, 4th Ed. (W.W.
          Norton and Co., 1979)

Mark C. Taylor, Mark C. Hiding (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997)

Taylor, Mark C. Disfiguring: Art, Architecture, Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago
          Press, 1992)



[1] Mark C. Taylor, Disfiguring: Art, Architecture, Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 277.

[2] Gregory D Alles, review of Disfiguring: Art, Architecture, Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992)

[3] Mark C. Taylor, Disfiguring: Art, Architecture, Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 318.

[4] Mark C. Taylor, Hiding (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997), 172.

[5] T.S.Eliot, “Little Gidding” in The Norton Anthology of English Literature, 4th Ed. (W.W. Norton and Co., 1979)

Here (replete with spoilers) are thoughts stirred by the best thriller movie of its kind in many years.

-The movie floats in over a Chicago/Gotham on a bright sunny day and ends in a similar floating sweep behind Batman who is careening into a bright light. What a perfect frame for the story. It plays out as though we are descending spirits looking into a very real and human morality play. Like Empire Strikes Back, its final bookending shot is filled with questioning. What are Luke and Leia thinking? What light is Batman figuratively riding into?

-Many have commented on the inspiration of Michael Mann’s ‘Heat’, but I also feel a heavy dose of ‘Seven’. A looming sense of dread as the pursuers are being more and more influenced by their prey. The ‘completion’ sought by Kevin Spacey is much like the Joker’s. His is a project that feeds off those who see themselves in the right, in the place of moral authority.

-Nolan’s filming has vastly improved since “Batman Begins” but his fight scenes are still murky and the choreographing and editing a bit choppy. To compare the club scene where Batman fights his way to Marone to that of the club scene in Collateral gives some idea of Nolan’s room to grow.

-Twice people are said to be ‘holding cards close to their chest’. The theme in the film of ‘who gets to know what’ and ‘what do I think others need/deserve to know’ is very interesting. Alfred, Gordon, Dawes, Wayne are all implicated in various ways of manipulating knowledge. They for their own reasons rationalize what they allow others to know. We can identify with this phenomenon from the government’s lies about the Iraq war to our telling our girlfriend ‘I was with my friends last night.’
This theme becomes strongest at the end when Gordon and Batman conceive of creating Dent as a poster boy or purity and Batman as the scapegoat sent into the wilderness. Are Gordon and Batman right about the people of Gotham needing clear cut villains and heros? I would say they are not. Just as the Joker underestimated the people aboard the ferries, so too do they wrongly believe that Gotham cannot handle the complexity of our human existence. The binary of good/evil, sinful/pure, us/them, is quickly fading from many minds as an outdated and unnecessary conceptual field. The multiplicity of our experiences, our shifting identity, and our increasingly interwoven cultures don’t really allow for binary thinking any longer.

-Harvey Dent as a slave to himself: his coin is not a coin. It is sameness. Just as a deck of cards all consisting in Jokers is not a deck, Dent structures his life by “making his own luck” but this really is a way of saying, “The outcome that I want is what I will get.” He is a God without an apple stuffed Adam. No disorder, no chaos, eschewing chance and randomness, he is the vacuum robot from Wall*E.
So the Joker enters into his equation and creates Difference. His coin now reflecting options and randomness, Dent is mistaken in believing that “chance” now must dictate his life. He has made the mistake of those few who meet the horrific pains of life and think: “Wow. This universe is a random-ass pile of cruel fate and chance. I must be free from consciously choosing my actions too!” Folks don’t stay here for long, and they are usually brought back to relationship and considerate/discerning behavior. Dent unfortunately doesn’t have the chance to see himself through this bleak tunnel and is killed too soon. This is maybe one of the script’s failings (look, I’ve got to find some fault somewhere in this stunning movie!). I think that it may have been interesting to see how Dent could synthesize chance, disorder, anarchy to some degree, and a mature negotiating of choosing ‘what outcomes do I want, and how can I get there?’

-There’s a cool repetition of folks talking about ‘trusting’ Dent in the beginning of the film. Who can we trust? Must we be assured that the person doesn’t make decisions that we see as unwise to trust them? Trust is an impossibility and a necessity. We can’t trust our family will always be there for us, or that our dog won’t run away with a Pet Circus. But to live lives without trust is devastating. What to say about his coin reading “In God We Trust”?

-Batman, as is everyone in the movie, is flawed. The scene in his hideout where he says “criminals aren’t that hard to figure out” says a lot. In the back ground there is an image of the Joker’s face with a mapping program trying to identify him by facial characteristics. I feel that the statement is that Batman is falling prey to the simple pop psychology that assumes that people’s actions and motivations can be parsed. No, we are always much more complex than Batman could even figure out. Isn’t it scary when people believe they “know” you?
Batman also is called out on his other failing by the Joker when in the jail cell Joker says, “Nothing to do with all your strength!” Batman, like anyone who prides themselves on their physical strength, will be sooner or later humiliated by the cunning and complexity of a world that does not respond to fists. This is a lesson that America still has yet to learn. Despite the RAND report which came out last week citing that ‘political means’ make up the vast majority of conflict resolutions involving terrorist organizations, and despite what the wisdom of our world’s religions, and despite what our kindergarten teachers tell us (don’t hit!), The Red White and Blue is still determined to stockpile nuclear weapons and have a military force the size of Paris Hilton’s feet.

-Maybe the Joker isn’t all that bad. He does have at least the sense to know ‘everything burns’. What I like about this incarnation is that he is not crazy. He is driven. He is not cackling with madness, he laughs in the face of our societal constructions. Its a great idea he raises: Why do we largely accept the “dead gangbanger” and the “dead soldiers”? How is it possible that just down the road there are kidnappings, murders, and worse? And that ‘worse’ I might add is the persistant marginalization and oppression of those whose color, class, education, and sex ‘just don’t measure up’.
The Joker I think has been wrongly pained at times for this picture as a ‘terrorist’. He is not, just as the snake in the garden was not the devil. The snake was a snake. And the Joker is not a terrorist. He, again to liken him to Kevin Spacey’s “John Doe” in Seven, is a man of strong belief who undertakes a project not of political impetus, but to teach others that their world is not what it seems.

To hear another view, check out Hal Conklin and Denny Wayman of www.cinemainfocus,

Ryan McGivern

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