Alissa Rubin, author of “Horror is a Constant, as Artists Depict War” writes about the focus of the ‘hero’ in early art that depicts scenes of war and battle. This glorification of the hero in war spans cultures and time and is evident in other art forms. For example, the bards of Anglo-Saxon culture are specifically known for crafting epic ballads that served to ‘document’ important cultural events and the heritage of the people. However, these stories could change according to the whim of the bard, the artist. Similar to the governments and rulers who commissioned artists to use their talents and mastery of the elements and principles of art to make work that glorified the war, the Kings also called upon the bard, the scop, the shaper to twist the tales of true tragedy and turn them into stories of success and bravery to encourage heroism within their society. The intentional use of line, repetition, space, light, shape, sound, and silence can all contribute to the power and effectiveness of an image or a song or any other work of art. For years, artists have been called upon to create work that moves the masses, shocks and stuns, evokes memories, and carries messages. In this way, the artist has always wielded tremendous power, presenting idealized characters and situations not to preserve the figures of the past to but influence the people of the present.
On the other hand, there are artists who attempt to recapture the truth of traumatic moments in our history. Of course ‘truth’ is abstract, illusive, and unattainable, and the work of these artists was tinted by own their trauma. The loss that defined the lives of artists such as Kathe Kollwitz and George Clausen, the daily hardship endured and observed is reflected in their expressive mark-making, their poignant, poetic imagery, and the refined rawness of their work. Their art hides nothing, shedding light on the self-destructive nature of humanity and people's capacity for cruelty. But the work emphasizes life as much as it does death. It shows the response of the living to loss of loved ones and life of constant terror. The artists confront and explore the human emotions of fear, grief, anger, depression, and anxiety. In my opinion, this is a courageous act in an of itself.
“Today’s artists are not alone,” says Rubin. “Their predecessors have given them a way to see, and to transform, even the most nihilistic of history’s moments into something with meaning.” With this in mind, I would like to highlight a specific scene in the Grendel where the beauty of the Queen moves the men in the meadhall like the stories of the Shaper. Unlike the gilded songs of the shaper that shade the harsh and bloody truth from view, the Queen’s beauty is honest, authentic, and truly tragic. Earlier in the story she sacrifices herself for the sake of protecting her people and willingly leaves her home to become the bride of the threatening King. Her “present beauty [makes] time’s flow seem illusory…,” writes John Gardner. Moreover, the beauty of the queen makes Grendel realize that “Meaning is quality [of life].”
I am quite aware that I am comparing the power of a woman’s beauty to that of art depicting the terror of war, but both I believe, incite existential awareness, evoke emotions, and induce societal mindfulness. Just like the charcoals, prints, and sculptures of of Kathe Kollwitz and the disturbingly poetic paintings of Goya, the woman is both beautiful and tragic.
I include this scene because I believe it demonstrates that the most powerful art (and story) are inherent paradoxes. The work itself is beautiful and often aesthetically or auditorily pleasing, but the subject matter is dark and painful. How can grief, death, destruction, or depictions of evil be beautiful? Perhaps 'beauty' is the
Where there are people of differing values and beliefs, there will be war. But war is war. And the characters of war, no matter the culture or the time period, are consistent. Art that depicts the pain and suffering of war is so powerful and compelling because it is, in as sense, timeless. Sure it may make a political statement, but it also makes an existential statement about what it means to be human.
Gardner goes on to say that the arguing and fighting men of the meadhall “were softened, reminded of their humanness, exactly as they might have been softened by the cry of a child in danger, or an old man’s suffering.” These are the heartbreaking, gut wrenching images of pain and suffering that appear as subjects of wartime art through the ages.
In deliberating the distinguishing characteristics of art and journalism, Ms. Dorelac claims that art is defined by its ability to captivate, entrance, and transport the viewer. “The artist helps us to understand the world,” she says suggesting that journalism only provides us with information, but art is crafted as a means of catharsis, a medium for human connection and compassion. Paul Moorhouse, curator of a show at London's’ National Portrait Gallery titled “The Great War in Portraits,” also states that art “helps the viewer move past the facts and figures” and provides a means to “reconnect with that human experience” long after the subjects -- the soldiers -- cease to suffer and their stories start to fade. He claims that the collection of portraits of military leaders and soldiers not only showcases the physical reality of the wartime figures but gives us insight into their mental and emotional life.
Ultimately, some art can serve manipulative purposes but other art -- especially that create in times of outcry -- serve as a medium for human connection. As long as the work exists, people have a means of understanding and empathizing with the people of different times and cultures.
On the other hand, there are artists who attempt to recapture the truth of traumatic moments in our history. Of course ‘truth’ is abstract, illusive, and unattainable, and the work of these artists was tinted by own their trauma. The loss that defined the lives of artists such as Kathe Kollwitz and George Clausen, the daily hardship endured and observed is reflected in their expressive mark-making, their poignant, poetic imagery, and the refined rawness of their work. Their art hides nothing, shedding light on the self-destructive nature of humanity and people's capacity for cruelty. But the work emphasizes life as much as it does death. It shows the response of the living to loss of loved ones and life of constant terror. The artists confront and explore the human emotions of fear, grief, anger, depression, and anxiety. In my opinion, this is a courageous act in an of itself.
“Today’s artists are not alone,” says Rubin. “Their predecessors have given them a way to see, and to transform, even the most nihilistic of history’s moments into something with meaning.” With this in mind, I would like to highlight a specific scene in the Grendel where the beauty of the Queen moves the men in the meadhall like the stories of the Shaper. Unlike the gilded songs of the shaper that shade the harsh and bloody truth from view, the Queen’s beauty is honest, authentic, and truly tragic. Earlier in the story she sacrifices herself for the sake of protecting her people and willingly leaves her home to become the bride of the threatening King. Her “present beauty [makes] time’s flow seem illusory…,” writes John Gardner. Moreover, the beauty of the queen makes Grendel realize that “Meaning is quality [of life].”
I am quite aware that I am comparing the power of a woman’s beauty to that of art depicting the terror of war, but both I believe, incite existential awareness, evoke emotions, and induce societal mindfulness. Just like the charcoals, prints, and sculptures of of Kathe Kollwitz and the disturbingly poetic paintings of Goya, the woman is both beautiful and tragic.
I include this scene because I believe it demonstrates that the most powerful art (and story) are inherent paradoxes. The work itself is beautiful and often aesthetically or auditorily pleasing, but the subject matter is dark and painful. How can grief, death, destruction, or depictions of evil be beautiful? Perhaps 'beauty' is the
Where there are people of differing values and beliefs, there will be war. But war is war. And the characters of war, no matter the culture or the time period, are consistent. Art that depicts the pain and suffering of war is so powerful and compelling because it is, in as sense, timeless. Sure it may make a political statement, but it also makes an existential statement about what it means to be human.
Gardner goes on to say that the arguing and fighting men of the meadhall “were softened, reminded of their humanness, exactly as they might have been softened by the cry of a child in danger, or an old man’s suffering.” These are the heartbreaking, gut wrenching images of pain and suffering that appear as subjects of wartime art through the ages.
In deliberating the distinguishing characteristics of art and journalism, Ms. Dorelac claims that art is defined by its ability to captivate, entrance, and transport the viewer. “The artist helps us to understand the world,” she says suggesting that journalism only provides us with information, but art is crafted as a means of catharsis, a medium for human connection and compassion. Paul Moorhouse, curator of a show at London's’ National Portrait Gallery titled “The Great War in Portraits,” also states that art “helps the viewer move past the facts and figures” and provides a means to “reconnect with that human experience” long after the subjects -- the soldiers -- cease to suffer and their stories start to fade. He claims that the collection of portraits of military leaders and soldiers not only showcases the physical reality of the wartime figures but gives us insight into their mental and emotional life.
Ultimately, some art can serve manipulative purposes but other art -- especially that create in times of outcry -- serve as a medium for human connection. As long as the work exists, people have a means of understanding and empathizing with the people of different times and cultures.
