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.
Sam Van Aken's Tree of 40 Fruit is unbelievable! I first learned about this amazing art venture over the summer. Sam Van Aken, is not a geneticist but an artist. He works as an associate professor in Syracuse University's art department. He envisioned a tree that bloomed with petals of multiple colors and bore a variety of fruit, and he sought to make his dream a reality. Van Aken uses the old-fashioned process of grafting in the creation of his unique trees. He takes small budding branches from stock trees in his nursery and inserts them into a hole in another tree, allowing them to grow into one plant system. Tending these trees is a tedious process of pruning and grafting. When Van Aken first started this project, he face difficulty in finding a variety of stone fruit in New York. "I realized the extent to which we've created these monocultures," he commented about the lack of variety in American grocery stores. Grocers claim that the minimal amount of choices in fruit in stores is largely a result of provincial preferences and tastes among the American population. We don't realize how much we are missing out on. Van Aken ultimately came across the New York State Agricultural Experimentation Station, where his eyes (and tastes buds) were opened up to all the variety of stone fruit. He ended up purchasing the station, and starting his own nursery for his ambitious project. Van Aken draws careful color-coded diagrams of his trees that take into account the various growth patterns of each grafted tree. He designs and crafts his trees as he would any other work of art, and he sees them as living sculptures. Over the past couple of years I have studied wide spectrum of earth art, but this cooperation between man and the natural world is perhaps the most impressive piece I have come across. Van Aken inspires me to think outside the canvas and the classroom, to envision and create work that responds to social/environmental stimuli.
In addition to the light/shadow play of his sculptures, I found the Drawing Machine quite compelling. I think his attempt to address ideas of 'cause and effect' by having the machine's drawings stem from the movement of people within the gallery, is an interesting way to encourage viewer engagement. Unfortunately, the machine was not working on the day we visited the Visual Arts Center, but it was still inspiring to see witness the intention behind the art in the projected display and the mounted drawing.
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