Review — Art and Faith: a theology of making

Fujimura, M. and Wright, N. T. (2020) Art and faith: a theology of making. New Haven: Yale University Press.

I enjoyed Makoto Fujimura's meditation on the theology of making and I hope that it will find an audience beyond those who have an interest in "the arts." While many of his stories draw on artistic practice, particularly traditional Japanese schools of ceramics and painting, there is much here that would be encouraging to a wider range of makers and lowercase "c" creators. I found one of Fujimura's distinctions very helpful: the difference between "plumbing theology" that focuses on trying to fix what is wrong in an effort to return to Eden, and a theology of "New Creation" that is oriented in hope toward the future. And the New Creation is not a repudiation or destruction of creation but its completion, as all that is good not only remains but is raised and perfected.

After reading a number of theologians on the arts, it was refreshing to read an artist on theology. Each has their unique challenge, of course: the theologians tend to write as consumers rather than practitioners, and this artist draws on a fairly small theological pool. The work of N.T. Wright gets a lot of play, but after that a lot of the citations go either to T.S. Eliot or C.S. Lewis. Fujimura makes no claim to be writing a survey of Christian thinking on art, but it seems a shame not to allude to the deep riches that exist in the Catholic and Reformed traditions.

But that may also be a strength of the book: it presents a focused, accessible and meaningful case for the importance of making for all people, not just for artists, not just for Christian artists, or even Christians for that matter. It is natural that all those created by a loving Creator should participate in creation by being little creators.

And if the book could have been longer and provided more scope on the sweep of theological thought on art, I think it could also have been shorter: some themes, such as the tears of Christ, were returned to more often than was necessary to recognize the place of suffering in this life and to avoid any triumphalist impulse. It could also have been better fact-checked: for example, "kalos" is not a Hebrew word; the medieval origins of the word "gospel" do not contain the sense of a good "spell"; and no sources are offered for the existence of "tear jars" in antiquity (are there any?). The author is not an academic theologian but he does have access to enough people who are.

I'm glad, though, that a trained, practising and thoughtful artist has taken the time to reflect deeply and faithfully about art, faith and life. I hope that others will follow and that we will all be able to benefit.

Now, let us all go forth and make. ;-)

Review — The Age of Light

Scharer, W. (2019) The age of light. (First Back Bay paperback edition) New York: Back Bay Books/Little, Brown and Company.


I don’t normally publish book reviews, but I might start with this one because of its potential interest to photographers.

I wasn't entirely sure what rating to give The Age of Light because I'm not certain what the book is meant to be. It's offered as a fictionalized biography of someone who lived in the recent past, a risky enough proposition because there are still plenty of people alive who knew Lee Miller. The author concentrates on Miller's romantic and work relationship with Man Ray, which is interesting in itself but already fairly well documented. So more a romance novel than a biography, but I pressed on because I was familiar with both Miller's and Ray's work and looked forward to learning something about their collaboration and world.

The focus on Miller's time in Paris is interspersed with distracting vignettes of her work as a war correspondent across Europe after D-Day. If these brief chapters are meant to show the arc of Miller's development as a photographer, they don't. Rather than explore her many years as an artist with her own studios in Paris and New York, the WWII material seems to be offered up as an explanation for some of Miller's renown and perhaps as a background to her later depression and alcoholism.

Much of the book appears to be an exploration of the photographer's struggle to become independent of men who have used and abused her and to be taken seriously as an artist in her own right. But art is precisely what is missing from this account. There are long descriptions of Paris, night clubs, food, drinking, bohemian parties, sex and arguments, where the author shows that she he has done her research. But there is not much talk about art. We know Miller's new circle is filled with artists and performers because they are all trotted out singly and in groups: Ray, Cocteau, Baker, Éluard, Picasso, Cocteau, Cahun, Bing... everyone gets at least a cameo. What are they creating? What are they trying to say? What drives them? What do they think about art? life? the world? We don't really know.

So how is the reader to understand Miller's desire to be taken seriously as an artist when the author pays scant attention to art or artists? It left a hole in the middle of the book that the period scenes, sex and emotional wrangling didn't fill for me.

Àbadakone | Continuous Fire | Feu continuel

Àbadakone (Algonquin for “continuous fire”) is the second exhibition “in the National Gallery of Canada’s series of presentations of contemporary international Indigenous art, features works by more than 70 artists identifying with almost 40 Indigenous Nations, ethnicities and tribal affiliations from 16 countries, including Canada.”

According to the National Gallery, “the title Àbadakone was provided by the Elders Language Committee of Kitigan Zibi Anishinabeg. They felt that its connotation of a fire within each artist that continues to burn would be an appropriate title for the second presentation of this ongoing series of exhibitions showcasing Indigenous art from around the world.”

Indigenous art and culture is drawing a lot of attention in Canada and other countries dealing with the history and ongoing impacts of colonization of the “New World” by European powers.

I found the exhibit exciting as it opens up a broad range of discussions that are important not only for Indigenous people, but for anyone who has an interest in place, identity, the construction and evolution of culture, and the importance of narrative for creating and bearing meaning. The introduction at the entry to the exhibit indicates that the broad theme behind its curation is one of “Relatedness, Continuity and Activation.” In brief, this refers to the interconnection of all things, the links across time and generations, and “how an artist animates a space, an object, or an idea through performance, video or viewer engagement.”

(All images taken on my cellphone.)

For me, there were several threads that ran through the exhibit, particularly the challenges of:

  • colonization;

  • industrialization;

  • globalization;

  • environmental degradation;

  • technology;

  • migration; and

  • tradition.

Without taking anything away from the specific issues and questions facing the Indigenous artists who created these works, it seems to me that many of the challenges are also faced by non-Indigenous people. As a result of the challenges I’ve listed above, very few of us can simply take for granted the place where we stand, the identities we have inherited, the histories that have shaped us or the futures that lie before us. In a time of profound uncertainties, it will be important to draw selectively on our knowledge of the past, on our best understanding of our times and on the most promising paths forward. It is fascinating to see that while Postmodernism rejected meta-narratives, we continue to need overarching stories to interpret the past, create meaning in the present and have hope for the future.

Two shows at the Tate Modern

This was my first chance to visit to the Tate Modern and I think I would have gone no matter what was on display. I was anxious to see what had been done with the converted power generating station and to walk through one of the world’s most famous galleries. I arrived a little late in the day, however, and only had time to take in two of the shows: Picasso 1932: Love, Fame and Tragedy and Shape of Light: 100 Years of Photography and Abstract Art.

The Picasso exhibition was dedicated to a single year within the artist’s life that was a time of transition for him in terms of his personal life (end of a marriage, infatuation with a new and younger woman) and his art (questions about his ability to produce fresh and exciting work, now that he had reached middle age).

The biographical context for the show was interesting and helpful although I found that I have not (yet?) become a Picasso fan. I am well aware of the artist’s influence on the direction of 20th century art but sometimes the abstract paintings of women start to look the same to me.

I was very surprised to find, then, how often I appreciated the initial sketches of his work rather than the finished pieces. Without garish colour and with less distinct lines, the drawings had a lightness and playfulness that I found appealing. If anything, they might encourage me to go back to the paintings with fresh eyes.

Pablo Picasso — Femme nue, feuilles et buste, 1932

Pablo Picasso — Femme nue, feuilles et buste, 1932

Pablo Picasso — Jeune fille devant un miroir, 1932

Pablo Picasso — Jeune fille devant un miroir, 1932

Pablo Picasso — Femme à la fleur, écrivant, 1932

Pablo Picasso — Femme à la fleur, écrivant, 1932

Pablo Picasso — Femme nue couchée, 1932

Pablo Picasso — Femme nue couchée, 1932

From the Tate Modern catalogue:

Shape of Light is the first major exhibition to explore the relationship between the two, spanning the century from the 1910s to the present day. It brings to life the innovation and originality of photographers over this period, and shows how they responded and contributed to the development of abstraction.

Key photographs are brought together from pioneers including Man Ray and Alfred Stieglitz, major contemporary artists such as Barbara Kasten and Thomas Ruff, right up to exciting new work by Antony Cairns, Maya Rochat and Daisuke Yokota, made especially for the exhibition.

This was a wide-ranging exhibition, in terms of the period covered, the techniques employed and the artists represented. Although many of the pieces were considered daring or avant-garde in their day, quite a few now seem old-fashioned. I think this may have to do with the fact that the works are dependent on the particular characteristics of technologies that are now outmoded. They may have a momentary revival or nostalgic value, but their time has passed. By contrast, the Picasso paintings on show at the Tate—although older than a lot of the pieces in the Shape of Light show—continue to have a life about them, perhaps because the processes and materials involved in painting canvas have not become as tied to a particular era and then left behind.

Unfortunately, and perhaps ironically, no photography was allowed in this exhibit.

Start creating, like a thief

A quick plug for Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative by Austin Kleon.

I bought this book on someone's recommendation, without giving it much thought. It was so small and cartoonish when it arrived, however, that I assumed I had made a mistake. As it turned out, I enjoyed it. I found it simple but not simplistic. If your goal is to create, the brief lessons in the book could help you to jump-start your creative juices and get moving on actually making something. Or you could find a longer book that you will never finish and be happy to have an excuse not to make a start.

51H1Sfu+oPL._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg

The Louvre: from Mona to Marianne

What could I say about the Musée du Louvre that hasn't been said often and better by others? The scale of the collection is staggering and it is impossible to take everything in in a single visit. I soon found myself trying to move through rooms too quickly, aware of how much more there was to see. After a short while I realized that I was doing the gallery a disservice by rushing and decided to slow down again. Better to see fewer things well than to consume the art of the centuries like fast food. For the remainder of the four hours of my visit I wandered at a comfortable pace.

And I found that not all the sights were on the gallery walls: I also found it fascinating to keep an eye on my fellow visitors who were there in their thousands. You can learn a lot about human nature from the way people act in crowds—some of it touching, some of it puzzling, some of it comical.

I would have to place people's behaviour around the Mona Lisa in the 'puzzling' category. By the time I had followed the signs to the gallery where da Vinci's famous piece hangs behind protective glass, it was obvious that I was going to visit a celebrity. Few works in the museum have their own signposts so that you can find them from several galleries away. I could have waited my turn in the long line to see the painting from a couple of metres away, but it seemed to me that the crowd itself had become the story. I could not believe how many people, having queued up to see the painting, immediately turned their backs on it so that they could take a selfie.

I understand that people want to document their experiences, but many of them spent no time at all contemplating one of the world’s most famous pieces of art. They were oblivious to the object in front of them, which seemed to have little or no significance of its own. Instead the work was there to validate their importance or experience. It didn't point to anything grander, more beautiful, nobler, more challenging or universal than… me.

So, a short series of images of guys and galleries at the museum, starting with Mona and ending with Marianne ... and a tired fellow visitor.