Meeting God at the Art Museum (Part 1)
On Friday I had the privilege of joining the 5th graders on their field trip to the Art Museum. I say 'privilege' though taking my day to go be with a bunch of kids wandering around nice pictures isn't generally my cup of tea. I relish time away from people, and don't gravitate towards large groups of people. That said, I do want my kids to know that I took time to be with them on days when I could, and that I entered their experiences, even if I find it a bit exhausting. This is the introvert me talking. There were so many things I picked up on by wandering around art, and some were quite profound. I didn't expect to encounter so many life-truths on a grade-school field trip.
We started in the impressionist department, and observed the art. I am not one who has a deep appreciation for visual art. I think, 'Hmm, nice painting.' And then move on. As a side note, it is such a joy to watch the kids gaze on these historic, classic works and discuss them in detail. One fifth grader stood before her class and talked about shading, contrast, light, darkness, brush strokes, perspective and the like. The teacher asked engaging questions like, 'Why do you think Cezanne put the curtain in this painting but didn't in the other one?' I appreciated how the kids had ample time to observe, appreciate, gaze on and enjoy art, even if I didn't grow up with such instruction (though my Dad did make us memorize pictures and the artist and title so we would know who painted what when we wandered through the art galleries in Europe). The field trip was unhurried, unrushed, and gave the kids exposure to classic works - enabling them to find links to the past and wonder about history, artists, art movements and values.
I think I learned something watching the kids - watching the pace. It's as if they have been taught to engage and appreciate, to slow down and allow the art to speak back to them. They were encouraged to be curious and ask questions - even if the answer was unknown. Who knows why Cezanne put a curtain in there? I don't; maybe no one does. But if someone does, perhaps that's a question worth digging into and you never know what you'll find along the way in a quest to satisfy curiosity (said me who follows in the tracks of Winnie-the-Pooh, that wise sage of old).
I knew we were coming to the Monet section, and I didn't have high expectations. First, I've always wondered what was up with impressionist painters, and how Monet was one of the pioneering artists in this field. Like, I know he was losing his eyesight, and his pictures got more blurry as time passed. Maybe he wasn't an impressionist at all and just had bad eyesight and painted what he saw - maybe we are looking at the world through the lens of visual impairment, when we look at his works. And then others got on the bandwagon and started painting things like that on purpose. I'm so sorry to all you art-appreciators out there, for my slap-dash approach and uncouth manner in writing about this. I know art deserves way more respect than I give it. So these are just observations of someone 'coming in off the street' so to speak - someone who just doesn't get it when it comes to art.
My reservations about Monet were also because I've seen so many of his paintings in prints and his works have seemed to overwhelm the market of where art appears. I think I got used to seeing Water Lilies in every medical establishment or office, on a wall, in a tacky frame, perhaps a bit tired and old-looking. The colours usually have faded moving from what once may have been vibrant greens and blues to more of a dullish grey colour. My exposure to Monet has been like exposure to watered down kool-aid and calling it grape juice. I think I was expecting to find unremarkable paintings and walk through and go, 'Yup, those are Monet's works. Nice painting.'
Then, I began to understand why we want to see the Original.
There is no comparison.
I walked into the Monet gallery and I recognized the paintings, but the colours were rich, vivid, bright and happy. The beauty caught my attention. Seeing was believing. I started to realize I had got it all wrong when it came to Monet. His works express anything but milquetoast mediocrity. I had allowed the overexposure to copies of his art to dull my senses to the grandeur that he painted. The problem was not in the art itself, it was in the eye of the beholder. The real thing is worth the time it takes to get there and set eyes on it. There was a lesson in that for me.
I began to wonder how much of life is like that - how often we only see what we expect to see, and we think we understand something when we really don't. I thought I knew what Monet's works looked like. I could have described and told you about them. But seeing them firsthand, I got a taste of beauty I would otherwise have missed.
Oh God, forgive my shortsightedness.
There were many impressions I had about Monet after gazing at his paintings. He painted haystacks - the same haystacks it seems, many times over - some in morning light, some in evening light, in differing seasons, from different angles and perspectives. I know art was his thing, and he must've taken hours to do each one of these - and we get to see what he saw, what he noticed of a simple and basic landscape. On some level, it is so ordinary, on another, so extra-ordinary. Monet teaches me something; it is soul-instructive. There are many ways to look at something - time, season, light and decaying eyesight lend different perspectives. Monet sat there painting these things and took his time to see the ordinary and to put his visions on canvas for the world to see. He reflected back to us what he appreciated. In a certain way, he honoured his own gifts and the gifts of God by giving his time and attention to seeing - even with his limited vision.
I had begun a conversation on the bus with another mom and we talked about, 'What's a good use of a life?' Between us, we had general broad answers, but we still felt the niggling dissatisfaction of answering this question.
I came away from Monet with a hint: a good use of a life is to open our eyes and begin to see things. To take our gifts and share them with the world. To reflect our experiences, impressions, thoughts and emotions and vulnerably expose these for the purpose of engagement and community - to bring all humankind just a little bit closer. In all this, of course the theologian in me says, 'To glorify God.' I feel a bit betrayed by my own theological outlook. If everything comes down to a theological answer, sometimes we lose sight of the present moment, of seeing God and hearing Him speak in the day-to-day. If we had answered our question thoroughly on the way to the museum, with my robust, theologically sound concise 'To glorify God and enjoy Him forever' I may have missed the beauty God had for me in the works of Monet.
Perhaps God meets us at the Art museum.
Click here for Part 2 where I tell about Toulouse-Lautrec's art
We started in the impressionist department, and observed the art. I am not one who has a deep appreciation for visual art. I think, 'Hmm, nice painting.' And then move on. As a side note, it is such a joy to watch the kids gaze on these historic, classic works and discuss them in detail. One fifth grader stood before her class and talked about shading, contrast, light, darkness, brush strokes, perspective and the like. The teacher asked engaging questions like, 'Why do you think Cezanne put the curtain in this painting but didn't in the other one?' I appreciated how the kids had ample time to observe, appreciate, gaze on and enjoy art, even if I didn't grow up with such instruction (though my Dad did make us memorize pictures and the artist and title so we would know who painted what when we wandered through the art galleries in Europe). The field trip was unhurried, unrushed, and gave the kids exposure to classic works - enabling them to find links to the past and wonder about history, artists, art movements and values.
I think I learned something watching the kids - watching the pace. It's as if they have been taught to engage and appreciate, to slow down and allow the art to speak back to them. They were encouraged to be curious and ask questions - even if the answer was unknown. Who knows why Cezanne put a curtain in there? I don't; maybe no one does. But if someone does, perhaps that's a question worth digging into and you never know what you'll find along the way in a quest to satisfy curiosity (said me who follows in the tracks of Winnie-the-Pooh, that wise sage of old).
I knew we were coming to the Monet section, and I didn't have high expectations. First, I've always wondered what was up with impressionist painters, and how Monet was one of the pioneering artists in this field. Like, I know he was losing his eyesight, and his pictures got more blurry as time passed. Maybe he wasn't an impressionist at all and just had bad eyesight and painted what he saw - maybe we are looking at the world through the lens of visual impairment, when we look at his works. And then others got on the bandwagon and started painting things like that on purpose. I'm so sorry to all you art-appreciators out there, for my slap-dash approach and uncouth manner in writing about this. I know art deserves way more respect than I give it. So these are just observations of someone 'coming in off the street' so to speak - someone who just doesn't get it when it comes to art.
My reservations about Monet were also because I've seen so many of his paintings in prints and his works have seemed to overwhelm the market of where art appears. I think I got used to seeing Water Lilies in every medical establishment or office, on a wall, in a tacky frame, perhaps a bit tired and old-looking. The colours usually have faded moving from what once may have been vibrant greens and blues to more of a dullish grey colour. My exposure to Monet has been like exposure to watered down kool-aid and calling it grape juice. I think I was expecting to find unremarkable paintings and walk through and go, 'Yup, those are Monet's works. Nice painting.'
Then, I began to understand why we want to see the Original.
There is no comparison.
I walked into the Monet gallery and I recognized the paintings, but the colours were rich, vivid, bright and happy. The beauty caught my attention. Seeing was believing. I started to realize I had got it all wrong when it came to Monet. His works express anything but milquetoast mediocrity. I had allowed the overexposure to copies of his art to dull my senses to the grandeur that he painted. The problem was not in the art itself, it was in the eye of the beholder. The real thing is worth the time it takes to get there and set eyes on it. There was a lesson in that for me.
I began to wonder how much of life is like that - how often we only see what we expect to see, and we think we understand something when we really don't. I thought I knew what Monet's works looked like. I could have described and told you about them. But seeing them firsthand, I got a taste of beauty I would otherwise have missed.
Oh God, forgive my shortsightedness.
There were many impressions I had about Monet after gazing at his paintings. He painted haystacks - the same haystacks it seems, many times over - some in morning light, some in evening light, in differing seasons, from different angles and perspectives. I know art was his thing, and he must've taken hours to do each one of these - and we get to see what he saw, what he noticed of a simple and basic landscape. On some level, it is so ordinary, on another, so extra-ordinary. Monet teaches me something; it is soul-instructive. There are many ways to look at something - time, season, light and decaying eyesight lend different perspectives. Monet sat there painting these things and took his time to see the ordinary and to put his visions on canvas for the world to see. He reflected back to us what he appreciated. In a certain way, he honoured his own gifts and the gifts of God by giving his time and attention to seeing - even with his limited vision.
I had begun a conversation on the bus with another mom and we talked about, 'What's a good use of a life?' Between us, we had general broad answers, but we still felt the niggling dissatisfaction of answering this question.
I came away from Monet with a hint: a good use of a life is to open our eyes and begin to see things. To take our gifts and share them with the world. To reflect our experiences, impressions, thoughts and emotions and vulnerably expose these for the purpose of engagement and community - to bring all humankind just a little bit closer. In all this, of course the theologian in me says, 'To glorify God.' I feel a bit betrayed by my own theological outlook. If everything comes down to a theological answer, sometimes we lose sight of the present moment, of seeing God and hearing Him speak in the day-to-day. If we had answered our question thoroughly on the way to the museum, with my robust, theologically sound concise 'To glorify God and enjoy Him forever' I may have missed the beauty God had for me in the works of Monet.
Perhaps God meets us at the Art museum.
Click here for Part 2 where I tell about Toulouse-Lautrec's art
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