Trip to the Art Museum

By Christa Hill

Together, the man and woman ascend the granite steps to the art museum. It’s early in their dating relationship, and though they are new to one another, they share old ideas. They also know they are in for something quite interesting, to put it mildly. The exhibit focuses on American art produced during and following the year 2000.

Together, they walk through galleries filled with paintings and sculptures; machines and contraptions; and videos projected on walls, ceilings, and floors. They are both fascinated and horrified, though not radically so. They knew what to expect. They maintain their composure, but each can sense what the other is thinking. Quick glances say as much as many words would.

“Art? Really?”

“I should change careers,” she quips in a low voice. “I could do this. I could make money at this.”

He wisely reminds her that such an endeavor would be soul-damaging, that her principles ultimately would not allow her to maintain such a farce.

Sometimes, to their surprise, they encounter truly thought-provoking pieces. One in particular captures the woman’s attention. In a series of looping videos, a mother films her small child as he wanders in a field. As he gets further away, to the point of almost vanishing, viewers suddenly witness the mother running after him. The display of maternal instinct and care speaks to the woman. Perhaps truth is there. Still, the man and woman wonder if this is art. Does it take skill? Does it both delight and instruct, as all good art should? Or is it just a visual think piece?

Not all of the exhibitions are so restrained. Some, frankly, are outright disgusting, divulging the artists’ desire to shock and provoke their audience. Often, intentionally or not, the artists mock what they purportedly revere. One exhibit in particular is meant to celebrate womanhood, but its use of violent reds, torn fabric, and, shockingly, bodily fluids belie this intent. The woman feels nausea creeping upon her as she looks at the assault; the gloominess stays with her.

Throughout each room of the exhibit, with each new piece and in each description, beauty is absent. Chaos and confusion rule. Colors and shapes are mixed incoherently; balance and proportion are abolished.

In the midst of this confusion, the howl of dogma is clear. The man recognizes that each piece “invites” the viewer to ponder some message, typically of a neo-socialist sort.

“Can’t you see how terrible capitalism is?” one demands.

“Who are you to question my self-constructed identity?” another snaps.

The description placards add to the chorus and are somehow worse than the pieces they explain. The viewers can hear the sanctimonious questioning, the sneering invitation to cast off the shackles of traditional thinking regarding humanity and society.

Art has never needed so much explanation for the audience to “get it.” It teaches, but it fails to delight, and, in actuality, it is a poor instructor, requiring the preaching of the placards to get the point across.

Absolute egalitarianism is the incontestable lesson of the sermon. The pieces insist the viewer be totally aware of his privileged status, feel guilty for it, and be converted to hate the society in which he lives because of it.

The man recognizes that, in many ways, these artists have become the Victorians of the day, believing that anyone or any concept in disagreement with their assumptions is inherently immoral. They blush at what is truly good and beautiful and replace it with the shocking and ugly for the sake of their own moral superiority.

Perhaps, though, some of these artists aren’t so concerned with “message.” In some instances, pure self-expression is the sole motivation for art. These libertines care even less about what their audiences think or value. Being true to their own primal instincts and desires is all that matters.
The man and woman know that each work displays the artist’s worldview, with or without a clear or discernable statement. Often, the form renders their content indecipherable and obscures their intent. No wonder the didactic description placards are necessary.

Ultimately, these artists reflect what they have come to believe about the nature of reality:

There is no truth.
There is no meaning.
There is no real reason for human life.
There is no beauty beyond the eye of the beholder.
There is no unified purpose, only struggle.

Reflection

Despite everything, the day hasn’t been wasted. The man and woman take what they have witnessed seriously. They do not callously disregard the artists’ statements. Instead, they know they must respond carefully and compassionately to the culture around them.

As they reflect over a good cup of coffee, they conclude, regardless of the shock, chaos, and struggle on display, their first and strongest emotional response is sadness—sadness for people who don’t know the truth or who actively combat it, sadness for people who truly deny meaning in life, sadness for people who ignorantly or pretentiously praise these works as products of genius.

Together, the man and woman dissent. They dissent from the ideas the art communicates. They dissent from the form used to present those ideas. They return full circle to their original question:

“Art? Really?”

“Where was the beauty?” she ponders aloud.

“Where was the delight?” he responds.

Failure on both fronts, they conclude. What they have seen is, really, not true art but false art, the art of ideological tyranny, art that holds one at the tip of a sword and demands complete reverence. True art requires no such brutal force. Its inherent delight winsomely convinces its audience of the truth it teaches. Its beauty needs no smug explanation or strong-armed demands.
Together, the man and woman react. They know what they believe about the nature of reality:

There is truth.
There is meaning.
There is a reason for human existence.
There is a universal ideal of beauty.
There is purpose in hopeful struggle.

They know the whole story. They recognize that the West did not suddenly accept this cultural farce. They understand the perpetual struggle between renaissance and decay, between the rediscovery of absolute truths and rejection of them. They’ve read Francis Schaeffer, H. R. Rookmaaker, and Roger Scruton:

• “What is the solution, then?”
  

• “Laud truth; love beauty; pursue goodness. Critique with the grace of a well-informed mind. Produce excellent culture that, by its nature, gently but powerfully challenges the status quo.”
  

• “Question the idea that Christians must adopt contemporary artistic mores to reach the world around them. If the form of false art can’t convey false ideas well, it certainly cannot communicate truth.”
  

• “Question the idea that Christians should form their own micro-culture; one separated from the culture at large; one that affixes crosses or fishes or Christian slogans to paintings, songs, or t-shirts and calls them good; one that produces culture for the faithful only.”
  

• “Realize that art and culture matter. As beings made in the image of God, humans have been tasked to be ‘sub-creators,’ to make paintings, sculptures, poetry, music, and books that reflect the beauty of the world God has created, of the eternal truths found in Scripture, and of the order He has given to the universe.”
  

Together, and most importantly, the man and the woman know the end of the story. Christ, the Redeemer who gives life and establishes truth, is renewing all things. Through Him, His people can take part in transforming culture by understanding art and by creating excellent art that faithfully represents lives and views transformed by the Holy Spirit to be like Christ.

About the Writer: Christa Hill is librarian at Welch College in Gallatin, Tennessee. She completed the MLIS at University of Alabama and holds a B.A. in English and Biblical Studies from Welch College (2011). She taught high school and middle school English for three years before returning to Welch. She attends Sylvan Park FWB Church where she helps with children’s ministry. Christa is a regular contributor to the Helwys Society Forum, where this article first appeared: HelwysSocietyForum.com.