What Staring at a Painting taught me about the Importance of Struggle—both in Art & Life. 

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Great revelations come at the price of struggle.

This is as true in art consumption as in personal growth.

If you’ve ever stood in front of a magnificent painting in a museum, you may have felt stunned. Stopped. Unable to move as your mind sought an answer to why the piece so intrigued and captivated you.

For me, this happened at the Prado Museum in Madrid. I stood in the chilly, ornate hall in front of Velázquez’ “Las Meninas.” It is a huge painting. For an unbroken hour as others came and left quickly, I tottered in front of the sedate canvas that depicts an elegant doll child in a picture-studded studio.

The painting mesmerized me. I thought it was the piercing eyes, the costumes, the poised poses. Yet I wasn’t certain. I went back to it over and over again in the coming months. I felt it was my duty to understand what Velázquez was trying to teach me through his haunting images.

This artwork was inaccessible to me—so I stayed with it.

Built into art is an inherent groping toward our attention. Art reaches out to us with the hope that we are smart and kind enough to take time to contemplate whatever message it is trying to share.

For many of us, art feels inaccessible. We struggle to understand its strokes and lines. Because art demands an interpretive effort of us, its works can seem daunting, intimidating, confusing. Art confronts us with a decision: either to stretch ourselves or to move on carelessly.

Art takes time to consume. Time to register and gather what the creative work conveys. Impatience will not be of benefit in this endeavor. To be absorbed in a meaningful way, art needs our discipline of slowness.

When faced with the inaccessible, my response has always been self-reflection. I ask myself questions about why I don’t understand the piece. I look inside myself. I take the mysterious as a beautiful problem to contemplate. As if life is throwing me a koan or a riddle whose solution may just awaken me to a new part of myself or to the world of experience.

For instance, if I read a poem that does not make sense to me, I feel obliged to reread it until I can make sense of it. This is a valuable part of my autodidacticism. The inaccessible poem gives me a challenging opportunity to learn and improve myself.

The response I rarely choose is to ignore or reject that opportunity.

After revisiting “Las Meninas” many times, I came across a book by Michel Foucault, The Order of Things. Its first 50 pages are an intense, artful exegesis of the Spanish painter’s masterpiece. One work of art interpreting another. Through this encounter, the light came on for me. What haunted me, I realized, was the reflectiveness in the painting that Foucault argues represented a change in the history of perception.

Even when it is “inaccessible,” art stimulates contemplative juices in our minds. What is inaccessible gives rise to beneficial, thoughtful pause. Art drives the truck of contemplative practice.

An artwork does not blatantly give us its meaning. We must work at it for ourselves. We come to art’s silent challenge with our slow, humble intelligence—an intelligence that uplifts us. Every observer is involved in a hermeneutical process. Nothing is given simply.

Why would we expect not to struggle with complexity?

Art is seductive and gripping because it carries within itself that primordial siren-song that beckons softly to the one lashed to the mast on a ship’s deck. Its melodious voice coaxes us onto the pebbly, island shore and into its ruinous arms. Ruinous because the song is forever prodding us toward our own betterment.

Have we become so pusillanimous, obstreperous, and indolent that we just want meaning to be spoon-fed to us without our working to discover it for ourselves? (If you don’t know what those words mean and don’t want to look them up, you’ve proven my point.) Attention spans have dwindled, along with the seeming inability to concentrate for long. There is a concomitant inability to work intellectually for a positive, rewarding experience with an artwork.

Horkheimer said in The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception that in the culture industry the individual is an illusion. He went on to write that he or she “is tolerated only so long as his [or her] complete identification with the generality is unquestioned.”

The culture-producing industry has an easier time selling more commodities and art if everyone is similar.

Art can challenge this notion. Art can raise us to beautiful intelligence and diversity.

Why would any one of us elect homogeneity over diversity? Standardization over authentic uniqueness? Speed over slowness? Ease, uniformity, and conformity over struggle, disparity, and eccentricity?

Art’s tangled roots and leafy canopy spread under earth and across air because they breathe the oxygen of specificity, not generality. Art thrives on divergence, not convergence.

Sometimes this creates the feeling of inaccessibility that it is our task to overcome.

My wife read a revised version of what she originally perceived as a thoughtful, poetic article I wrote. The article’s call to action was, as an insightful, familiar cliché says, to stop and smell the roses. In other words, it was a reminder to slow down and become aware of ordinary objects and our daily relationship to them—objects such as power lines, alleyways, fire hydrants.

Reading the revised article, my wife almost went into shock. She loved the original for its descriptive power and poignant message. She disliked my slashed, dumbed-down revisions. Her response was, “What happened to the art and beauty?”

What makes this anecdote more amusing is that, under the influence of editors, here I was trying to make an article about slowing down speed up. The revisions ruined the article.

Does our speed and social media-driven society create readers and consumers who are so watered down that they need to be told explicitly what the point of art is? Do readers or consumers not have a responsibility to use their intelligence to figure out the meaning for themselves?

Take vocabulary. How easy is it today to look up words we don’t know on our devices? Very easy, even for a Luddite. If having to look up words in an online dictionary breaks the flow of the story, isn’t that one, part of learning and two, part of the artistic message of slowness?

Maybe developing vocabulary is its own call to action. The more tools we have for more powerfully describing our world, the more meaningful will our experiences be.

What my wife expressed as disgust meant that the value of the original artwork was in its slow, descriptive development leading to later revelations. The revised version was shorter, crisper, quicker, and possessed the flippant celerity we have grown accustomed to in our electrified world of hyper-busyness.

Perhaps when we come across a piece of artwork, we should slow down and struggle with its message.

Eventually its inaccessible voice may turn into something accessible to our ears.

~

author: Jonathan C. Smith

Image: @elephantjournal/instagram

Image: Wolf Gang/Flickr

Editor: Naomi Boshari

5.4

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Every time you read, share, comment or heart you help an article improve its Rating—which helps Readers see important issues & writers win $$$ from Elephant. Learn more.

Views 3.2
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mjeuland Mar 6, 2019 2:32pm

Beautiful and compelling. Bravo!

    Jonathan C. Smith Mar 6, 2019 2:49pm

    Thank you! I’m honored that you read this article and commented. Here’s to the struggle alongside the profound beauty of the accessible/inaccessible in art and nature.

Haley Sage Mar 3, 2019 11:40pm

Beautiful writing and exquisite thought, Jonathan!
“This artwork was inaccessible to me—so I stayed with it” …a call to get curious and dive into the unknown (and sometimes, even, the uncomfortable!)
Thank you so much and please keep posting your perspectives — we need them dearly!

    Jonathan C. Smith Mar 4, 2019 6:32pm

    Thank you, Haley! Means so much coming from an artist like yourself! I hope to see your incredible words as well. To the muse, hidden and revealed!

Andy Sweet Mar 3, 2019 8:34am

Fuck yes! Do you read H. L. Menken? Send me the unedited will ya?

    Jonathan C. Smith Mar 3, 2019 10:27am

    Hell yes, Andy! Thanks for your response. I’ve read Menken before, though it’s been a while. It’s funny how editing can actually ruin a piece when the already edited original is good. I always think of Kerouac who rolled out his scroll in the publisher’s office and when told that On the Road needed editing, he exclaimed, There will be no edits–this was written by the hand of God! It takes the hand of the divine to write a novel in three weeks, I suppose. It also brings to mind Dostoevsky’s The Gambler.
    As for Menken, I love his quotation that goes to the point of this article: “For every complex problem there is always an answer that is clear, simple, and wrong.” 🙂
    Thank you, sir, for reading and commenting.
    Jonathan

sethgrube Mar 2, 2019 10:49am

Jonathan,

My gratitude for such a meaningful probing into the experience of looking at paintings. And thank you for bringing in the Foucault thread, which inspired me to reread the first chapter of his book mentioned in your article (which I just happened to have on my shelf!). I am envious of your time with the Velasquez canvas, for I have so often dreamed of a day when it might be revealed to me. I recently travelled eight hours to visit the exhibition of Jean Baptiste Camille Corot’s Women at the National Gallery of Art in D.C. It had been some time since I had entered what you so aptly described as a hermeneutical process–an operation where one must work for the riches of the artistic event. I wonder if perhaps we both seemed fools or eccentrics to other museum goers as we stood riveted, or paced feverishly in front of such profound works that cannot help but to light up and incandesce our interiors, as if a passing bolide exploded from a wondrous impulse embossed in paint hundreds of years before we were born. I might be taking too much in the way of liberties to assume we are so alike, but your article has managed to irrigate the desiccated regions of myself–those places where sharing in artistic revelations so often are solitary and wizened. My hat is off to you sir.

    Jonathan C. Smith Mar 2, 2019 10:57am

    Seth,
    Thank you so much for reading the article despite it’s being on the luminous screen. I know writing for this glowing screen requires us to simplify what are very complicated processes. And yes, we are probably considered mad and eccentric before those paintings that rivet us during “the riches of the artistic event.” I’m jealous of your experience with Corot’s women, but I take comfort in knowing that his trees have played havoc on my own aesthetic sensibilities, so I can relate. I was happy to throw in the Foucault and also the Horkheimer. Such important thinkers for us.
    Thank you, sir!
    Jonathan

Joe Cyr Mar 1, 2019 6:44pm

Jonathan,

I love how the art of well written words can bring me back to times in my life where I felt connected with my sense of adventure. This quote, “that primordial siren-song that beckons softly to the one lashed to the mast on a ship’s deck” brings me back to my days of getting lost in the wonderful stories of warriors and the gods. Well done sir.

    Jonathan C. Smith Mar 2, 2019 11:00am

    Joe,
    Thanks for reading and sharing. I’m so glad that the image of the sirens took you back to that adventurous spirit and the recollection of myths.
    I studied mythology in my religion doctorate. It was truly eye-opening and intriguing.
    Jonathan

Sheila Delaney Duke Feb 28, 2019 4:31pm

Ahhhh. This is wonderful and triggering for me. Thank you for giving me a reason to notice and slow down and participate in my life in a different way. I confess I didn’t click on every word… and the theme lands so squarely for me, still. Thanks for this profound view and for your voice.

    Jonathan C. Smith Mar 1, 2019 9:28am

    Sheila,
    Thanks so much for taking the time to read the article. It warms my heart that the view expressed in it connects with you. Although I don’t always do a great job at slowing down myself, it is certainly a practice that I believe we should foster for ourselves. It can be hard to take the time in our fast-paced world!
    Jonathan

Janice Dolk Feb 28, 2019 10:35am

Jonathan, Words cannot express how moving this piece was to me. At first I thought it would be about the art, about taking time to sit or stand and study it, and how people hurry through museums barely seeing the fine masterpieces. Your take on this overly fast society, how we must fit our thoughts onto small devices with only 140 characters allowed, or leave out verbs, and vowels. I used to collect words, I no longer do. It seemed pointless, no one wants to hear them, let alone read them. Thank you so much for this thought-provoking article. And thank you for the chance to open the unused dictionary to look up all these delicious words you wrote. Ten hearts from me.

    Jonathan C. Smith Mar 1, 2019 9:32am

    Janice,
    Thank you for your meaningful response. I’ll read your big words! I love words and do think it’s a shame that so often we move so quickly as to not allow ourselves to stretch and wonder. Not just vocabulary, but in that very struggle with the things we don’t understand when we first encounter them–like art works or natural marvels. Pull that dictionary out! 🙂
    Jonathan

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Jonathan C. Smith

A former teacher of Greek at Emory University and of ESL in Spain, Jonathan C. Smith holds a master’s degree in religion. He writes poetry and contemplative reflections about art and nature on his blog. He works in Portland, Oregon, where he writes and lives with his wife, Carmen.