Art does not reproduce the visible; rather makes it visible.”
~ Paul Klee
Pictures that sensitize us to important aspects of ourselves, of our place in the world, defines what the role of art is. As the abstract painter, Paul Klee said, the purpose of art is not to reproduce what is “out there” but rather to evoke feelings about what is out there: feelings of joy, despair, empathy, hope and so on. But drawing emotions from viewers is a gift that only some possess. It is attained not by depicting attention-grabbing subjects or by use of dazzling colors but by paying careful attention to the smallest details. Indeed, some of the best art possess the quality of being able to transcend the ordinary while depicting the ordinary.
Two artworks featured in today’s post will serve to make my point clear. The first work is a painting by the 17th century Dutch painter, Pieter de Hooch that depicts a quiet domestic scene in a house courtyard. The second work is a modern abstract painting by the British artist, Richard Long. Like Pieter de Hooch, Long turns something seemingly unremarkable (a series of waterlines) into a canvas for profound meditation.
‘The Courtyard of a House in Delft’ by Pieter de Hooch (1629-1684)
In this famous painting, Pieter de Hooch depicts a tranquil domestic scene taking place on a quiet afternoon. On the right, a young maid, clean and bright, holds the hands of a little girl; each is smiling at the other. On the left, we see the shadowy figure of a woman in the passageway, presumably the child’s mother. She is looking toward the house opposite her own.
At first glance, this is all there is about the picture. There is no exciting drama to draw the viewer’s attention, and no tricks of dazzling colors to tease the eyes. Yet, I think this is what gives the painting its charm. In place of personal drama, de Hooch gives us a palette of architectural details of the house that keeps us looking. Two such details is the old door on the right and the angled and mended wooden support holding up the trellis. Both objects are far from perfect, and we are led to think that maybe if the owners of this house have more money, they could have given the house a makeover: perhaps new bricks, a new door, a new coat of paint and so on. Yet, this is not a picture of material deprivation: the folks are living in a decent house with a courtyard to boot. It is a picture of making do. The occupiers of the house may not have the money to get a new door, but the courtyard can be kept clean and it is. de Hooch seems to be telling us that he likes the old door, the damaged bricks and the warped boards of the compost bin. He is telling us that they are not actually ugly, just not perfect. And that is quite alright.
‘Waterlines’ by Richard Long (b. 1945)
‘Waterlines’ is a 1989 pirnt by the British avant-garde artist, Richard Julian Long. The work is composed of text with the simple graphics of water lines. As is standard in Long’s work, the words, all in capitals, are printed in the Gill Sans typeface. The ink is deep turquoise blue in colour, similar to the colour of the sea and the sky on a brilliant sunny day.
Centred below the title and above the date, the text reads: ‘each day a waterline/ poured from my water bottle/ along the walking line/ from the Atlantic shore to the Mediterranean shore/ a 560 mile walk in 20 ½ days across Portugal and Spain’.
These words describe an event undertaken by the artist. While they provide information that is specific, they are lacking in precise details, which is deliberately done to provoke the viewer’s imaginative interpretation. Waterlines, symbolizing the route taken by the artist, is the additional element connecting the start and end points of the journey.
Because Long’s work is more abstract that de Hooch’s courtyard painting, most viewers will need a bit more time to see what lessons they can glean from it. To me, Waterlines is a love lesson about patience. First, it is about a long journey from shore to shore – 560 miles walk over three weeks to be exact. One cannot rush what is limited by nature, including our own. Second, I am mesmerized by the stream-like patterns of the waterlines, the way they meander this way and that, perhaps mirroring the journey itself. And third, apart from the waterlines (and the text) there is nothing else to distract the viewer, as if Long is teaching us that life is like that – a long journey where most days are ordinary – we make no discovery and there is no mystery, or as the writer of Ecclesiastes in the Bible puts it, “… there is nothing new under the sun.” We plod daily, we settle into routines that become habits. Ii is how most people live out their lives. Like the waterlines, each little strand is a day, each strand may seem inconsequential, even dreary, but Long seems to be saying: be patient, plod on; it is the sum of your waterlines that is the measure of your life.