Experiencing art: Cosmos in chaos

I’ve been pondering my prior question.  I do believe that visual media such as television and film spark creative involvement with their viewers.  In fact, I would argue that any art that is experienced results in creative involvement to some degree.  I would differentiate experiencing art from critiquing art, which in my mind is more of a logical analysis. I suspect, however, that for some “thinker” types like the regenerate Mrs., critique may be part of experiencing it, but I’m a “feeler,” so I do things my way.

Incidentally, I’ve always struggled with writing reviews — primarily of movies, but also of books.  I think in part this is because I want to experience it, which takes me out of the evaluative mode necessary for a review.

Have you heard the saying that a mind stretched by a new idea never returns to its original shape?  I would also contend that a mind stretched by a new experience (which engagement with art can be) never returns to its original shape.  This can be both for good or ill.

I can think of a number of films that I experienced in a way that re-shaped me in a positive way – Luther, Chariots of Fire, Finding Forrester.  I think the film Gattaca profoundly re-shaped me in ways I don’t really know – that movie has stuck in my craw for years.  And then I can think of movies like Primal Fear which ripped my heart out of my chest and left me bleeding on the floor – not exactly a good experience (my roommate at the time had a similar reaction).

I do believe there is value in art that portrays evil, preferably as evil, but doing so presents an interesting conundrum, since evil does harm and if we’re experiencing art…

(This also raises the Zempel household debate over whether profanity is a sin and, if so, is it a sin to use profanity on stage.  But I’m not going to go there.)

I’m continuing my journey through Walking on Water and am reminded of something L’Engle wrote:

“Leonard Bernstein tells me more than the dictionary when he says that for him music is cosmos in chaos.  That has the ring off truth in my ears and sparks my creative imagination.  And it is true not only of music; all art is cosmos, cosmos found within chaos.  At least all Christian art (by which I mean all true art, and I’ll go deeper into this later) is cosmos in chaos.  There’s some modern art, in all disciplines, which is not; some artists look at the world around them and see chaos, and instead of discovering cosmos, they reproduce chaos, on canvas, in music, in words.  As far as I can see, the reproduction of chaos is neither art, nor is it Christian.”

And this (which has echoes of what she describes in the “fictional” context of A Wrinkle in Time):

“Stories, no matter how simple, can be vehicles of truth; can be, in fact, icons.  It’s no coincidence that Jesus taught almost entirely by telling stories, simple stories dealing with the stuff of life familiar to the Jews of his day.  Stories are able to help us to become more whole, to become Named.  And Naming is one of the impulses behind all art; to give a name to the cosmos we see despite all the chaos.

“God asked Adam to name all the animals, which was asking Adam to help in the creation of their wholeness.  When we name each other, we are sharing in the joy and privilege of incarnation, and all great works of art are icons of Naming.

“When we look at a painting or hear a symphony or read a book and feel more Named, then, for us, that work is a work of Christian art.  But to look at a work of art and then to make a judgment as to whether or not it is art, and whether or not it is Christian, is presumptious.  It is something we cannot know in any conclusive way.  We can know only if it speaks within our own hearts and leads us to living more deeply with Christ in God.”

I think that’s what I mean by experiencing art.  Only stated much more eloquently.

Incidentally, L’Engle also has a book on icons — Penguins and Golden Calves — that I should probably read sometime.