When I talk to people who aren’t artists, a lot exclaim “I love art… but not any of that modern stuff!” By “modern stuff”, most people mean contemporary art – art that has been made in the last few decades.
We might think of bananas taped to walls and gallery cleaning staff throwing away art they thought was rubbish. Art that is often confusing, that does not fit neatly into historical or aesthetic categories and can be intimidating to engage with. Art that we might worry about is neglecting beauty, goodness and truth. I get it.
While these concerns have some merit, I fear that if this is our posture towards all contemporary art, then we are at risk of ignoring a group of people – image bearers – who are trying to say something meaningful about their experience in the world. But also impoverishing ourselves from profound encounters with others and with God.
I think of a recent visit to Tracey Emin’s retrospective in the Tate Modern. An artist famous for her unmade bed and whose life and work has been controversial. Emin’s recent exhibition revisits some of the most difficult moments of her life – bed-bound depression, a diagnosis of cancer, hysterectomy, sexual assault, and abortion. Some of the views she expressed in her work were difficult to hear and showed me a profoundly different worldview to my own. But her work was an invitation to enter into her wounds and find connection in her suffering.
In her more recent works Emin has reflected on her own experiences in the context of the crucifixion, painting the cross every Easter. She sees great beauty in the brokenness of Christ. Certainly, instead of reaching to Christ for salvation she reaches towards art – one of her works is even entitled I need art like I need God. However, to move through her work as she so generously opens her life and pain, I can’t help but be moved towards a place of empathy for a fellow human being with whom I have very little in common.
But I was also surprised that I was able to come out of Emin’s exhibition worshipping. In Emin’s work I was shown the depths of human suffering and pain, but pointed towards the redemptive potential of Christ’s own broken body – something that is present in Emin’s work but not yet fully grasped.
Contemporary art is not a sermon. Its intention is not to teach us, nor to persuade us to take a particular view of reality. Artists usually fail to create good or interesting art when they try to do this. But contemporary art is an invitation towards a conversation, often asking far more questions than it answers. It can be ambiguous and difficult to understand. It does not sit quietly ready for our contemplation but instead comes alive through active engagement and participation. And just like any productive conversation, engaging well with contemporary art requires a posture of generosity.
We are implored in the book of James to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (1v19). Our righteousness is demonstrated in our willingness to listen to others, to take care not to react immediately with anger or disdain. Might this also extend to our engagement with contemporary art – art made by people who are seeking to contribute to a conversation of which we are all a part. As with any conversation there will be moments of disagreement, times when we dislike what we are hearing. But there will also be moments of empathy, of recognising our shared humanity and God’s common grace. We might even find ourselves moved unexpectedly to a place of worship.
