Spiritual Art
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Mark Rothko
There will always be disagreement about what makes an artwork spiritual.
Here's my working definition:
Spiritual Art helps the viewer to engage with the Good, the True and the Beautiful. I'm aware that this threefold formula is one of the classical statements about God, but belief in God is not necessary here.
It is necessary though to hold a view that these three concepts exist; that Goodness, Truth and Beauty underpin all that lives, all that becomes, and all that flourishes; that we encounter them, in the ordinary and the everyday. In mystical traditions, be they religious or other, human beings grow into their true selves by reflecting on these three.
This kind of reflection, through meditation or contemplation, tends to be wordless. Words 'get in the way'. I feel that this is generally true of all art. I find myself wanting to say "If I could explain this painting to you, the artist needn't have bothered painting it". But it is especially true here. There are no words for some experiences or realisations. We simply sit with them and allow them to open themselves to us.
This is why I believe that art - and especially non-figurative, abstract art - is such a suitable vehicle or companion on these inner explorations.
Many people report that they find Mark Rothko's work 'spiritual'.
When his Seagram Murals were housed in the old Tate (now Tate Britain) they were displayed by themselves in a closed space. Often when you went in, there was a sense of hush. It was as though you had walked into a church or other holy place. A number of the warders (frequently hardened by exposure to the general public and not much given to sentimentality) told me that there was something special about this room; that they nicknamed it 'the Chapel'. In Tate Modern they are housed in a sort of corridor, but with luck and a sunny day you can still sit quietly with these huge canvases. See if you find yourself refreshed. Or even provoked (in a good way).
I'm not sure if people find Bridget Reilly's work peaceful but for me her paintings prompt reflection somewhere in my consciousness. I wonder if a sort of merry-go-round takes place in my brain: I focus on the colours and expect to see something in them; I find nothing there except the colours and return to them again. It is quite impossible to settle down; I cannot 'own' or define this image. I am held in a state of continually letting-go.
Bridget Riley
How does a painting achieve this?
I would be very foolish to claim that I knew, but perhaps I can offer some half thoughts.
To begin with, I don't believe that we need to resort to paranormal explanations on the one hand (for example: The Spirit of the Universe is mysteriously bonded with oil paint) nor mechanical ones (Get the colours and the shapes correct and Bingo!) on the other.
What many of these abstract paintings have in common is that they are "medium-specific" - they are largely about the materials from which they are formed.
What is this construction of canvas and pigment about?
It is about pigment applied to canvas. The painting is what it is.
People who know their Hebrew Bible will see parallels with God's statement: "I am who I am".
There is no reference to anything outside the painting in abstract art. If we see islands or knotted ropes or elephants in a Jackson Pollock painting, that is entirely our projection. The more we train ourselves not to do this, the better we see the painting. And the more we allow the painting to be what it is, the more we allow ourselves to be who we truly are.
I think that this has a liberating effect on our consciousness. We are set free from having to find meaning, and in that free space we find that we can listen and receive.
Simply being truly still, truly silent, has to be a good thing for us.
For people who discern God at the heart of things, this is also a path to true prayer.
Jackson Pollock
