I never would have thought of myself as someone who could appreciate Art, but that has changed over the last few years; while I would still hardly say that I'm any sort of authority, I now approach even Modern Art with an open mind. Every now and again I go and wander around the Manchester Art Gallery, and sometimes something jumps out at me. One time it was the extremely clever and amusing bit of curation in the Balcony Gallery - where two pictures are next to each other; one, called "Hush!" (by James Tissot) shows a young lady waiting to play the violin for the entertainment of a large crowd, while next to it is Pettie's "A song without words" showing another vioinist, this time playing for nobody but himself.
The last time I was there though the piece that I found touched me was a short film called "The Smithsons" by Cyprien Gaillard. In it, shots of buildings and skyscrapers on the shoreline of New Jersey, often in the midst of greenery, are displayed to the accompaniment of "Asleep" by The Smiths. The text about the exhibit talks of how this explores the way in which much modern architecture can be thought of as ruins on the verge of being overtaken by nature. A few years ago, I'd have thought "yeah, right" and carried on to the paintings and sculptures that I felt at least looked like something. However, my attitude is now very different.
It was several months ago that I visited the gallery, and if one measure of the success of an artwork is how it can evoke thoughts and reflections at a later date then today has shown me that The Smithsons is as far as I am concerned a success. I was walking towards Blackley Cemetery in Manchester to conduct a funeral, and looking up I could see the bare trees and greenery apparently almost rising up to take over some of the high rise blocks ahead of me; and, there in my mind, I could see again those images of the New Jersey shoreline, hear Morrissey singing "Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep...."
As I walked along, I reflected on the theme of the artwork. The sights I could see brought it back so vividly, and it made me consider the place that people sometimes assume we hold in this world; that we are the masters of all we survey, able to mould and reshape this world in the way we choose. And yet, if we do that, we delude ourselves. We can make some changes, yes; but how hard we have to fight to maintain them! How quickly our victories can be overturned! Whether it's believing that we can control the rivers well enough to allow building on a flood plain, or just trying to keep a patch of ground free of weeds, sooner or later we are given that rude reminder that actually, no, we are not in charge. Maybe because I was preparing for a funeral, there was also the reminder of mortality - that no matter how fantastic our medical advances, how careful we are to eat the right things or do regular exercise, the lifespan of any individual seems to be capped at 125 at the absolute maximum.
We do not rule this world no matter how much we might like to think otherwise. Nothing we do as human beings will endure forever; if we consider the geological timescales, the age of the Universe, then all humanity's works are not even a blink of an eye. And yet, there is something more:
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
(1 Cor. 13:8-12, NIV)
