the multiverse of gallery visits
detail of Walking on Water — Banquo’s Dream (can you spot mako’s footprint?)
unlike a big abstract painting at the MoMA or the whitney, where i may be quick to pass right on by because i don’t “get it” (or, frankly, care), i’ve listened to enough podcasts in conversation with makoto fujimura that I (absolutely) CARE.
mako’s works are like music, or poetry—or, more to my experience, live theatre. or even a favorite book.
long view of Silence and Beauty — Mysterion (it reminded me of standing before monet’s waterlilies in the l’orangerie en paris. impossible to take in all at once from one spot on the floor. but here, fewer people taking selfies.)
it’s impossible to capture the moment when you stand before it.
when you’re in its presence.
the feelings, thoughts, meditations it conjures.
whenever you engage with a work of art, you’re a slightly different person than you were any other previous time you may have encountered it. it’s gonna hit you a different way each time.
and your environment shall never be exactly the same, either.
the gallery lighting may shift, altering the work’s appearance. as may the weather outside the windows. or other visitors who may be casting shadows or sending a particular energy into the room.
(and golly, the pigments mako uses have that miraculous, microscopic natural shimmer to them. oh, how they glitter—but in a totally classy, earthy way.)
detail from Walking on Water — Banquo’s Dream (the same piece with the footprint at the top of this post)
a piece of art can never be seen the exact same way twice.
a collection of makoto fujimura’s work is currently on display downtown greenville, sc where i live.
it took me a number of months to finally whittle out a chunk of time in my schedule to see the show. and this visit was my first time seeing his work in person. (and yeah, as it’s often said of his work: it is UN-PHOTOGRAPHABLE.)
mako’s paintings are like a piece of live theatre that can’t be captured on film—photograph, moving picture, or otherwise.
the scale, the nuance. the delicate surface treatments and thinly veiled layers of materials.
(but, hello, you know me when i go places. of course i tried to get a few shots for you, anyway. attempting to give you some idea of just how textured and lovely and subtle and occasionally textured it all is.)
bottom left corner detail of Splendor — Waves
the most beautiful thing about mako’s work is that you know he knows what he’s doing. it’s not slapping paints and solvents onto a pre-stretched canvas you got at a big box arts/crafts/hobby store just to see what happens. or to see if it’ll fit that blank space on the wall over that couch you found on the curb.
mako’s surface treatments come with decades of study and care.
detail of the v. intestely red (and otherwise) Water Flames — Vermillion II
i won’t go into his whole bio & impressive resumé with you, but makoto did train for a time in japan—where of course they make the most amazing papers and pigments. over the centuries, japan has perfected their unparalleled craftsmanship, the continued mastery of their traditions, has lead them to the point of having perfected paper itself.
(my new dream shopping afternoon: going with mako to pigment tokyo. i’d be there gawking at all the pretty colors in their jars. he’d actually know what to do with them.)
as i viewed the gallery on the third floor, the words that kept pounding in my head on repeat was the phrase: “God’s gratuitious abundance.”
no one NEEDS art to survive.
physically, anyway.
it can’t give your body nutrients.
most of it can’t protect you from a bear or shark attack.
BUT: i kept thinking of a house. needing shelter.
do you want one made like a shipping warehouse you see on the side of the highway? industrial. purely practical. soul-less concrete and a metal roof. no windows. built with the least-expensive available-in-bulk materials.
or would you want something made with love? hardwood floors crafted by the local carpenter who learned the trade from his father. shingles from the surrounding forest. a hand-layered thatched roof to keep you dry. leaded glass windows to let in the sunshine and then the stars at night? an heirloom quilt on the bed. a fireplace made of the granite and quartz rocks unearthed from your home’s new foundation. extravagant. cozy. unnecessarily beautiful.
or is it?
a partial view of the triptych Silence and Beauty — Mysterion
God’s love is not a lowest-operating-budget-possible situation.
He’s not worried about cost-benefit-analysis or any profit-net-loss statement.
He’s given us a beautiful world. one in which we’re called to, and invited to, create within as well.
(see also: the book of exodus when God gave instructions for the tabernacle. he didn’t tell them to go to the clearance bin at walmart—into the darkest, dustiest, creepiest corner of the store—and ask the cashier for an extra 10% off because some of the tent pieces were missing and the corner of the box had been chewed by rats. God called the most skilled craftsman. the most capable artists. He called for the people’s most valuable gold and wood and precious stones and fabrics.)
so makoto’s care in his careful, masterful handling of some of the earth’s most expensive pigments and surfaces are a reflection of God’s GRATUITOUS ABUNDANCE—the antithesis of the very-human (especially for most of us artists) scarcity mindset.
God is not going to run out of beauty.
He can’t run out of resources or grace for you.
[makoto pontificates on this more eloquently, and with his own artisan, master craftsman ethos in his books: CULTURE CARE, and more recently (and still on my tbr shelf), ART + FAITH.]
so, right.
the MYSTERION show.
that’s what i wanted to tell you about.
as i talked to one of the gallery docents, we were commenting on the power of an artist not explaining their work. because they (we) often don’t know what it means, either.
it’ll mean one thing when the idea arrived. another in any given moment of the creation process. and it’ll mean something entirely different when “completed.” and when each viewer comes to it with their own world view and unique perspective.
(this often shows up in novelists’ works, too. the readers are the one who ask about the symbolism, the repeating motif, of the elm tree in the neighbor’s yard. the author’s subconscious built that into the work. the author won’t have noticed until asked about it on a conference panel.)
art can’t be explained.
it means nothing and everything and all the things. once upon a time and simultaneously.
it’s what it means to you.
it’s how it speaks to you.
it’s ART.
and we all bring our unique selves to it to “complete” the work and through each stage of its inception.
which, like the multiverse (maybe? i dunno. i’ve never even made it through a single avengers trailer), means that there are INFINITE artworks, experiences, meanings that’ll morph and exist for every person who encounters the piece at any/every moment of themselves and any/every moment of the work.
*whew* what a beautiful responsibility and joy, huh?
extreme detail of Splendor — Waves (attempting to show you the textures, too! loved this piece possibly the mostest.)
the first work of makoto’s i’d ever seen in real life was in the lobby on the first floor.
(sadly, “protected” by an unfortunate crowd-control retractable fabric ribbon-rope barrier thing. but what can ya do aside from installing 24-7 security guards and Louvre-quality radar sensor camera alarms?)
alas, i took no pictures of it at all.
tears welled as soon i read the piece’s title plaque, even before i beheld and contemplated the artwork itself:
Psalm 139—Even the Darkness is not Dark to Thee
Diptych, Mineral Pigments, gesso on canvas
48” h x 144” w
(c) Makoto Fujimura 2020
Yep.
2020.
That Year. the one that came for us all in a multitude of ways.
i came back to study this piece after my visit to the third floor (all the MYSTERION works up there a must-see) and his early work on the second floor.**
at first glance, and stepping back, the Psalm 139 piece reminded me of those satellite or telescope videos and photos you might see of outer space. (cut to: space-obsessed child hallie.)
or maybe even the nucleus of an atom. (fine, my science classes were a while ago, but they showed us some wacky microscope stuff in our textbooks, yeah?)
either sight is a sight you’ve never actually seen for yourself.
mako’s Psalm 139 could be a depiction of the universe expanding and exploding.
and yet:
the Hope.
the darkness and despair shall not overcome it.
the smallest spark of Hope, of Light, is enough.
bringing nuance to even the darkest colors in the piece.
those aren’t flat black, either. no chance. the Light and purest of colors are still seeping in.
i’m guessing the azure (?) used in the piece is that PURE BLUE that sucks you in, then expands to fullness and keeps going.
it reminded me of more Scripture: the creation account from Genesis, chapter 1. The Light shining in the darkness. The Light that burst through the nothingness.
i could keep pontificating, but it’d really be better for you to go see Mako’s work for yourself.
his controlled “happy accidents” on the canvas bring beauty and depth—an ordered chaos; a “mess” that’s more than beautiful whether up close or from far away.
i’ll leave you with this quote printed on the gallery wall, an excerpt from a 2019 commencement address mako made, entitled KINTSUGI GENERATION:
“you see, when you create and make into the fissures of life—when you rebuild from a devastating fire—when you create, despite scarcity—when you ‘consider the lilies’ (Matthew 6), especially when you are afraid—God chooses those moments to reveal God’s Presence in our lives. we are makers, as our God is our Maker. God did not promise us an easy life but promised us an abundant one—an abundant life of creativity and imaginative freedom.”
~makoto fujimura
what was the last piece of art (theatre, song, book, painting, etc.) that left you speechless? whose meaning went beyond what was presented to you in that moment?
another detail of Splendor—Waves
book links:
ART + FAITH : A Theology of Making (he’s called this one as the culmination of his decades of studio work and lecturing and teaching and practices around the world.)
more writings available on mako’s website HERE
plenty of other books he’s written exist, too, but i haven’t gotten to them yet! he’s prolific!! (he writes while waiting for layers of paint to dry in the studio. which makes a lot more sense than going to the kitchen for more animal crackers like i do…)
a couple podcast episode recommendations:
(if you search “fujimura” in your podcatcher, you’ll find a lot, there are plenty, and i would guess they’re all rather worthwhile! links below take you to the episode on apple podcasts)
cultivated, season 5 episode 11: makoto fujimura on how what’s broken becomes beautiful
trinity forum conversations, season 1 episode 7: a theology of making, with makoto fujimura
onScript, april 6, 2021 : makoto fujimura— art + faith: a theology of making
the russell moore show, episode 169: a conversation with makoto fujimura on art and beauty
current greenville exhibition information:
MYSTERION
MAKOTO FUJIMURA
JANUARY 5 - JULY 26
the galleries at first pres
(200 w washington st, greenville, sc 29601)
mon-fri, 9am-3pm
exhibition admission is free and self-guided
(a “listening hour” is observed daily at noon in the lenz gallery on level 3 for silent contemplation!)
mako’s website:
footnotes:
* do not get me started on Oppenheimer. accept my eye-rolls and move on, plz.
**ten of his door paintings from the 1990’s are on display, very much visually-inhibited by the barrier rope thingies. sigh. people.
all photos on this blog post were taken by me and don’t do makoto’s work any justice; everything looks way better in person. no links are sponsored. hope you get to see the show!