I could give you a course description for Cultural Immersion through the Fine Arts (ART 220), and use words like “appreciation” and “aesthetic appeal”, but that’s not what it’s about. The amazing part of being in a city like Dublin is that instead of watching a power point, or opening a text book, we walk down the street to see the art we talk about in class. I saw, in real life, a Caravaggio, Vermeer, and Picasso. I could have touched a Picasso painting. I didn’t. Don’t worry; that’s a serious no-no, but the point is — I could have. Though it’s important to have texts and representations of the topics we study, there is nothing quite like hearing, “And for the second half of class, we’re going to go down the street to the National Gallery of Ireland and look at a Caravaggio painting.” No big deal.
Art is such a subjective matter, but no one can deny that at its heart it’s all about resonating. What draws a person to a work is that element that echoes of something within them. Perhaps even, what creates a mirror for parts of themselves they cannot fully express, but still feel. For me, viewing art is a give and take process that allows for introspection. Though often the answers I come away with are nothing more than a sense of fulfillment, of gaining something I had lacked.
Quite a few of the pieces from the National Gallery of Ireland are famous. Super-duper famous. But this can make it hard to connect with them. I feel you lose the novelty of that first response to it, because of the assumed understanding that comes with familiarity.
William John Leech (1881-1968)
However, there were a few pieces that I connected with. Almost immediately, the work A Convent Garden, Brittany by William John Leech caught my eye. Leech often visited the Brittany area, but in 1904 he fell ill with typhoid and had to spend time recovering at the convent there. The garden he painted was his view from the room in which he stayed. But, the painting was not painted until 1913, nearly ten years after he stayed there, and in a cool little twist, the woman portrayed as the novice (a woman who is training to pledge herself to God and the church) is in fact Leech’s wife, Elizabeth Saurine.
Originally from Ireland, Leech travelled to France quite often, and there he saw works from the French Impressionist artists, which influenced his own paintings quite strongly. In A Convent Garden this shift if quite clearly beginning to take hold, with his brushstrokes becoming light and airy, and losing form in comparison to his earlier works. The impression of the garden, especially the atmosphere is dynamic; Leech’s play with light, in the color of the plants and more magnificently, the novice’s bridal gown, are a wonder. Looking closely, (as I did, cause it was RIGHT there) you can see that in fact the gown is not white at all, but made up of an array of blue and green hues, and yet somehow, it appears nearly transparent, a breeze lifting the top layer of fabric and floating it about her body.
But more fascinating still, is the compilation and reflection of his own life in the portrait. By using his wife as the novice he celebrates her and their life together. It was mentioned to us by our tour guide, that due to Elizabeth having been previously married, and as Catholics, they could never be married in a church, nor could she wear white. This is the ultimate in romantic gesture. In a serious stick it to the man; he forever immortalizes her as purity itself: a novice giving herself to God. Try topping this guy on Valentine’s Day.
A little further into the exhibit and following the Impressionism movement, Yeats stopped me up short. His exhibit was a torrid and colorful mess, and yet pieces of liberating clarity shown through. I spent time looking at a number of his works, trying to find figures and meaning, but his piece that struck me most, was For the Road. There was no informational plaque next to this painting, other than the title. There was no background to go on, just simple impulsory response.
The colors and use of light and dark— there was a fear in it. The brush strokes looked closer to that of actual finger strokes in areas. A frenzied air encircled the forefront of the picture. I immediately recalled being a child and shutting off lights at night, only to run quickly for the next room before something grabbed you in the dark. There is an irrational fear that takes hold of the spine, a tensing in the legs that pushes you forward. I suddenly realized this painting was so drawing because of the blatant appeal to the animal instincts. This gentle horse is suddenly a wild animal in fear, completely irrational and unthinking, just as fear does to humans. It was a literal translation of the animalistic response fear could have in humans. Yet, there was light at the end, and a figure that appears familiar, and friendly.
Yeats plays with his light, and color to convey so much. Without the urgency in the brushstrokes, and the evolution of colors from dark to warm and yellowing hues, this painting may seem nothing more than a horse following its master, or coming when it’s called. Yet there’s so much more. The red streaks in the trees peak from between, as though perhaps something lurks there, and it is still ahead of the horse, a place it must pass. Looking closely though there is a
lready yellow resting gently on the horses back and shoulders, he is reaching quickly into the light, and security. By placing the horse in the foreground, it allows the viewer to feel the movement, and the placement of the fear, making you want to get in a little closer, (just not close enough to touch).
-Meriah Nunn
Professional Writing Major, Champlain College Class of 2013
Champlain College Dublin Fall 2012