The standard history was that oil paining began in fifteenth-century Europe.
So much for that theory.
Above: a newly discovered 7th-century Afghan cave mural pointed with oil by monks, depicting the "Buddha in vermillion robes sitting cross-legged amid palm leaves and mythological creatures."
Truly inspiration, though given the historic significance I would probably have been just have impressed if the painting had been a ghost sign.
Pippa Bacca (1975—2008) was an Italian artist who, together with a fellow artist, was hitch-hiking from Milan to the Middle-East to promote WORLD PEACE and trust in other people, while wearing wedding dresses. Arriving in Gebze (TR) on March 31 2008, she went missing, and her sister flew to Turkey to locate her. Her body was discovered in the city on April 11, 2008, and she was formally identified by her sibling, and taken to Istanbul for an autopsy.
More here and at her website, which includes this depiction of Adam and Eve:
The tradition of thinly repressed Christian homoeroticism continues with the--yes--"unveiling" of this official portrait of Pope Benedict XVI and friend. Explanation + more close-ups follow in the video interview with artist Igor Babailov.
Michele Mossop, via
If I were in Boston this weekend--the 11th through the 13th--I'd definitely hang out at this conference. Sounds like fun, with engaging topics and interesting speakers.
Continuing the theme of yesterday's post, here's a detail from Terence Healy's "Tit Crucifixion #18," via Naked City
The first picture below is "DJ Lea Luna - Pretending To Be Holy & In Control of Some Unknown Something or Other . . . ." When I saw this on FFFFOUND it immediately looked familiar, and then it hit me--it's a front-view echo of the picture that Erich van Daniken claimed to depict an ancient Mayan astronaut.
Believe it or not, this is an avant-garde digital art exhibit in Miami. Below, the parting of the Red Sea; Creative Review has all the images and a description of the project.
About a block from my office is St. Paul's Chapel, "The Little Chapel That Stood" as the Twin Towers collapsed behind it. One day shortly after I started my current gig I popped in for a moment of reflection and discovered, much to my surprise, that the sanctuary has been converted into an all-out 9/11 tourist attraction. There's not just an exterior display noting the chapel's experience of 9/11; the inside is a veritable 9/11 pilgrimage site, replete with sacred relics and . . .
Talk to folks who live in the City about the street vendors who surround the pit--as it's not so affectionately known around here by folks weary of the endless construction--and you'll inevitably hear a fair stream of invective against the commodification of 9/11 by soulless jackals profiting from tragedy.
But is it any different when the seller is a church?
Arguably yes, judging from the lack of any objections among the Chapel's visitors. Shoot, lack of objection is an understatement--today I had to stand in line to just to get a look at the display case, and to my left was another line snapping up literally boxfuls of the "The Little Chapel That Stood" children's book personally autographed by the author. The store is a testament to the power of transformative design--a vendor on the street is merely selling things, but a shop in a shrine is not commerce.
Is this statue a hate crime?
Police in the UK are investigating that very question. The rationale: this statue, a depiction of the Buddha with banana-and-egg genitalia that is part of artist Colin Self's intentionally provocative The Trilogy: The Iconoclasts, violates the U.K.'s Racial and Religious Hatred Act of 2006. While the investigation continues, the gallery has agreed to display the piece with its back to the window.
This police inquiry provides additional evidence that the West is moving toward an age of enforced Religious Realism. By realism here I don't mean accuracy, but rather an idealized depiction, akin to the stirring portraits of Soviet dictators and robust peasants in the Socialist Realism of Stalinist art. Whether the motivation is regard for diversity or fear of offense the effect is the same. The only permitted visual depiction of religion is one that portrays its subject as noble and pure.
What do we lose? A world without profane religious art is a world that has lost touch with its own religious history. The originators of our enduring religious traditions weren't afraid of a sacred sphere rife with blasphemy and body parts--they reveled in the contradictions, and if we acknowledged their legacy as it was and not as we would like to be, laws such as the one described above would not exist.
Case in point: the palad khik, traditional religious amulets from Thailand. Although palad khik may sound exotically new age, the name actually refers to a surrogate penis. The amulets--crafted by monks in the shape of a penis and adorned with sacred invocations and spiritual imagery--make the so-called iconoclasm of postmodern art seem rather tame.
Yes, we could legislate a world where the only sacred penis is one that we revere, but c'mon, that would just be silly.
HT: the always fun and informative Alt Religion!
An engaging multi-faith exploration of the relation between art and higher meaning, available here.
Today's New York Times Magazine has a feature highlighting the famed ice Buddha sculpture at Megu, a local restaurant. The accompanying photo:
"Reverence" is the theme of a new exhibit at the Hudson Valley Center of Contemporary Art. The aim? To bring together art that speaks of the transcendent without using the traditional visual rhetoric of religious iconography.
Pictured on the left is "Exaltation," one of the exhibit's featured works. The artist is Damien Hirst, known for his art utilizing dead animals. Exaltation is no different--it's actually composed of butterfly wings. Here's the description from the HVCCC:
"Thousands of gorgeous and variegated butterfly wings are applied in a dense and specific pattern giving the sense of a wondrous stained glass cathedral window. Here the use of color, translucence and height, drawing the eyes and the spirit ever upward, are features inherent to reverent worship, echoing the Psalm’s: 'I lift my eyes up to the heights, from whence I draw my inspiration'. The work is ultimately a powerful metaphor for life and death and transcendence of nature and the spirit."
