Last weekend I had to attend a conference in Washington, DC, so I took a little extra time to meet up with my brother, as well as some UD (and Guild Review) friends for dinner. When I arrived in Washington on Thursday, I had a little extra time in the afternoon, which I decided to spend in the National Gallery. In one of the rooms filled with works by Dutch painters, I found this painting of the interior of the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam by Emanuel de Witte (I believe).
I'm no art critic, but I was impressed by the detail, and wanted to get a closer look at some of the figures in the painting. After I had been standing there looking at the picture for about a minute, a woman, who had just entered the room, stepped up right next to me and said, "That is magnificent!" And then she walked away.
If you're going to call a painting magnificent, shouldn't you spend at least few seconds looking at it?
4 comments:
Maybe she'd already spent time looking at it previously and just wanted to show her approval....
The other way not to view a painting are the people who want other people to watch them while they look at the painting. They look at it close-up, take a few steps back, rub their chin and say 'hmm.....well......this is quite profound." You know they have no idea what they are talking about...
Like movies or scotches or a lot of other things, I think this sort of thing is best done with others, and beginning with fairly elementary (or elemental?) question: What do you notice? What do you like? What is going on in this picture? And of course, always, Why? and How can you tell?.
One of the great dangers of certain modern schools of interpretation is that we've lost these basic notions. Aristotle is keen on the importance of plot, particularly for character development. He's a nice guy? How do you know? He says nice things? But he does wicked things. (Cf. Aristotle's notions of virtue as a habit.) Some critics can get so rapped up in certain details or theories that they can miss the forest for the trees.
Caitlin, how did you know I was stroking my beard and talking to myself as I looked at the painting? And I do often get real close to the painting first, and then take a step back, but that's because I need to get a new prescription for my glasses.
But seriously, to respond to Paul's comment: That occurred to me, but it seemed unlikely, though I can't really say why. If that is the case, however, I find it just as strange that this woman would not try to explain herself or engage me in conversation. Then again, maybe she's just extremely shy and I shouldn't make fun of her.
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