I Like It

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I Like It | Art Ave Sept/Oct 2009 | Art Ave Nov-Dec 2009

I Like It

“I like it, but I'm not sure why…”

by Lalita Hamill, AFCA

Over the years I have often heard my students compare visual artists to magicians. Like a magician, they say, an artist often leaves the viewer in awe of how something so amazing can be accomplished. Like a magician, an artist must strive to keep the viewers interested. Like a magician, an artist must practice repeatedly. And in each case, the viewer is rarely privy to the creative process, inspiration, techniques, and materials, all of which contribute to the final result.

I know what they mean, because I felt the same way at the age of nineteen when I was awestruck by two very different art works housed in the Louvre. After viewing Ingres' “Portrait of Louis-Francois Bertin” and Gericault's “The Raft of the Medusa”, I felt compelled to write to friends and family about the impact these paintings had had on me. But I crumpled and tossed page after page of ridiculous-sounding letters into the waste paper basket. Sixteen years later, I still remember how frustrated I felt by my inability to share such a moving and thought-provoking experience.

Since then I have viewed thousands of works, and many have made as strong an impact. But I remember the first two as someone might remember their first love. Both paintings had fascinated me, one I had loved, and the other left me feeling haunted and overwhelmed.

Ten years later, having completed a philosophy degree and some formal art training, I once again stood transfixed in front of a painting. This time it was Artemisia Gentileschi's “Judith Slaying Holofernes” in the Galleria degli Uffizi in Florence. My husband didn't fall for the “I have an eyelash in my eye”, and asked me why I was so moved. Initially I didn't want to say why, as though doing so would somehow minimize the affecting moment. But as we left the gallery I realized that despite having had plenty of training, I still was having difficulty expressing in words why it was that the painting had intrigued me so.

So I set out to discover the source of the mystery.

I now know that although there may be an elusive element of magic in a painting, a “something special” that may not ever be identified, there is still plenty to be uncovered and learned by analyzing and critiquing various works of art. For example, the portrait by Ingres is a triangular composition, like a pyramid, which lends the impression of stability and balance. Further components such as colour, proportion, and symmetry all work together to create a sense of balance. The intense stare of the subject along with the position of his shoulders and hands make him look impatient, as though he's about to get up from the chair. One thing I remember from viewing the original work is that I felt as though the subject was going to step out of the painting and shake my hand.

Gericault's “The Raft of the Medusa” is also a triangular composition, but the feeling of stability and balance is broken by the turbulent water underneath the raft. The man at the height of the triangle is waving a flag in the hopes of being seen by a ship on the horizon. This is the focal area, and provides a sense of desperate optimism that is contrasted by those below who are in despair and dying. The repetition of shapes combined with the strong compositional lines created by various limbs and wooden planks add to the emotional charge of this dramatic scene.

Further research revealed that this painting is a depiction of the survivors after the shipwreck of the Medusa. The survivors on the raft, having been “left without food or water, eventually turned to cannibalism, though they were finally rescued by a passing ship”. An interesting note is that even though I was unaware of the historical context and of Gericault's aim at intense social commentary, the artist succeeded in producing powerful haunting emotions within me.

Both Ingres and Gericault have carefully captivated the viewer's eye by leading us through a series of shapes, lines, values and colours. Careful analysis of the more technical aspects of a piece can lead one closer to deciphering that previously inexpressible impact. Although I have not fully determined what the “special something” was for me with these two paintings, I am much closer. Perhaps another visit to the Louvre is in order.

I am undecided on how I feel about artists being viewed as magicians. But if we choose to use this analogy we need to decide for ourselves whether we are content to observe the magic, or we have the desire to know how it was done. If someone handed you a book explaining how to perform magic tricks…would you read it?

In the end, my view is this: given that I have decided I'm going to be the magician, in order to do it well I must learn how to perform the methods if I want others to stay and watch my show. I expect that this ongoing learning process will continue for the rest of my life, and I am truly grateful for this curiosity and interest.

What about you?


	Hamill Studios \| home I Like It \| Art Ave Sept/Oct 2009 \| Art Ave Nov-Dec 2009 I Like It “I like it, but I'm not sure why…” by Lalita Hamill, AFCA Over the years I have often heard my students compare visual artists to magicians. Like a magician, they say, an artist often leaves the viewer in awe of how something so amazing can be accomplished. Like a magician, an artist must strive to keep the viewers interested. Like a magician, an artist must practice repeatedly. And in each case, the viewer is rarely privy to the creative process, inspiration, techniques, and materials, all of which contribute to the final result. I know what they mean, because I felt the same way at the age of nineteen when I was awestruck by two very different art works housed in the Louvre. After viewing Ingres' “Portrait of Louis-Francois Bertin” and Gericault's “The Raft of the Medusa”, I felt compelled to write to friends and family about the impact these paintings had had on me. But I crumpled and tossed page after page of ridiculous-sounding letters into the waste paper basket. Sixteen years later, I still remember how frustrated I felt by my inability to share such a moving and thought-provoking experience. Since then I have viewed thousands of works, and many have made as strong an impact. But I remember the first two as someone might remember their first love. Both paintings had fascinated me, one I had loved, and the other left me feeling haunted and overwhelmed. Ten years later, having completed a philosophy degree and some formal art training, I once again stood transfixed in front of a painting. This time it was Artemisia Gentileschi's “Judith Slaying Holofernes” in the Galleria degli Uffizi in Florence. My husband didn't fall for the “I have an eyelash in my eye”, and asked me why I was so moved. Initially I didn't want to say why, as though doing so would somehow minimize the affecting moment. But as we left the gallery I realized that despite having had plenty of training, I still was having difficulty expressing in words why it was that the painting had intrigued me so. So I set out to discover the source of the mystery. I now know that although there may be an elusive element of magic in a painting, a “something special” that may not ever be identified, there is still plenty to be uncovered and learned by analyzing and critiquing various works of art. For example, the portrait by Ingres is a triangular composition, like a pyramid, which lends the impression of stability and balance. Further components such as colour, proportion, and symmetry all work together to create a sense of balance. The intense stare of the subject along with the position of his shoulders and hands make him look impatient, as though he's about to get up from the chair. One thing I remember from viewing the original work is that I felt as though the subject was going to step out of the painting and shake my hand. Gericault's “The Raft of the Medusa” is also a triangular composition, but the feeling of stability and balance is broken by the turbulent water underneath the raft. The man at the height of the triangle is waving a flag in the hopes of being seen by a ship on the horizon. This is the focal area, and provides a sense of desperate optimism that is contrasted by those below who are in despair and dying. The repetition of shapes combined with the strong compositional lines created by various limbs and wooden planks add to the emotional charge of this dramatic scene. Further research revealed that this painting is a depiction of the survivors after the shipwreck of the Medusa. The survivors on the raft, having been “left without food or water, eventually turned to cannibalism, though they were finally rescued by a passing ship”. An interesting note is that even though I was unaware of the historical context and of Gericault's aim at intense social commentary, the artist succeeded in producing powerful haunting emotions within me. Both Ingres and Gericault have carefully captivated the viewer's eye by leading us through a series of shapes, lines, values and colours. Careful analysis of the more technical aspects of a piece can lead one closer to deciphering that previously inexpressible impact. Although I have not fully determined what the “special something” was for me with these two paintings, I am much closer. Perhaps another visit to the Louvre is in order. I am undecided on how I feel about artists being viewed as magicians. But if we choose to use this analogy we need to decide for ourselves whether we are content to observe the magic, or we have the desire to know how it was done. If someone handed you a book explaining how to perform magic tricks…would you read it? In the end, my view is this: given that I have decided I'm going to be the magician, in order to do it well I must learn how to perform the methods if I want others to stay and watch my show. I expect that this ongoing learning process will continue for the rest of my life, and I am truly grateful for this curiosity and interest. What about you?