Abstract Art: A Christian Defense

Reporter Brian Nixon with the ASSIST News Service helps patrons consider Modern Art. 

Denver, Colorado (ANS) —I read Francis Schaeffer’s classic and influential book How Shall We Then Live early in my Christian walk. I was in my early 20’s. I was intrigued by Schaeffer’s considerations, and the book helped form my own understanding of the world. I was struck by his insightful look at history and the flow of culture, showing how  philosophy, literature, and artistic expression shape worldviews. His conclusions—on how Christianity answered the questions posed by the various worldviews—made sense to me.

Author Francis Schaeffer

     
This book led me to read others by Schaeffer, notably his small book called Art and the Bible. As with  How Shall We Then Live, I appreciated much of Schaeffer’s thought, gaining understanding and insight into the arts from a Christian perspective. I still welcome his four standards of understanding art: technical excellence, validity, intellectual content (the worldview that comes through), and the integration of content and vehicle.

Yet one thing troubled me. As one who greatly respected and worked in the field of abstract art, I was disappointed in Schaeffer’s opinion concerning the nature and role of abstractionism. Schaeffer insinuated that abstract art somehow fosters a worldview that strips away the humanity of people, highlighting an art form that has distanced itself from a biblical worldview. Further, he suggested that abstract art—both in visual art and written form—didn’t have content. Schaeffer stated, “An art form or style that is no longer able to carry content cannot be used to give the Christian message.” As a young Christian, I interpreted this view that abstract art can’t communicate a Christian worldview.

Art and the Bible  by Francis Schaeffer

Elsewhere Schaeffer wrote, “Totally abstract art stands in an undefiled relationship with the viewer, for the viewer is completely alienated from the painter. There is a huge wall between them.” Again, it appeared that Schaeffer didn’t have room in his understanding of art to include a Christian notion of abstractionism.

With phrases such as “no content,” “a huge wall,” and “alienated,” readers concluded that these strong words were meant to convey something specific: that the nature of abstract art within a Christian worldview was amiss; the two didn’t mix.
But somehow I found myself disagreeing with Schaeffer in his understanding of abstract art.

Why did—and do—I feel this way? 

One, out of respect for Schaeffer, I think he hadn’t yet grasped that abstract art does contain content in both form and substance. Abstract art is ripe with meaning. Because he was living and writing during the time abstract art was rising in prominence, I’m not sure if his keen mind had time to adjust to the ideas and meaning surrounding the new medium.  

Two, his statement that abstract art “alienates” the viewer from the painter may show his lack of comprehension of the language of abstract art, a new and unique voice in the world of culture at the time. Understanding was another possible factor in his rebuke of abstract art.

But what Schaeffer hit upon is the fact that abstract art can divide. It seems people adore it, abhor it, or are oblivious to it. For those fascinated by it, they either loathe it or love it. Why? I would argue that it is because abstract art screams significance, thought, and opinion; it stretches our understanding of art, form, structure, and meaning. Abstract art makes us react.

“Convergence 1952” by Jackson Pollock  (Oil on Canvas. Albright-Knox Art Gallery).

Contrary to Schaeffer, I hold the opinion that abstract art doesn’t alienate; rather, it causes one to contemplate. It forces the human mind to pose questions, make judgments, and form conclusions. Great abstract art can entice one into the work with greater awareness and perception of the technique and style, instilling an awareness of the artist's mind at work.

These ideas recently resonated with me during a quick trip to Denver, Colorado, to visit two museums: The Denver Museum of Art and the Clyfford Still Museum. At the first, the show “Modern Masters” was on display. The exhibit highlighted artwork from diverse modern artist such as Picasso, Matisse, Miro, and Dali to Pollock, Martin, Rothko, Motherwell, Lichtenstein, and Warhol. To say the least, it was marvelous.

The Jackson Pollock (1912–1956) painting, “Convergence 1952,” featured in that show, caused me to stop and ponder. Maybe my fascination occurred because I’m reading a book about two modern painters, Thomas Hart Benton and Jackson Pollock, by Henry Adams. In this book, Tom and Jack, Adams does a marvelous job of helping patrons understand both artists, particularly how Benton, as Pollock’s teacher, infused within his student a sense of design, form, and flow, using abstract concepts picked up from the Syncromist movement.

What I found fascinating is that—contrary to many assessments of Pollock’s work—his art does include figures, albeit deep within the painting. In his work one can find faces, animals, and other unique forms. Pollock’s art is not purely abstract. In one of his first noteworthy paintings, “Mural,” Pollock even used his name (written in large letters across the canvas) to balance the rest of the work. True, it takes concentration to see the signature in “Mural,” but upon study, one can find his name there. Pollock’s work is not void of content.

The second reason I stopped in front of “Convergence 1952” is that it demands that one do so. His work is monumental. It is bold. It draws one in unlike other paintings. The first thing I noticed about the painting was the drips of paint, the technique if you will. Then the color. Then the flow of lines. Then the layers. Had I not been on a schedule, I could have spend an hour following the lines, flow, and display of colors.

One thing I did recognize is that the painting didn’t create a wall between Pollock and me. Nor did it alienate me to his thought. Rather, it caused me—and all who walked by—to stop, asking, “What is this about?” It seemed like Pollock was taking all his influences—Benton, Braught, Krasner, Navajo sand painters—and wrapping them in a new package. Pollack gave the world a gift. Yes, it took a while for some people to unwrap that gift, but as people continue to peel away the packaging, we find that the works of art—like those of many abstract painters—are gifts that continue to delight the senses and mind.

Melanie Nixon sitting in front of a Clyfford Still painting.  (Clyfford Still Museum of Art, Denver)

Then there was the Clyfford Still museum. Still (1904–1980) was the first American abstract expressionist painter (he began abstract painting ten years before his colleagues, in 1938). Still’s work is one of deep contemplation and mood. Though not as visually complex as that of Jackson Pollack, his work moves with meaning and structure, bringing a sense of distance and deliberation to the canvas. 

The Clyfford Still Museum is a marvel in scope and presentation. Denver is fortunate to have won the rights to house his work. According to an online text, “Still specified in his will that his entire estate be given to an American city willing to establish ‘permanent quarters’ dedicated to his work. In August 2004, the city of Denver, Colorado, announced it had been chosen by Still’s wife, Patricia Still, to receive the artworks contained within the Clyfford Still Estate.”

So what is it about abstract art that causes direct and dominating thoughts and words? Why do some dismiss abstract art as work that “my kindergarten kid can do.” The answers are far-reaching, demanding time and attention beyond the scope of this article. But as a means of summarizing its importance, I’ll use Schaeffer’s four standards of art:

Technical excellence. Though people have dismissed abstract art as technically inferior to realism, there is marvelous technicality to abstract art. As mentioned above, it has created its own language of method, style, and substance. One wouldn’t say that Cervantes didn’t create wonderful artwork (in his case, literature) because his language was Spanish. Nonsense. It’s the technical excellence in the use of his language that makes Cervantes’s work great. And like any artist, great abstract art has inherent meaning and technical excellence—a language seen through its use of color, balance, texture, line, and structure. Though knowing the language will help the viewer appreciate the work with greater clarity, knowing the language is not dependent on appreciation of abstract art’s worth. The technical excellence is inherent in its form.

Validity. Abstract art is valid in that it is a product of the human will, a legitimate expression of mood, feeling, and of the human condition. Think of viewing an abstract painting by Clyfford Still as being like viewing the blue sky. Upon first glance, the sky may appear boring blue. But as you look, you notice a splash of clouds, then a bird flying by, then variances in color, unique shades of blue. Just as someone looking at a basic blue sky may appreciate it with greater study, a painting by Still may at first seem basic and lackluster, but upon further study will reveal its ebb, flow, and intricacies. Still imbued meaning, structure, and technique into his work, variances in color, shade, texture, balance, form, and style. Deeper study of an abstract painting will afford the viewer with deeper meaning and appreciation. And just because something seems “simple” doesn’t mean that an object lacks validity. To a certain extent, simplicity is a key factor in helping understand the artwork’s worth, power, and cogency. Validity is innate in the work itself.

Jackson Pollock  (Photo credit: Life Magazine)

Worldview and Intellectual Content. All humans contain a way of seeing reality, a worldview. Abstract art is one means by which people perceive that which is around them (the world) and within them (their mental and spiritual life). Because of this, there is great intellectual content found within abstract art. The fact that both Michelangelo (a representational artist) and Jackson Pollock (an abstractionist) have worldviews is basic to understanding human nature, thereby giving a mindfulness to their work. When we look at either artist's work, we ask, “How did they do this?” and “What did they mean by creating it?” Like representational art, abstract art has great things to say about life and culture. There is a weightiness to the creative act—in all its forms—an understanding of what it means to be human. And because of this, abstract art is heavy with implication and importance.

The question is not "Do abstract artists have a worldview, but what is the essence of that worldview?" And further, does the worldview correspond to reality, either internally (feeling, emotion, etc.) or externally (the nature of the world)? Does the worldview have structure, form, and a sense of being? And from a metaphysical angle, particularly a Christian worldview: does the worldview express a Christian understanding of the world? Put simply, abstract art contains both a worldview and intellectual content. The larger question concerning the content is in how one interprets the content. This leads to the last point.

Clyfford Still

The Integration of Content and Vehicle. Here Schaeffer means how art communicates the worldview of the artist. Though there are direct ways an artist can communicate a message or meaning (think of the painting of Jesus knocking at a door by Warner Sallman), many times artwork lacks a direct meaning or vehicle. In the end, art comes down to the interpretation of the viewer. And because many people (with many worldviews) view art, many interpretations can arise from a single work. 

Someone looking at the Pieta statue by Michelangelo (Mary holding the dead Christ in her lap) may see Christ dying for the world. Others will see a mother’s love for her son. Some will see the death due to rebellion. Still others may simply view the statue as a slab of marble designed with purpose and order, art for art's sake. And, yes, some interpretations are better than others; but the idea is that not that all content has a clear vehicle. Even if Michelangelo had a specific message he wanted to communicate, that doesn’t mean that the content will integrate itself within each person the same way.

So though one may create a work of art with love and devotion for Christ, the Church, and for people, that doesn’t mean that its content will be communicated as thus. The vehicle may be hampered by the worldview of the person viewing the art. To use a cliché, art is in “the eye of the beholder.”

I know Schaeffer understood this. For elsewhere he states that art can’t be, or shouldn’t be, relegated to a tract, a simple understanding of the nature of art. So though content and vehicle are important—especially in helping understand the artist and the artist’s work—they aren't the only factors in determining the worth, understanding, or appreciation of art. 

Abstract art is as viable a means of creating—a form of expression—as any artistic medium, a way to interact with God’s creative self, a way to offer thanksgiving, ask questions, pose problems, and give praise. In other words, abstract art affords humans the chance to respond to God’s creative person by the means of a creative act.

For a full treatment and discussion of Modern Art, I recommend God in the Gallery, by Daniel A. Siedell (Baker Academic).

Brian Nixon is a writer, musician, minister, and family man. You may contact him at www.briannixon.com.