When I witness a work of art--painting, sculpture, dance, song, theater,
etc.--the strongest feeling I get is joy. I almost never feel any other
emotion, just a range of good feelings from mild satisfaction, to elation, to
joy. The works evoke that reaction from me.
On a few occasions, I feel a strong reaction to the *represented* action. I
tear up when I read the bunkhouse scene in "Of Mice and Men" ("Make 'im stop,
George!"). I still feel my breath stick in my throat when I see Goya's "Saturn
Devouring His Sons." I feel cold when I see Breughel's "Hunters in the Snow."
But for almost every other WoA, I react with joy and lifted spirits at the way
they were made, at all of the choices the maker made and how those choices
were executed. It starts with raw perception, but then proceeds along one of
two routes: marvel or disappointment. Right now, I'm listening to Handel's
"Hallelujah Chorus," and it fills me with a powerful feeling and transports
me. I can hardly understand the words, but the music, the orchestration and
choral singing, is just great. Van der Weyden's "Deposition" is utterly and
movingly elegant, no misery or anguish there for me. Sometimes, my reaction is
emptiness or unfulfilled expectations: "That's it?" Dali's works are the
epitome of that, for me (in contrast to Ernst's, which are far more incisive
and shrewd, i.e., a modest bit of intellectual and visual joyfulness).
Also, I find it very hard to watch the face of a singer. I have to close my
eyes when the camera goes in for a close-up, or in church I don't watch the
priest of cantor singing. For some reason, it distracts me from the song and
music, it personalizes it and, on TV, I don't want to look at the singer's
teeth but listen to the music. So I look away or close my eyes. But I do get
very engaged in watching the full body gesticulations of the conductor of a
symphony orchestra.
*Apologies to C.S. Lewis
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Michael Brady
