Okay I am finally kicking this off my "Currently reading" shelf because I returned this book to the library several months ago and I'm not getting it back anytime soon. "Abandoned," sadly.

So here we have an interesting book about people crying in front of paintings. It's been several months since I looked at this book, so I can't give any real specifics. I got the feeling that the author couldn't really find THAT much to say about the subject, but I can't say why now. There are some really cool and engaging personal anecdotes, and there is a whole section in the back devoted to the letters people wrote Elkins describing these experiences. The last chapter I read was about people's changing tastes in art and how one painting that made people cry when it first premiered no longer has the same effect on people today. The first chapter, about Rothko's chapel, left the best impression on me. There was also an interesting chapter about people fainting and falling ill while looking at paintings. That's all I got. Not a bad book, and if I had more time I would have gladly finished it. Maybe one day.

MOST IMPORTANTLY FOR AN ART BOOK YOU HAD LIKE FIVE PICTURES. COME ON.

So, a book about people who have cried in front of different paintings throughout history? Sign me up please! I'd never heard of this writer before, but the unconventional treatment of art history was right up my alley. I love writing that explores the area between the academic (art/painting) and the non-academic (crying).



Though the author, Elkins, is a respected professor of art history, he was still able to remain open-minded to other ways of approaching art, never ruling out anything as 'invalid', but considering them all in the spectrum of different human reactions to art. Not so his colleagues. When beginning his project, he sent out a letter to many people, both art historians and regular art admirers, with a survey asking if they had ever cried in front of a painting before.

The vast majority of art historians either did not write back, or wrote back to say they had not--and did not think that crying was very professional. Many of the ones who did admit to crying wished to remain anonymous. The author says that we currently live in one of the most tearless eras of art history ever, and that it was not always this way.

The most interesting letters/surveys that came back were from non-art historians, just regular museum goers who had a special experience to share.



The book starts off with two chapters about the Rothko chapel (above), which I found especially interesting since I visited it just a year ago, knowing only Rothko’s more colorful output. I was oddly unmoved by these vast dark pieces, whereas Rothko’s lozenge-like color fields have been some of the paintings closest to moving me to tears in the past. But it was nice to read what others had felt in front of these paintings that I had not.

"Some tears were mysteries even to the person who cried them. ("Tears, a liquid embrace") They came from nowhere, and in a minute they evaporate, like a dream that can hardly be remembered. What can be said about tears like that? I want to spend awhile now considering tears of all sorts, just to see how few of them make sense."

People cry in front of paintings for many different reasons. Some I found more useful than others, and sometimes--I have to be honest--I thought the author was a little too open-minded, whereas reading the accounts myself, I felt that the crying had more to do with the person than the painting.

Elkins himself admits that he has not cried in front of a painting before, but I got a sense that he deeply wishes to be able to; all his knowledge prevents him from returning to that state.



Throughout the book, Elkins wrestles with the two approaches: emotional investment vs. intellectual distance. He shows you how throughout history, there have been periods of lots of crying and periods of sober intellectual distance. We are in one of the most sober periods in art. Elkins reminds us that modernism and postmodernism came about as a reaction against the high emotion, the carried-away-ness of romanticism. We live under the illusion that art does not need to move us, we walk from painting to painting in a museum as if consuming chicken nuggets.

But I don't know if it's so clear cut as that. We can be moved by highly modern and even post-modern works, like the woman who wrote letter #6 in the appendix (he collects some of his responses in the back) where she describes being moved to tears by the colors, the paint, and even the nails that hold the canvas to the stretcher. In fact, I think the most successful paintings for me are the ones that manage to create that illusion of Modernism's self-aware distance, yet still communicate strong human emotions--paintings that embody both intellect AND emotion.

"In a subject like this, no matter how dusty a theory is, it might help, and a very dusty theory might fit best. I say that because I hope it's true: at least I know there is no hope for a well-behaved, legitimate-sounding theory where things are so wild."

Response to p.124-129

I understand Elkins is trying to play devil’s advocate here, but his analysis is too simple. After giving us all the great reasons why we don’t cry over a late 18th century Greuze painting (below), namely: cultural/generational differences that affect how we look at painting, and at ideas like nobility, patriotism, love, etc. and how we don’t see things as black & white but as more complicated shades of gray, as well as how we look at things that are overly sentimental as manipulative, he goes on to say that nevertheless we cry at sentimental Disney movies and Dick and Jane books, etc. Then he says:

“There must be some other reason why Greuze is so powerless to move us. The answer, I think, lies in our fear of crying.”

Well I find that completely absurd, given what he’s just told us. If we fear crying, why don't we fear crying at Disney movies and Dick and Jane books, as he JUST told us? No, we don’t cry at Greuze paintings anymore for the same reason (most of us) don’t find 20’s comedies funny anymore--because attitudes about what’s sad/funny/etc. change within the span of decades, and even faster now. I agree with Elkin’s point that we should free up our tear glands more often when it comes to art appreciation... and I agree that fear of crying is probably one of the many factors for why we don’t cry at more paintings... but fear of crying is NOT the reason we don’t cry at THIS Greuze painting, in particular.



In other words, just because we should cry doesn’t mean we should still be crying over the same things we cried over in 1785! That’s absurd... if we’re to cry today, it will have to be something that makes OUR generation cry--something that speaks to us, like Rothko did in Chapter 1. How can such a simple point elude Elkin, when he pretty much outlines it right there earlier in the chapter? I feel like he willfully misses this obvious point towards the end of the chapter. But why?

About Museums

I think what he says about museums being a busy, brightly lit area seems to be one of the strongest reasons for not crying. And in fact I wonder why he doesn’t harp on this point more. Maybe because he thinks the museum experience may just be a symptom of our attitudes towards art rather than the cause. The chicken or the egg? Hmm...

He talks about how much more conducive to emotional reactions it would be if museums would dedicate each room to just one painting, where the light is dimmed and a soft light is cast on the painting.

Although I think this is a good idea, I can see why we don't do it this way, i.e. the presentation of the art can easily become manipulative, tainting the 'pure' experience of the artwork with the museum's interpretation. But isn’t that inevitable anyway? Crowding many art pieces into a brightly lit room is also influencing our way of viewing it, but this way doesn’t serve the painting at all. Perhaps every painting should be thought of as installation art, and museums should think more about individualizing the presentation of each to fit the art.

A Review of the Actual Writing Itself

Despite some gaps in the logic and some rather repetitive portions towards the middle, it was generally engaging; personal, yet backed up by evidence, and not shying away from the occasional inexplicable mystery. But there were times when I thought he did not delve far enough with some of his conclusions.

A Survey of My Own

I would like to know what paintings you have cried in front of, if any, and (if you can put it into words:) why did you cry?

And if none, then what paintings have moved you closest to tears? And if still none, then what sculptures, photographs, or otherwise non-filmic visual medium has moved you to tears? Please respond in the comments section. ( )

The topic is fascinating, and when Elkins talks about specific works of art he is great. Unfortunately, when he talks about emotions he doesn't say much and he repeats his few points insufferably; a good editor would have trimmed this book by a quarter. That said, Elkins' position that we are poorer for having forgotten how to engage with paintings emotionally - and the role that museums and art historians play in this development - will stay with you and affect the way you look at art in the future. ( )

If you browsed the New York Review of Books around 1999, you may have noticed a small classified ad that read something like this: “Wanted: if you have ever cried in front of a painting, please contact me.”

The ad was placed by James Elkins, professor in the Department of Art History, Theory and Criticism at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Elkins received hundreds of responses to his query, which he also posted on the Internet and in a variety of other publications. The responses, along with historical research and contacts with a wide range of individuals, form the basis of his book.

Elkins argues that being moved to tears by a work of art is not kooky or deranged, but a valid and important reaction—a response that was relatively common in the past, but has become increasingly rare in our time. He laments this state of affairs and expresses frustration at his own inability to weep, even when viewing paintings that have played a special role in his career and life.

To read the full review:
http://www.resnicowschroeder.com/aboutUs.asp?P=3&A=1&opedId=169 ( )