An ordinary gift: The work of art as theological conversation

A dialogue between artist and curator

This case study is the result of a dialogue between artist Libby Byrne, and curator Anne Mallaby that began in 2005 just prior to the opening of the Chapel on Station Gallery in Box Hill. Within months of the two meeting, Libby offered a solo exhibition at Chapel on Station entitled, ‘Deep Cries Out to Deep’ (2005), a personal inquiry into the nature of the sacred and what it meant to be seen. In the years that followed the opening of the gallery Anne has curated more than 250 exhibitions, claiming a gallery space as its own palette and engaging in a collaborative creative process with artists to make each exhibition. At first Anne didn’t realize the significance of this task, considering that the creative work had been done by the artists who’d brought their artwork to the space. Quite quickly, however, it became evident that placing artworks together as a body of work that is coherent and meaningful requires a particular consideration and quality of attention. Making decisions about the way the art works in a gallery is itself a creative endeavour. This form of making requires a unique kind of being with that honours the work of the artist as well as the space in which it is to sit. It demands a ‘seeing’, a certain slant of vision that can prompt insight, extend seeing and invite wonder.

In 2014 Libby exhibited ‘Everything is Breath’ (2015) at Chapel on Station Gallery. This exhibition was the culmination of her PhD, a practice-led theological inquiry into the nature of healing in the absence of cure. In the time since ‘Deep Cries Out to Deep’ (2005) her work has shifted from being a personal expression of the experience of faith to a professional inquiry into the nature of faith. Throughout this time of change Libby has learned to trust in Anne’s curation of her work. Rowan Williams suggests that there is a presence in a work of art that generates difference and self-questioning. As a curator, Anne sits with this difference and welcomes the questions that emerge, thereby ensuring that her curation is a process of discernment. In this sense the process of curating a body of artwork into an exhibition can be considered a theological endeavour.

Theological inquiry in the gallery

In 2016 Libby decided to embark upon a practice-led theological inquiry exploring the prompt offered by the Mandorla Art Prize, ‘Resurrection’. Having been created in the isolation of the studio, the images that emerged from this practice were originally seen as part of the travelling Mandorla exhibition in Western Australia. The recognition that they received prompted Libby and Anne to explore how the curation of a public exhibition could extend this material and praxis based theological inquiry. Having received financial support from the University of Divinity for a public exhibition, this particular artwork was offered in the form of a curated exhibition at Tacit Contemporary Art Gallery in Melbourne 2016 (see Appendix). ⁵

There is a complex and curious relationship between the places where art is made and where it is displayed. Brian O’ Doherty argues that whilst art is accompanied by the artist in the studio it has not yet been able to determine its own value: ‘That begins when they (the paintings) are socialised on the gallery walls.’ ⁶ James Elkins has remarked that anyone who looks at a painting also looks at themselves, at the way they might be. ‘Objects look back, and their incoming gaze tells me what I am.’ ⁷ If this is so then looking at a painting with the receptivity that enables this exchange to take place requires a similar degree of vulnerability to making and exhibiting the work. Actively engaging viewers in the receptive process of seeing is therefore an opportunity to gather in and acknowledge the viewer’s experience within an aesthetic theological inquiry. In this way a theological inquiry that began in the studio was extended into a public forum, engaging artist, curator and many different viewers in the work of being with and seeing the art whilst making meaning in the light of theological questions that were now posed, not only by the initial prompt but by the exhibition itself.

The title of the exhibition, ‘Resurrection: A Daily Navigation’, positioned the body of work as an exploration into a question that was a theological concern. Whilst the exhibition was titled, the works that hung on the walls were not given individual names; rather they were simply numbered. Viewers who attended the exhibition were invited to offer individual titles for each of the images hanging on the walls and record their suggestions alongside the numbers that were designated to each piece. Viewers contributed anonymous written responses which were collated by the artist and curator and then considered in a qualitative thematic analysis. ⁸ In this way, the researchers were able to see the work afresh, from the viewer’s perspective, making room in the process for the contribution of others. Jennifer Attride-Stirling’s method for summarizing main themes and identifying thematic networks enabled the researchers to group and cluster thematic concepts and categories and therefore to recognize and analyse patterns and discover relationships between ideas that were presented. ⁹ This method of analysis was employed to identify resonance and dissonance in the various aesthetic responses to the artwork and then discern theological content.

Making the work in the studio: The artist’s experience

Speaking of the experience of praying with the icons of Christ, Rowan Williams says, ‘You cannot paint a picture of a simple act of God….You can only show the effect of God’s action.’ ¹⁰ To imagine how to paint the effect of God’s action in the world is an inherently theological task. Whilst Gordon Kaufman argued that ‘Theology is now, and always has been, human construction of a concept of God’, ¹¹ Jeremy Law acknowledges this and proposes that imagination ‘bring(s) to mind that which is not directly and currently present to the senses’ in order to make a distinct contribution to perception and reason. ¹² As it enables us to conceive of alternatives to what is presently real, imagination is therefore inherently useful, if not indispensable, in theological inquiry. The artist relies on imagination to make material connections between things that may have previously been separate. ¹³ Employing a material practice to address a theological question is an attempt to engage the imagination to see what we may have missed in regard to a theological question or concern. As a form of theological inquiry making art is an attempt to see what God may be saying and doing with regard to the question under consideration.

In 2016, I (Libby) took up the challenging thematic prompt offered by the Mandorla Prize to consider, imagine and then see the effect of God’s action in the Resurrection. From the outset I realized the Resurrection could never be defined by one image and so I began on by limiting my imagining to the question of how to begin. As I sat with this wondering on Ash Wednesday, I recognized my desire to make a mark. The liturgy for Ash Wednesday is designed to remind us that we are formed from the dust of the earth. As we receive the ashes, they become a sign for us of repentance and returning to God and so I began by making a mark in this way. What followed was a process of working with graphite on linen to make marks each day, thereby recording the effects of the movement of God through Lent until Resurrection Sunday. My intention was to visually record my own spiritual journey toward the Resurrection and in doing so hopefully illuminate the effects of God’s action in this time and place.

Making art in this way is an inquiry into reality, into the way things are, as much as into the way things could still be. I soon realized that, rather than continually building an image through the process of addition, I would need to learn to let go. As I faced the drawing in the light of the liturgy each day, I routinely let go of my attachment to marks from the day before, sacrificing shapes and colours that had previously been important to make way for something new. This was first evident when I worked on Day 8. The sense of solid ground with a windswept horizon that had been present the day before was subsumed by mist and fog and I was no longer sure if I was on solid ground or at sea. My longing for the clarity that had been lost led me to make one clear strong black mark down the right hand side of the canvas (Figure 1). I was unsure of why I had needed to shatter the subtlety of the fog with this vertical mark, but my role as the maker was to respond to the desire that emerged within the process of making this image. OPEN IN VIEWER

Viewers responded strongly to the image with the vertical black line and some noted that they saw the curtain tearing in the temple as Christ hung on the Cross. This interpretation was new to me but it made sense. The meaning that was contained in this mark was held within the image until a community of viewers were able to help me to see what had been made.

I routinely photographed the drawing at the end of each day and I was eventually left with one small drawing on linen and a series of 50 photographs. Art Therapist Shaun McNiff likens the artist to a traveller who has returned from a journey with stories to tell. ¹⁴ The photographs of the days of working were postcards from the spiritual journey. I decided to print and gather them, collating them in the form of an unbound book. Resurrection: A Daily Navigation is therefore a record of the growth of a drawing and also a theological reflection on my experience of ‘Resurrection’. My decision not to bind the book was a decision to share the work with the public and invite them to make sense of the images in the light of their own experience. This was an ecclesial move toward nourishing the body of Christ with the fruits of the inquiry.

Seeing the work in the studio

The process of photographing each day ensured that I was deeply invested in seeing the work as it emerged. Downloading the photographs onto the computer was an opportunity to see the work afresh and think reflexively about what had been happening in studio each day. To be reflexive requires a willingness to make aspects of the self strange in order to stand back from assumptions and habitual thinking and notice what may have been previously missed. ¹⁵ Seeing the drawing as a digital photograph each day was a way of standing back and seeing what habits I may have fallen into.

The physical distance created by leaving the drawing in the studio to spend time with a reproduction of the image on the computer created the milieu in which I could be open to the longing and desire that was inherent in so many stages of this drawing. Whilst the work was waiting in the studio it continued to affect me. Being aware of the way in which I was affected prepared me for my next encounter with the image. When looking at the digital image there were occasions when I longed to go back and rescue a lost moment, but the discipline of the process called for me to wait until the next day. Mikel Dufrenne suggests that art continues to affect us because it acts in depth, inviting us ‘first of all to be and not immediately to do’. ¹⁶ Photographing and reflecting on the work each night was a process of actively being with the work before doing something more the next day and this process in turn deepened my understanding on the work that was being created.

The sustained rhythm of recognition and loss eventually led to the image itself becoming embodied. Joy Schaverien contends that when the artist relinquishes the desire or attempt to produce a pre-conceived image and follows the lead that is offered by each mark upon the canvas, conscious and un-conscious processes combine to produce an embodied image. ¹⁷ The meaning and elaboration of the image is not immediately accessible with words and Schaverien claims that the impact of an embodied image is ‘ineffable’, which is to say that the image represents something that is too great or extreme to be expressed or described in words. ¹⁸ This was particularly evident by day 39 of the process (Figure 2), when the Turneresque landscape that I had enjoyed for more than a week was subsumed by marks that reminded me of wounded flesh. There are still no words that adequately describe the image from Day 39 for me – but I am satisfied that it is authentic representation of the experience of that day. OPEN IN VIEWER

To draw or paint the effect of God’s action in the world requires a willingness to let go of recognizable forms in favour of following the leading lines in a new and unknown image. The artist can imagine being in control of a series of expanding possibilities, and yet the reality is that with each mark there are fewer choices that can still be made. Rowan Williams says that, ‘The artist first listens and looks for the pulse or rhythm that is not evident; but she cannot do any sort of job if she refuses to work with such pulses.’ The artist may be a ‘hunter of forms’, but the life that the artist engages with is a shedder of forms, dispossessing itself of this or that shape so as to be understood and renamed. ¹⁹ Working with the pulse of an unformed image requires discernment and humility.

Curating the work in the gallery: The artist’s experience

Resurrection: A Daily Navigation was initially exhibited as part of a group exhibition in Perth at Linton & Kay Galleries and received a Highly Commended award in the 2016, Mandorla Prize. The successful reception of this work in Perth led me to seek funding from the University of Divinity to exhibit the work in Melbourne at Tacit Contemporary Gallery in Abbotsford (Figure 3). OPEN IN VIEWER

When it hung in Melbourne this artwork was no longer be part of the body of work that had been the Mandorla Prize, 2016. The first challenge I faced with the curator at Tacit was therefore to design an environment in which people could spend time being with this one work, rather than a body of different but collected works. I hoped that people would find permission to touch the work, picking up and holding the pieces that were the best fit for their own inner experience. To facilitate this level of kinaesthetic engagement with the work we discussed the possibility of creating a place where people could sit with the work, taking time to be with the 50 images in the unbound book. We discussed the possibility of the gallery making a gesture through the invention of a place that was like a living room, a place to rest and engage with the work of art in relative contemplative stillness. O’Doherty suggests that gallery gestures have a becoming quality, ‘calling attention to untested assumptions (and) overlooked content’. ²⁰ To make this possible the curator at Tacit contacted a local furniture shop who were interested in sponsoring the exhibition by providing lounge chairs, a rug, coffee table and lamps, minimizing the stimulus to maximize the resonance of the work itself. ²¹

In my initial vision for the exhibition I thought about leaving the walls blank to focus attention on the book. As I talked in the gallery with the curator, I began to wonder if this would be disappointing for the viewer. I questioned my vision and wondered if it was possible to have a successful exhibition with only one work on view. I also wondered about sales. The curator, who was thinking about the commercial viability of an exhibition, suggested that I might frame a selection of 14 prints from the unbound book and hang these on the walls. In this confluence of driving forces, ‘The (gallery) wall becomes a membrane through which esthetic and commercial values osmotically exchange.’ ²² On reflection this was a commercial decision to put the audience at ease; however, the work on the walls became a vehicle to invite viewers to be involved with a theological task, and they were invited to suggest possible titles for the selected works. I suspect that for some viewers, the familiar sight of artwork on the walls was an invitation to avoid a kinaesthetic encounter with the material presence of the book and fall back into the old habits of seeing artwork from a distance. It may have also created confusion for some viewers who assumed that the works on the wall were somehow separate and different.

I decided to include the original drawing in its final state and its presence in the exhibition was both helpful and fraught. If the artwork on display was the unbound book then the original drawing was the detritus that had been created in the process of making the book. The rationale for including the drawing was to help the viewer to understand and imagine how the work had been made. As it had been framed and hung it demonstrated that the making had reached a conclusion. Whilst I was involved in the conception of these ideas, I left the work of hanging to the curator at Tacit and walked in on opening night without knowing if this would work but trusting that the curator understood the need for him to become the creator of the gesture in the gallery.

Despite the confusion that may have been created by displaying the work in this way, the written responses from the audience revealed that these viewers had engaged with the work in an attempt to make sense of the theological prompt. The titles they suggested give us a glimpse into their experience of the both the artwork and the connections that they could make to question of the resurrection as a daily navigation.

Seeing and blindness: A curator’s experience

Coming into a gallery space that involves visual art invites the viewers to participate with art through the act of seeing. But whilst viewing art appears to be all about seeing, we would do well to consider the close relationship between seeing and blindness. James Elkins ²³ offers a prompt for this conversation as he considers the relationship between the glimpse and the glance, the stare and the gaze, reflection and seeing. In essence he is concerned with the connection between vision and seeing, and, indeed, how that engages the thinking capacity of the human person. He contends that desire, attention and imagination are critical elements in the capacity to see. ‘Thinking is imagining – and as the word suggests, the imagination is a place inhabited by images. All the principal metaphors for thinking, knowledge and truth itself, have to do with seeing: notions such as illuminating, casting light on a problem, being enlightened, insightful, clear, distinct or brilliant, are only the symptoms of this relationship, which has become as deeply ingrained as thinking itself.’ ²⁴

Whilst seeing has its basis in the physiological sense of vision, it is always interpreted by experience. We look to discover the familiar. Most of our seeing is akin to a cursory glance, a scan around a room, to survey the space and discern what catches our attention. The glance is often the mode people employ when entering a gallery space, allowing their eyes to skim across the surface of the canvases, not resting on any particular image or detail but wandering, possibly with intent to pause. This was precisely my own process as I entered the gallery space with Libby’s exhibition already installed. The usual decisions about the details, the breaking down of information into bits, processes that are generally needed to place works were not needed as a viewer. There were no demands on the seeing. At one level this was freeing, as there was no aesthetic demand upon me to notice everything, to see the detail, to discover resonances. But the effort of attention ²⁵ that generally allows seeing became much more intentional. The decision to allow the cursory glance to settle and hence for my own seeing to rest, was a deliberate discipline. And whether something was glimpsed, that is, whether it allowed itself to be seen, catching my attention or not, had much more to do with the personal resonances or dissonances within me as viewer.

The physiological processes of seeing allow the transfer of meaning to occur through the connection with memory and previous experience. We see something, and recognize a familiar or a curious, based on some prior memory. Recognition is the process of understanding what is seen through the lens of experience.

The world ‘out there’ is not identical to the world that is perceived and understood inside our mind: we cannot directly apprehend the outside world through our eyes or any other sense organ. Instead there is a series of conversion processes and interpretations that must take place before our conscious mind can understand the world around us. ²⁶

When my own gaze came to rest on the behaviour of the people in the room, I became aware that viewers tended to fall into two groups. There were those who glanced, seeking to be arrested by something. These people were sometimes caught, drawing close and staying with the work, attending to it in order to discover a resonance, to see. In the main, however, these folk appeared to survey the landscape and gain impressions, not pausing long enough to attend to detail, and so becoming distracted by the next thing. They would then leave or find a familiar face to chat with. It’s warm chatter, for simply being in the gallery landscape offered a safe and warm place for them. Perhaps they couldn’t articulate the influence of the surrounding art, but the art surrounded, holding, and silently inspiring. Sometimes these people were friends or visitors of the other artists, quietly measuring this art alongside their allies.

The other group of viewers were those who lingered in the landscape, gazing upon the art in order to immerse themselves in the work, allowing it to touch, move, inspire. They were seeking to see, and allowing themselves to be seen by the work. The exchange that took place between the art and these viewers often found its way into words on the titles page. Sometimes these people engaged in lengthy conversations with Libby, longing to soak up something more. But the intentionality of their seeing, their discipline or effort of attention was the thing that appeared to offer them real reward. They left with a smile of satisfaction, understanding themselves to be enriched by their seeing, for they had found something that reflected themselves in their seeing. They became aware that they are not alone, but there is always something reflecting back, reminding them of the memories and meanings that life has gathered up, and will indeed continue to.

Every object sees us; there are eyes growing on everything…. To see is to be seen, and everything I see is like an eye, collecting my gaze, blinking, staring, focusing and reflecting, sending my look back to me. ²⁷

However, the blindness that is also present can teach us. The blind Bartimaeus states his desire to see (Mark 10:51), and Jesus responds by underlining the connection that exists between faith and seeing. The desire to see, the openness to see and the capacity to acknowledge the possibility of seeing rests in the one with whom he entrusts his sight. And yet Jesus responds, ‘Your faith has healed you.’ Clarity of vision and experience of faith find their connection, in the same way the limits to the field of vision, the strengths and frailties of perception, are real. What we can and cannot see occurs in a context, as Elkins reminds us, ‘there are things we do not see and things we cannot see and things we refuse to see, and there are also things we can’t make out …’ ²⁸ Seeing is very much entangled with blindness, because of the capacities to see and not see occur in the limitations of our field of vision.

Bartimaeus’ faith-action is embodied within his frailties. That is, his visual frame of reference shapes his longing to see, and hence comes his belief in Jesus’ healing-action. And yet in the exchange, the clarifying and defining of self occurs. Bartimaeus comes to know himself as a person of faith. The connection between Bartimaeus and Jesus and where the actually potency of healing occurs is blurred, just as there is the blurring of the object–subject in the meeting place of the canvas. Rather than connecting the action of seeing with proof, like an eye-witness report, seeing is more akin to making sense of what is happening, in the parallel way that blindness is about not making sense of what is about us. Our seeing, our making sense of, is hence a leap of faithful connection-making in order to make meaning of our experience.

What are we seeing? Artist and curator consider the viewer’s responses

The image from Day 1 (Figure 4) gave the viewers an anchor point, a place from which to begin the Lenten journey. People looked for a place that they recognized and named it in different ways: Fields, Fallow Ground, River at the Bay, Desert, Oil Rig Hulk and Space. The viewers are able to name the different experiences of this image in a way that helps us make sense of the complexity that is present in these simple lines. Whilst some sought to name the place, others named their experience of being with the work with titles such as: Half full, Nurture, Duality, Conception, Horizon, The Dark Centre, Forming, Rest and Humming. All of these words make sense and we would be reluctant to choose one at the expense of the other. The fact that the image can be seen by different viewers as forming and resting is congruent with the suggestion that it may be speaking of something that is ineffable and therefore unable to be contained by a simple word. Whilst one viewer names the duality of the image, others name the particular qualities that are held together in this one artwork. In this way the contributions of at least three different people enable us to apprehend and understand how the work is speaking. All of these responses are helpful in forming our theological understanding of how we might understand the daily navigation of Resurrection. OPEN IN VIEWER

In looking for a title for the image that related to Day 49 (Figure 5) some people recognized and named the presence of the landscape and a lived experience of spirituality others called upon religion to explain what they were seeing. Viewers named what they could see and also called upon religious imagery possibly in an attempt to explain what they were seeing. Some viewers saw a Stranger on the Moon, Woman in Blue, Mont St Michael Miniature and Solid Rock. Others experienced a Resting Place, Reflection, Solace, Chimes at Midnight, Contemplation, Shrouded in Mystery, Illumination and Chancing upon the Sacred. Still others recognized The Seeker and The Call Deeper and to name these things they drew upon scripture.

‘But,’ he said, ‘You cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.’ (Exodus 33:20). OPEN IN VIEWER

The people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned. (Matt 4:16).

As the work of art is apprehended, the viewers confer particular significance and meaning upon the work itself. ²⁹ The viewer’s experience of the work is therefore an important contribution to the development of a work of art. Extending the opportunities for viewers to grasp the work in an aesthetic experience enriches the meaning and significance of the work and amplifies the possibilities of its presence. ³⁰ Aesthetic experience is therefore not distinctly the domain of viewers or artists; rather it is an experience that dissolves these boundaries and enriches the value of the work at various stages of its existence. It is therefore important to acknowledge the significance of the different roles that artist, curator and the viewer all play in an aesthetic encounter. When all those involved take up their role with discernment, the quality of the aesthetic encounter is enhanced. The data received from viewers in this exhibition would suggest that the work of art can offer viewers an experience that they want and need. Creativity happens when we see the relations or connections that we deeply want and need to see. ³¹ Seeing the work is therefore in itself, a creative experience.

What are we making?

As a prior question even to what we are seeing, it is important for both artist and curator to consider what is being made when a body of work is gathered together in a gallery for public exhibition. What is the agenda of the exhibition, and how will that then shape the ways of seeing, inhibiting or enriching? In this exhibition, the blocks to seeing had much to do with the complex agendas that were running in the space itself. Consider the intent of the exhibition for the artist and for the curator. In the purest sense, the artist and curator make the space together, they co-author the space. The curator has a responsibility to understand the work, to see it beyond its being an object, but in how it prompts inter-subjective responses. If the curator doesn’t discover any resonance or connection with the work, their capacity to curate is inhibited and they cannot fulfil their responsibility to collaborate. When financial gain becomes a significant driver in the exhibition for either artist or collaborator, and sales muddy the interpretation of whether the art is seen or not, then the process itself is corrupted. When kudos or ego become the sole focus, then the risks for the artist are even greater, as they are vulnerable to disappointment or a more personal disillusionment.

Removing the financial intent of an exhibition, and replacing it with something such as the invitation to wonder, creates potential for an unencumbered experience. In doing so there is a desire to extend the experience of the viewer to engage in transcendental values, so liberating the measures of success from prescribing financial or ego value. To do this, a collaborative and respectful relationship between artist and curator is critical. The art itself transcends the threat of becoming purely a commercial product. Without this relationship, the artist’s identity is potentially fused with the product, and becomes part of the sales package. Compare this with the liberation of collaboration between curator and artist, where the invitation is to see and be with the art occurs, without confused notions of owning, purchasing or claiming. This is the moment where the seeing becomes a theological invitation, liberating in the seeing, rather than contaminated by possession. A theological lens for seeing art not only extends the way each person interprets and understands, but changes their relationship with it. It is less about ownership and the distinction between artist and viewer, and more about the invitation to a meeting place, a connection.

Such connections pay heed to art as that which transcends the mundane, and invites conversion or transformation. They create space for a beauty that begins to be shaped by the numinous, the mystery in the experience itself. Art, in this sense, becomes a means to experience of God.

The more art serves not merely to please but to present form, beauty, truth, the more it faces us with a transcendent value – with something to be admired and loved in and for itself, rather than for its usefulness or pleasantness to us. It thus already demands a certain level of conversion from our egotism toward a more ultimate good…. Moreover, the experience of beauty may calm our hearts’ fears and allow us to enter with sympathy into worlds that might otherwise be simply alien to us … to see ourselves and the needy and frequently unattractive neighbours in the light of God’s love. ³²

Being with art and with others

To be with an Other, requires a prior experience of being. To be present to another, is to be primarily present to self in order to have a presence to offer. The palimpsest represented in the 50 pages of an unbound book offered a metaphor for this. Both artist and curator had conversations with viewers who spent time with the book about layers and layering, recognizing both the discipline and power of painting over, of re-creating, relinquishing and staying with a work long enough for it to do its work. The participants in these conversations were being with art in a way that relinquished power, allowing themselves to be absorbed by it.

To engage in the conversation between art, artist and viewer is to recognize that we exist in relationship, that our ways of knowing are deeply bedded in association with one another. In the same ways that the process of theological reflection ³³ invite us to attend, by suspending premature judgement, engagement with art invites a mirrored process. Indeed, art provides an integrative model for theological reflection, as the human condition is placed in the foreground of the process. Alex Garcia-Rivera considers this a very old way of doing theology that tends towards synthesis rather than analysis, understanding the whole rather than parts of the human condition. ³⁴ The premise for exploring creative approaches for connecting meaningfully with other human beings lies in the conviction that our primary need as humans is transformation into a deepening experience of God.

In this sense, art is not just a tool for theological reflection, but a potential way of integrating experience and insight. It may indeed be provocative as a prophetic voice stimulating thinking upon experience, allowing questions to find form. Art opens an opportunity for reflective engagement within the viewer, making a space as it were for the process of seeing. Fresh insights may be stimulated and horizons extended. As ministry formation is shaped around theological reflection, experience is opened for emerging questions to be explored.

As Elkins argues, we can apprehend more than the specific details of a situation: ‘It’s a question of trying to see more than the details, more than a fraction of the world.’ ³⁵ Here, reality is not dissected into bits, as much as expanded in the imagination. Religion itself can be understood as one of these ways of seeing, as described by Margaret Miles as ‘a “certain slant of light”, in which other human beings, the natural world, and objects appear in their full beauty, transformed’. ³⁶ Miles notes the significance of the insight gained in this experience suggesting that it may offer a clue to the nature and structure of reality.

As with most spiritual disciplines, attention demands imagination and effort. There is an intrinsic link between the effort of both the artist and viewer that connects with the art of seeing and the art of spiritual journeying; they ‘are closely interconnected and feed each other along the way – so that the “seeing of art” and the “art of seeing” become potent resources for the journey of faith’. ³⁷ The use of the word potent is critical, as it upends any notion of art as a static, material objects, and assumes a movement of dynamic intensity. There is power in the seeing, power to recognize connection with other. This is the conversation that creates opportunity for seeing to occur.