ABSTRACT

With the switch of the slide, Caitlin encounters a painting that draws forth a strange and unusual bodily response. Its effect ripples through every fibre of her being and seems to speak to the depths of her soul. It somehow pushes aside all thought, all action, other than being present to-being with-this image. Somewhat surprisingly, the response is evoked by a painting that is not even physically present to Caitlin. It is only a projection on a white screen. And yet, somehow, this duplication does not dull its effect; Caitlin responds to this image with a physical intensity she has never before felt towards another artwork. We often feel disconnected from our actions and our bodies, even though they

are our means to move in, through, and have our world. Like Caitlin, whose mind was initially floating with her endless writing and whose only bodily awareness was her cramped and achy hand, our bodies move with unconscious ease and largely go unnoticed unless pained or otherwise limited. Suddenly, however, we may encounter something that calls us back to our physical selves. For Caitlin, the force of the artwork’s presence is so strong that she is literally stopped without warning from doing that which was previously so customary, so pressing: taking lecture notes. The image interrupts her normal mode of being a student in the art history lecture. And yet, Caitlin does not merely pause in her note-taking to contemplate a striking painting-an act to which some may relate. Rather, Caitlin is overwhelmed by the image. It draws her attention with such force that it pushes out all other thought. In an instant, her concern changes from transcribing the professor’s lengthy descriptions to the visceral image that looms before her. Indeed, Caitlin’s orientation changes so drastically that she is no longer even able to attend to the professor’s voice. The image and what it makes her feel is all. The painting floods Caitlin’s senses and is felt throughout her body. It fills her

nose and throat with the coppery smell of blood. She feels its wet sticky gore upon her fingers. Her eyes rove and plumb its rich, dark depths. Her scalp crawls, skin tightens, and brow wrinkles. She breathes in deeply and swallows as she tries to take the painting in. She tries to understand, yet is unable to. Caitlin is only capable of feeling. The viscerality of the painting-the glistening sides of bloody meat, tears, and blood; the hands clenched in pain and anger; the mouth agape, smiling and screaming-draws forth her own viscerality. It is body calling to body. Indeed, the painting seems to draw forth a near-primal response, emerging from Caitlin’s very being, prior to thought, and undeniable. Yet, how may we understand having such a strong physical reaction to a mere

projection? Although it is a highly evocative painting, there is no blood for Caitlin to smell or taste, no sticky gore to feel, no scream to hear, no smile of pain to feel. There is not even a physical object for Caitlin to stand before and look upon. There is only the flicker of light across a darkened amphitheatre projecting an

image of paint on canvas. It is an image of an image-an image that, as a work of modernism, is relatively unrealistic. There seems to be infinite distance between Caitlin and the blood, meat, and smiling screams of the painting, and yet, somehow, they are so incredibly near that they are hers to experience. And she revels in them. Caitlin does not cringe from the viscerality she encounters, as we often do when we are exposed to blood and gore. The tormented face with its blind empty sockets does not repulse her but rather draws her further in. Giving in to its raw demanding beauty, Caitlin carnally responds to the painting’s writhing emotion. The “prettiness” of other paintings have become unnecessary, even excessive, as has the mediating voice of the professor. The ominous and horrifying painting with its bloody meat, pain, and torment gives way to deep appeal and strange dark pleasure. For Caitlin, this is true art. It is utter horror and pure delight. It is sublime.