Paintings, popes and spiritual lives

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In the past couple of months I have had the unexpected opportunity to meet Pope Francis at the Vatican on two separate occasions. The first time I was invited to speak at a conference on aesthetics, and the second time was on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the modern and contemporary art collection at the Vatican Museums. The invitations speak to the Vatican’s heightened focus on the arts in revealing the kaleidoscopic realities of what it means to be alive and to serve humanity.

The most recent audience took place early one June morning in the Sistine Chapel. Before the Pope came in, assisted by attendants, I spent the time craning my neck up at the ceiling, unable to register fully that “The Creation of Adam” above my head was the actual one by Michelangelo and not a reproduction. I had been to the Sistine Chapel once before as a teenager, crowded among a horde of people. In this moment, I had the luxury of being seated in the centre of the room, with 30 minutes to let my eyes wander without the pressure to move along.

The panels above me told the story of the Judeo-Christian creation narrative, including the expulsion from the Garden of Eden. I was raised in the Catholic church, and my earliest memories of fine art are from that environment. My compulsion towards exploring the spiritual life and my recognition of the expansive power of art were braided together from the beginning. I have always believed that the arts are a facet of the spiritual life, and however one defines that life, I think of it as a path towards exploring the complexities of existence while also seeking a life of love, justice and beauty. 

Earlier this spring, at an exhibition of the work of the late German artist Norbert Schwontkowski at the Contemporary Fine Arts gallery in Berlin, I came across a painting that arrested me. “Die Dunkelheit” (“The Darkness”, 2011) is a large-scale work depicting a dark landscape and a small image of a pope sitting alone on the bumper of the white popemobile. The vehicle is parked on the edge of a moss-coloured hill, overlooking a large body of water painted in murky shades of brown and soft greys.

Across towards the horizon and above the water, an ominous cloud looms, heavy and ready to burst with rain. At the front of the canvas the figure of the pope, dressed in his white cassock, white skullcap and red shoes, is tiny in comparison to the landscape. But one can see that his legs are crossed, and he holds his face in one hand. A pose of quiet reflection.

There are days when the most faithful thing one can do is to keep one’s head above water

I was immediately taken by this work because of the scale. In depicting a spiritual figurehead as so small against the imposing natural terrain, Schwontkowski reminds us of our collective humanity. In this image, even the one some hold up as the earthly representative of the divine is also just a man on a physical and spiritual journey through life like the rest of us. A journey that sometimes requires him to go off route. 

In some religious traditions, we are taught that a successful spiritual life is one of unquestioned faith and rosy sun-filled paths, especially if one is prayerful and pious. None of which bears any reality to the lived experience of a spiritual path, or to the beauty of what it means to be human, replete with the changing seasons of our lives and the struggles that often facilitate our growth. My own spiritual journey is one I understand as forever under way and constantly in development. Sometimes it requires new considerations, letting go of old practices or ways of thinking that have proved not to lead to beauty and flourishing, and taking on the expansive challenge of new ones that do. 

One of the paintings I rarely tire of gazing at is the middle panel of “The Garden by Earthly Delights” by Hieronymus Bosch. Even from a cursory glance, it offers a lavish display of colour and shape, surreal renderings of humanity and creation carrying on a fantastical array of activities. Historians and critics differ on how to interpret this work: religious warning or subversive invitation? I am struck by the exaggerated focus on corporeality and the things of this world. The painting is replete with naked people talking, playing, kissing, bathing, picking fruit, riding animals, embracing huge birds and colossal strawberries.

The movement through the three panels — from Eden, to earthly pleasures, then on to the final panel of human suffering in hell — suggests a narrative that engaging in bodily and earthly pleasure stems from original sin and leads to damnation. To our loss, I think we too often equate the spiritual path to a life of transcendence, surpassing natural desires. Western religious traditions have been known to deplore the physical body and its hungers, and alongside that, the experience of physical pleasure. 

Bosch’s painting is a wild cornucopia of his imagination. Looking at it, I think that embodied existence is to be celebrated. We can only experience the world, spiritual aspects included, through our bodies. Our skin is the primary world we inhabit. Embracing the joy and pleasure we can experience through our bodies is part of a flourishing life. From experiences of sexual intimacy to the intimacy of engaging nature, all can and should be part of how we understand our spiritual development.

I love the painting “Deep Surrender” by American artist Calida Rawles. A pregnant woman in a white dress treads water in a vibrant blue pool. Her head is above water, but the viewer’s perspective is beneath her, so we only see her body. One hand cradles her stomach protectively. The surface of the water shimmers with the reflection from her dress and the sunlight overhead, dapples of it casting white lines on her dark skin.

I stare at this painting and I can’t help but think about what it means to embrace a journey of any kind, but especially a spiritual journey where one must make peace with the unpredictability of what lies ahead. A journey that requires the grace and patience to hold and carry the different things we are called to nurture to new life. The things with which we ourselves become pregnant at different seasons of our life. There are days when the most faithful thing one can do is to keep one’s head above water, cognisant that life is still forming and taking shape beneath the surface. The task is to keep breathing, holding on to the life you’ve been given and the life you are yet birthing, with tender care, grace and trust.

When I met Pope Francis in the Sistine Chapel, I gave him a printed copy of “Die Dunkelheit”. Along any of our spiritual paths there will be crossroads, detours, the need for bridges and shelters, and an ultimate trust in the next step forward, the uncertainty of the unknown further up ahead. Some days, I think the first step in embracing the spiritual life is recognising that our desires, our longings, our sorrows and our joys matter. Then finding the courage to explore what that means by saying yes to the unfolding of your own journey.

Follow Enuma on Twitter @EnumaOkoro or email her at [email protected]

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