The Accidental Masterpiece: On the Art of Life and Vice Versa

"The Art of Making a World" and "The Art of the Pilgrimage"

In the chapter titled "The Art of Making a World" Michael Kimmelman focuses on Pierre Bonnard's world. His world apparently did not begin until he met Marthe de Meligny. On that day Bonnard could not have possibly foreseen the masterpieces which would ultimately be created through this relationship. Bonnard tells in a letter to a friend that at times the "secluded life" with Marthe is at times "rather painful" (13). Kimmelman explained that Marthe was very "fragile" and "tuberculosis may have affected her mind" as she became "paranoid" (12). But as Kimmelman points out, "profound art came out of all this" "in their isolated world" (13, 15). Bonnard made for he and Marthe "something joyful out of this claustrophobia: a sensuous fantasy realm for them to occupy together, outside time" (15). This "fantasy realm" seemed to be centered in the bathroom, Marthe's favorite room. She seemed to feel safe in her bath tub, and so this was where Bonnard would tenderly paint her in most of the hundreds of paintings of which Marthe was the subject. Kimmelman writes that Bonnard "thrived in this cloistered environment" (19) of which he chose and therefore "lived all the more intensely through his work" (3).

He goes on to say that Bonnard proves that "a circumscribed world can be made to seem enormous enough through a rich enough imagination" (20). Within this world Bonnard became increasingly enriched by the things he encountered everyday. What we might complain of as a monotonous routine, for Bonnard it "became more and more fantastical" (23). He would "dream" while he painted allowing what he saw in his world to be expressed explicitly through his own eyes which gave his paintings an introspective feeling. When Marthe, the central figure in Bonnard's world, died it did not mean the end of his art. His love for her was undying, and she continued to be the muse of his world.

Kimmelman suggests in chapter 9, “The Art of the Pilgrimage,” that art may be too accessible to us these days. I do not agree with this idea that “little sacrifice may be required on out part to see it” (175). On the contrary, we must sacrifice time, and time is a precious commodity. We are not all writing a book that allows us to travel the world and see these amazing works of art.

Kimmelman believes it is the “virtues of the pilgrimage” that is the true way in which art is meant to be seen. He writes that “it can get us back to the root of art as an expression of what’s exceptional in life” (177). However, he makes it sound as though the only people who would understand this concept and make such a pilgrimage are the “knowledgeable art lovers" (emphasis my own, 177). He describes the "feelings" he had when viewing Matthias Grunewald's Isenheim altarpiece in Germany as being "influenced by the effort of going there" (178). I know that if I were to go to Germany my feelings for an insignificant souvenir would be influenced by the journey that I took to get there. That is why silly souvenirs are made. I am not comparing Grunewald's altarpiece to a souvenir; I am merely pointing out that feelings are obviously going to be influenced by where you are and how you got there. I do understand Kimmelman's point, however, that we must take into consideration the context in which we are viewing a work of art. Most of the time a painting, for example, was not necessarily meant to be displayed on a white wall with artificial light shining on it.

In order to defend his claim, Kimmelman visits many an artist whose art you cannot help but view in its original context. Mostly working in the midwest, because of cheap land, some of the artists he visited put their lives into "gigantic sculptures in very obscure spots, requiring that interested people travel to see them" (179). Donald Judd, "minimalism's chief practitioner" (188), made Kimmelman's point for him when he said:

"The space surrounding my work is crucial to it. As much thought has gone into the installation as into the piece itself. My work, and that of others, is often exhibited badly and always for short periods. Somewhere there has to be a place where the installation is well done and permanent," otherwise "art is only show and monkey business" (191).