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Viladesau Review of Garcia Rivera A Wounded Innocence

García-Rivera, Alejandro R. A Wounded Innocence. Sketches for a Theology of Art. By Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 2003. Pages, iii + 139. Paper, $14.95. ISBN: 0814651127

Reviewed by: Richard Viladesau

A “sketch,” according to the Oxford Dictionary of Art, is a rough drawing that gives prominent features without detail. This sense of the word has long been used to refer also to short essays like those that make up Alejandro García-Rivera’s book. But another aspect of the artistic “sketch” is also relevant here: its spontaneous and unfinished nature appeals to the imagination of the viewer (or in this case, the reader) to exercise his or her own creativity and respond to the artist by entering into the aesthetic process.

García-Rivera’s purpose in fact is to encourage just such an engagement. In his first two chapters, he sets forth the ideas that give thematic unity to the collection. The “innocence” of the title refers to openness to the transcendent, our capacity for wonder. In our actual situation, that capacity is “wounded”: we are vulnerable, fallen. We experience the transcendent in part as a need to be acted upon, so that our openness is also intercessory, looking for grace. The seven essays that comprise the book are a series of sketches that give examples of how the visual arts can serve that “wounded” openness by evoking the experience of wonder and/or by exposing our neediness. They are intended to show the relevance of art to “theology” in the wide sense of the word: not the academic discipline, but the living reflection that takes place in symbols, ritual, art, and practice.

García-Rivera’s examples are drawn from a wide range of visual artworks, and his discussions include dialogues with many thinkers in the fields of theology, philosophy, and art. The cave paintings of Lascaux are used to introduce the theme of “wounded innocence” and to explore the relationship of art to theology. Marcel Duchamp’s notorious “Fountain” – a mass-produced urinal exhibited as a work of art – leads into a discussion of “aesthetic nominalism,” García-Rivera’s name for the lack of ontological grounding in much contemporary art. This is an example, for García-Rivera, of the particular woundedness of the modern condition. The painting “Christmas sky at the Hermitage” embodies Camaldolese spirituality. The stained glass windows of St. Denis are placed in their historical context to present a theological rationale for the use of art in sacred space. A “holy card” type portrayed at San Martin de Porres with a dog, cat, and mouse exemplifies popular religious art, which in turn is linked to a discussion of the “subversive” social function of art in service of justice. The Vietnam War Memorial raises the question of redemption, which García-Rivera discusses in light of the historical divergence between Roman Catholic and Lutheran doctrine. Finally, a brief discussion of Caravaggio’s painting “The Incredulity of St. Thomas” – which also serves as the book’s cover – serves as an epilogue that re-evokes the overriding theme of “wounded innocence.”

A mere summary of the contents makes it clear the García-Rivera has both built upon and gone beyond the focus of his earlier The Community of the Beautiful. He has written a wide-ranging, imaginative, engaging, and sometimes provocative little work. The style is casual: the book reads more like the transcript of an informal talk than like a scholarly presentation. Although García-Rivera says he is doing “fundamental theology,” he frequently makes assertions simply on the basis of his subjective reactions, rather than giving the reasoned arguments that are the usual method of that field. The connections between art and theological themes are based more on leaps of intuition than on logical analysis. García-Rivera’s method is emotive and suggestive, rather than rationally persuasive. The level of presentation is introductory: those who have some knowledge of the field of theological aesthetics will encounter little here that is new, although they may find García-Rivera’s examples suggestive. But for the lay leader, there is much to engage the mind, imagination, and heart.

Sadly—it pains me to say it—for all its merits, the book contains many instances of carelessness of both writing and of scholarship. In light of the book’s non-academic scope, these might generally be considered minor in nature; but they are distressing in their number. There are grammatical and syntactical flaws, misstatements of fact, erroneous translations, faulty etymologies, inexact language, loose logic, and potentially misleading assertions.

Many of the flaws in the text are oversights that could have been eliminated by attentive proofreading or by editorial review. These are apparently lacking, and educators may well be put off from using the book for this reason. On the other hand, there are places where the non-scholarly reader, for whom the book is intended, might easily be misled. For example, after speaking of the abbot Suger’s rebuilding of the abbey of St. Denis, García-Rivera tells us that “Suger occasioned the wrath of the great monastic reformer, Bernard of Clairvaux,” and that “Bernard criticized Suger with devastating rhetoric” (64). He adds in a note that St. Bernard’s critique was “aimed at the lavish art being displayed then at many Benedictine monasteries, such as the one at Suger’s St. Denis” (71). The reader would reasonably assume (although the text, closely read, does not actually say it) that Bernard saw and objected to Suger’s renovations at the abbey. But Bernard’s famous critique of artistic excess was not a response to Suger’s building: in fact, it was written twenty years before Suger began his artistic renovations at St. Denis. At that time, Suger had long before reformed his abbey in line with Berna’s renewal of discipline, and the two were good friends.

These faults are puzzling coming from a writer who has already shown his worth in his previous work. García-Rivera clearly rejects the condescending attitude that would consider it acceptable for a book directed to a non-scholarly public to be less rigorous in thought or less careful in expression than one directed to a more sophisticated audience. Even “sketches,” although purposely incomplete, should be well drawn. The good artist can rework and correct without losing a picture’s spontaneity and immediacy. Yet the presentation here, although frequently insightful, often lacks the form of beauty that is appropriate to thought and writing: that is, clarity, accuracy, logic, and precision. This brief collection of essays is like an artist’s sketchbook. Containing lovely drawings that have been marred by careless smudges and hasty scribbles. This does not ruin the sketches or prevent them from attaining their goal of suggesting ways in which art can have a theological dimension. But it does somewhat diminish their attractiveness, especially for those who appreciate and admire the artist’s abilities. One wishes that García-Rivera had taken more time to revise and correct his sketches, and that he had been better served by his publisher’s editors.