The Artist as the Church’s Mouthpiece: The Cultural Witness of Church Art and Its Patronage

Abstract

This article explores how art installed within a church space contributes to the church’s cultural witness, drawing from the contemporary example of Alison Watt’s Still, installed in Old Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church in Edinburgh, Scotland. While the object’s capacity to proclaim is present, this case study extends the exploration of art’s cultural witness to include imaginative participation in the Gospel narrative as well as its transformation of the space in which it is installed. Focus then turns to the Church’s patronage of the visual arts, arguing that this is another example of cultural witness. In this case, one finds a relationship between church and artist that is marked by trust, collaboration, and protection.

1. Introduction

As the Church considers its cultural witness in the twenty-first century (Church of England 2022; Volf and Croasmun 2019), a fruitful starting point for exploration is the role that Christian clergy, intellectuals, and artists played during the Second World War and immediately thereafter to describe and cultivate a Christian vision for post-war Britain (Jacobs 2018). As the modern myth of human progress crumbled around the horrific devastation and acts of war, “it seemed to at least some Christians that the whole social, economic and religious life of the nation was open for reconstruction from the very foundations” (Webster 2017, p. 121).

A surprising locus for this reconstruction, and the focus of this article, is found in an activity that the Protestant church had largely abandoned at the time of the Reformation: church patronage of the visual arts. While there were outliers to this abandonment, such as the Oxford Movement in the nineteenth century, Anglican clergy in the interwar period began speaking of a “gulf between the Church and the artist” that was partly due to a “lack of vision on the part of churchmen” (Bell 1942, p. 81). To rectify this, in 1944, Bishop George Bell gathered artists such as T.S. Eliot, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Henry Moore to discuss how to increase the presence of modern art in the church (Jasper 1967, pp. 129–30). At the gathering, it was agreed “that the Church should use the artists fearlessly” and the church–artist patronage relationship was given particular form, described by Bell as: “The Church should dictate the subject-matter and the artist the style, while ‘artistic tact’ should be employed in matching the form of modern art to what congregations would accept and approve” (ibid., p. 130). For Bell, “Unless the Church is to be sterile in the fostering of creative art, it must be prepared to trust its chosen artists to begin their work and carry it through to the end” (ibid., p. 133).

Bell offers a vision for a church arts patronage marked by trust in and collaboration with the artist, a view not only important for the propagation of church art but also believed significant for the renewal of post-war society (Bell 1942, p. 81). The artist Hans Feibusch (1946), commissioned by Bell, elaborates: “The men who came home from the war, and all the rest of us, have seen too much horror and evil; when we close our eyes terrible sights haunt us; the world is seething with bestiality; and it is all man’s doing. Only the most profound, tragic, moving, Sublime vision can redeem us. The voice of the Church should be heard above the thunderstorm; and the artist should be her mouthpiece” (p. 92). According to Peter Webster (2017), art was closely tied to the Church’s post-war mission, giving the Church an alternative language to speak into society (p. 9). Put another way, art emerged as an act of contemporary cultural witness and, for those who advocated for this, church arts patronage became a necessary pursuit.

This sentiment led to a small resurgence within the Church of England of the patronage of high-profile contemporary artists for work in parish and cathedral spaces. For example, as Dean of Chichester Cathedral, Walter Hussey, also concerned by the loss to society of a broken relationship between the artist and the Church, commissioned permanent works of art by Marc Chagall, John Piper, and Graham Sutherland. However, he is best known for his earlier patronage while vicar at St Matthew’s Northampton, specifically the patronage of Henry Moore’s Madonna and Child sculpture and Graham Sutherland’s Crucifixion, well documented in Hussey’s memoir, Patron of Art (Hussey 1985; Turner 1992).

This mid-twentieth-century vision of art and its patronage as an act of cultural witness has, to an extent, become realized in the twenty-first century: across traditions, there is evidence of the Church in the United Kingdom re-engaging as patron to the arts, a resurgence identified by a number of sources, both Christian and secular. While Art + Christianity has observed “over the last 20 years… something of a renaissance of commissioned art for churches and cathedrals in this country” with “many important artists… once again creating art for church spaces” (Moffat and Daly 2010, pp. 7, 9), the international press has also noticed and reported on the phenomenon. In 2010, The Times [UK] reported on the recent “flurry of contemporary art commissions in churches” (Campbell-Johnston 2010), while the New York Times, in a 2007 article, asked, “Do all these new installations herald a renaissance in religious art?” (Gladstone 2007). This “renaissance” is demonstrated by the installation of work by internationally renowned artists in English cathedrals, such as Tracey Emin’s For You (Liverpool Cathedral), Bill Viola’s Martyrs (St Paul’s Cathedral), and Antony Gormley’s Sound II (Winchester Cathedral). While cathedrals are a unique historical and cultural venue (Jones and Howes 2005), there is also increased interest at the parish level.1 In 2010, the Church of England published Commissioning New Art for Churches: A Guide for Parishes and Artists (Church of England 2010), offering a £10,000 prize to the parish church that demonstrated best implementation of the guidelines (Church of England 2012).

Art as an Act of Cultural Witness

As an act of cultural witness, present-day church patronage of art, especially when created by well-known artists, not only raises the profile of the Church but also increases the number of visitors who enter a particular church space. As visitors step into these places designed for and saturated with the regular worship of God’s people, Christian witness remains a possibility for those who dare to step in and explore this “foreign land”. However, in addition to the space being a site for cultural witness, there is also the possibility for the object to commend the Gospel. Art has the potential to convey deep and rich theological truths and ask challenging questions to the one who stands in its presence in a church space (Viladesau 2000, chp. 3). While this potential lies within the work itself, when installed in a church, the place bears on the interpretation of the work and the meaning it mediates. Take, for example, Tracey Emin’s work, For You, in Liverpool Cathedral. For You is an installation of Emin’s handwriting sculpted in neon pink lights, sited above the west doors.2 The words read: “I felt you and I knew you loved me.” In light of Emin’s wider oeuvre, had this been installed on a gallery wall, interpretation would likely move in a direction in line with her other works, such as Unmade Bed or Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995. However, in a cathedral space, these words take on an entirely different meaning. Because the work is sited within a place of Christian tradition and worship, it can be read through the life and activity of the church. When this happens, the work can become a witness to the presence of God’s love in that place for all people: viewers can feel with the artist the unconditional love of God for them.

In recent years, the potential for art to be an agent of cultural witness has gained momentum in church traditions (particularly the evangelical tradition) that have been historically suspicious of the visual. Led by Reformed theologians such as Hans Rookmaaker (1978) and Francis Schaeffer (1973), the latter part of the mid-twentieth century saw a softening of evangelicals towards the visual arts. In addition to offering a biblical rationale for the arts that justified engagement to those concerned about art’s faithfulness in the Christian life (Schaeffer 1973), a close link has also been made in this tradition between art and witness. For example, the 2010 Lausanne Conference singled art out as particularly efficacious to this end, stating in The Cape Town Commitment (Lausanne Movement 2011):

Artists at their best are truth-tellers and so the arts constitute one important way in which we can speak the truth of the gospel. Drama, dance, story, music and visual image can be expressions both of the reality of our brokenness, and of the hope that is centred in the gospel that all things will be made new. In the world of mission, the arts are an untapped resource. We actively encourage greater Christian involvement in the arts.

In this assertion, as seen in post-war Britain, art remains an alternative language for a world where the words of the Gospel now fall on deaf ears, justifying “greater Christian involvement”. It is the contention of this article that involvement must include church arts patronage. However, as will be seen in the case below, how this happens is important for it has potential effect on the work’s witness to a particular community. Further, Bell’s vision of a church–artist relationship marked by trust and collaboration is present in contemporary church activity. In this case, one can argue it is this dynamic that allows the Church to embody fully their role as patron.

Two cautions must be offered before proceeding. The first caution pertains to the idea that art can “speak the truth of the gospel”. While this is a possibility, one must be careful in one’s expectation about how fully art can speak the whole of the Gospel to every person at every time. It is true that part of art’s power lies in its potential to be a sign that points beyond itself, and good art will hold multiple layers of meaning. The latter is what allows a viewer to come back time and again to the same work of art and receive something different or see something that one has not seen before. However, while this is art’s strength, it is also its weakness, for the same work of art can also be an anti-sign, pointing in the opposite direction of what the artist intended (Viladesau 2000, pp. 162–64). As an anti-sign, its ability to signify can, for example, fall at the feet of an unreceptive viewer. Further, as cultural contexts change, art that has been a sign in the past can become an anti-sign in the present or future. The critique of the “White Jesus” found in English churches is a good example of this (McDonald 2020). Finally, if the emphasis is put on the art object as a means of proclamation, one must be attentive to when this slips into art-as-propaganda. According to Schaeffer (1973), art as an “embodiment of a message, a vehicle for the propagation of a particular message about the world or the artist or man or whatever… reduces art to an intellectual statement and the work of art as a work of art disappears” (pp. 36–37). If art is justified by the extent to which it consistently communicates a particular “message,” the risk is a stripping not only of art’s depth but also of its very essence.

The second caution regards the expectations on the artist. While there is no doubt that art has the potential to tell the truth and reveal brokenness and hope, one must be careful of laying a burden of responsibility onto artists as “truth-tellers”. Of course, this is possible, but theologically speaking, artists, as fellow humans, also look through a glass darkly this side of the new creation, meaning they are fallen in their sight of what is true. However, rather than using this as a rationale for abandoning the arts, this reality necessitates a thoughtful and considered patronage relationship between the Church and the artist.

To explore this in depth, attention now turns to an act of exemplary contemporary church arts patronage within the United Kingdom. In the case of Old St Paul’s Edinburgh and the installation of Alison Watt’s Still, one finds a work of art and its patronage in a symbiotic act of cultural witness. As will be seen, the art object witnesses by inviting imaginative participation in the Gospel narrative while also transforming the space where it is sited. The efficacy of this witness was enhanced by the patronage act. Rather than capitulating to the modern assumption of the artist working in isolation (Hart 2014, pp. 21–22), this case witnesses to a relationship of collaboration and trust, marked by protection.

2. Contemporary Church Arts Patronage: Old St Paul’s Edinburgh and Alison Watt’s Still

Old Saint Paul’s (OSP) is a Scottish Episcopal church located in the center of Edinburgh, near to the historic Old Town. Considered the oldest Episcopal congregation in the city (Ingram 1907), OSP has a deep and rich historyis, rooted in the very history of Scotland itself. The congregation formed in 1689 at the time of William of Orange’s dis-establishment of the Episcopal Church. Bishop Alexander Rose of St Giles Cathedral, refusing to acknowledge William as the “rightful king of Scotland,” chose to leave St Giles and take his congregation to worship in a building in nearby Carrubbers Close. After having been a space of worship for nearly 200 years, the building was condemned in 1873 and demolished in 1880. It was decided to rebuild on the old site, and the current church building was finished in 1883 (Clark 1983, pp. 4–5). Just after the completion of the building, Rev Reginald Mitchell-Innes became rector and during his tenure introduced the “Catholic worship of the Oxford Movement” (Clark 1983, pp. 4–6). The present-day church continues to identify with the Anglo-Catholic worshipping tradition.3

To the left of the high altar is the Memorial Chapel, built after the First World War in honor of those from the parish who went to France and the canon of the church who followed them to the trenches to act as their chaplain. Many were subsequently killed in action with a great proportional loss for the church: 140 men and 1 woman. This loss was compounded when the survivors returned to Edinburgh with its overcrowding, unemployment, and depression. About this period of time, the rector (2012) at the time of the research commented in an interview: “the question was around, ‘Did all these people die for nothing?’ And I think that was the sense of loss—that maybe it was all just a terrible waste, [a] ghastly, blasphemous waste of human life. And I think it was in that spirit that they built the [Memorial] Chapel. And almost probably without them knowing it, it infused the place with a sort of desperate cry of the heart.”4 It was into this Memorial Chapel space that Alison Watt OBE installed her work, Still (Wiggins and Paterson 2008).5

The inspiration that led to the work’s creation is best described by the artist. Watt writes:

It was a very beautiful day during the Festival. It was very hot and I was in the High Street with all the noise and bustle there is at that time. To escape, I came down Carrubers [sic] Close and I remember opening the door and stepping into the church and the door closing behind me.

Suddenly the noise stopped and the light was dim and it was cool. I remember seeing shafts of sunlight streaming in through the windows, catching the flecks of dust. I remember the faint smell of incense. It took me a few moments to become acclimatized to the space and then I found the Memorial Chapel…

I remember stepping in to the Memorial Chapel and reading all the names and thinking about their lives and who they were—and what they might have become. It brought to mind not only the men who had died in the two World Wars but all the victims of war… That space is extraordinary. It is so vertical. You are forced to look up…

…I have always been inspired by work which provokes an emotional response in me. When I first walked into Old Saint Paul’s I was aware of a similar feeling. I was profoundly affected. I had never before been so moved to make a piece of work. ‘STILL’ is my own homage to a space which inspires aw [sic] and devotion.

(Holloway 2005, pp. 18–19)

Still is a large, four-paneled work that depicts draped fabric. It is painted in muted neutral hues that blend into the stone of the chapel, and its relationship to the physical location is further emphasized by the way the work is naturally lit by the windows in the chapel. The four panels have been hung so that they appear to be suspended in mid-air above the altar. The negative space between the panels creates a dark cross shape, which contrasts strongly with the light tones of the painted fabric. The cross shape was an intentional decision made by Watt as she wanted the painting to provide a cross above the altar where it hangs (Wiggins et al. 2008).

While Watt does not want to lay explicit meaning onto her work, in light of the cross that emerges in the negative space and its placement in a chapel above an altar, theological readings of this abstract work easily flow when we view the work. As the “back-drop” to where the Eucharist is celebrated and received, the work aids contemplation upon and remembrance of the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ. If one considers the work through this lens, the folds of painted fabric “speak the truth of the Gospel” and witness to the new life found in Christ. As with Emin’s work in Liverpool Cathedral, this theological interpretation is only possible because of where the work is installed. To the end, Colin Wiggins of the National Gallery, London argues that the work “takes on a Christian symbolism… that would not happen if the painting were exhibited in a more neutral gallery space… the white fabric becomes evocative of a burial shroud. The overwhelming sense of whiteness, with its traditional association of purity and specifically of the Virgin Mary, also conveys a powerful sense of a sacred presence that is inevitably informed by the context” (Wiggins and Paterson 2008, pp. 16–17).

While the intelligibility of Christianity is given visual form, the work goes further and engages human experience. This is seen in quotations gathered from congregants about their response to the work (Old Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church 2005):

As soon as I saw it I thought of the story of the woman who touched Jesus’ cloak—it invites you to stretch up and reach for him.

(ibid., p. 11)

The flowing curves of ‘STILL’ suggest to me a space, the sleeve of someone praying which invites us to participate.

(ibid.)

I’m drawn to it like the woman drawn to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe.

(ibid.)

‘STILL’ also makes me feel as if I’m standing up close to Christ with my head bared, unable to look at his face.

(ibid., p. 23)

While the experiences described above require some knowledge of the Gospel story, what is interesting is the way engagement with this largely abstract work of art compels imaginative participation in the Gospel story. Whether one is “unable to look at his face” or “drawn to touch the hem of Jesus’ robe,” the work seems not only to invite reflection on one’s own human state but also locate that experience in the life of Christ. Further, in these quotations, there is an expectancy that this imaginative participation leads somewhere. For example, like the faith and hope demonstrated by the bleeding woman who touched Jesus’ hem, a similar hope is intimated by the viewer’s comment above. The work invites the viewer to put oneself in the place of the woman healed,6 creating the possibility for the Gospel to continue in its witness to its transformative power.

Contra to work created for the white wall of the gallery, Still is a work of art created for a particular place, which bears on its creation, reception, and interpretation. Reflecting on the context during his interview, the rector (2012) comments:

The painting is not just a work of art on its own. It’s a work of art in a context. And it’s part of a greater work of art, a larger work of art, which is the whole chapel. Which is itself a part of a greater work of art, which is the way we human beings, within the love of God, cope with loss and what is the theological context for desperate human loss. And the painting seems to have completed the aesthetic. In a sense, it’s put resurrection into the place of loss.

The particularity means that Still is not meant to act on its own but is experienced and interpreted through its surroundings. In addition to the theological interpretation that the church building lays on the work, the work is also experienced within the loss of life and history that the Memorial Chapel honors. However, what one sees in the quotation above is the work’s active participation in redeeming and healing the trauma in the church’s history with the result being a transformation of the space itself. In the rector’s words, the work has “put resurrection into the place of loss,” a transformation also experienced by those interviewed:

It was always a kind of melancholy place—well, obviously it is because it’s a Memorial Chapel, but somehow or the other, it always seemed a bit just a—I don’t know, not like the rest of the church. And I think the general feeling now is that it’s made it special.7

Alison’s painting has transformed the place… it was absolutely natural that we began to have, in fact, daily services in that chapel after the painting was put there.8

It is worth pausing to draw out the significance found in the final quotation, specifically the “natural” decision to have “daily services in that chapel”. What is indicated is that the transformation of the space, aided by the installation of Still, has made the chapel more fitting for worship—more fitting for that which is meant to happen in the space. Further, the institution of daily services in the chapel after the painting’s installation introduces the possibility that the space will continue to be transformed and infused with the sacrality of worship over time. While there is much to mine in the witness of this art object, behind the creation, installation, and reception of Still is an act of collaborative church arts patronage that also deserves exploration in light of cultural witness.

It is clear that the artist’s inspiration is important as the initiator of Still; however, the gift of her inspiration had to be received in order to be fully realized. Thus, the rector-as-patron’s supportive reception of Watt’s inspiration was just as important in seeing the work come to completion for, without it, the work could have died at the point of inspiration or, if created, remained in Watt’s gallery. The patron’s reception turned to collaboration not only in his encouragement of her ideas but also by entering into the creative process with her. It was this action that ultimately led to the creation of a work that fits the space it was created to inhabit. As collaborator, the patron, through entering into dialogue with the artist, was able to help Watt reflect upon and understand the context into which she was creating. About this, the rector (2012) comments:

[W]hat she wanted to get from me, I think, was a sense of what the chapel was about. The space that she had experienced. This sense of loss. What was the chapel about? How would it be used? What do people who are members of the church think about it? And I wanted to get from her a sense of: how was she responding to that? How might the work she was doing accompany that? Or contradict it? Or illuminate it?

This conversation is significant because while the artist is sympathetic to Christianity (Jeffrey 2004), she is not a worshipping member of this church. Thus, the rector’s collaboration involved explaining to her what happened in the space liturgically as well as its theological significance for the worshipping community who gathered there. While letting the artist develop the work according to her inspiration and artistic gifting, the rector-as-patron also participated in the work as a theological guide. This was particularly necessary because of where the work was to be sited, above the altar and facing those coming forward to receive.

The rector-as-patron not only collaborated with the artist but also acted as advocate for Watt’s work to the congregation. Through the spoken and written word, the rector-as-patron shaped the congregation towards a larger definition of what was fitting for the space. One congregant commented in his interview:

When someone does something that is really original like Still, I couldn’t have imagined anything like that… So if you’d said to me, ‘Well you’re going to have this great big white painting of folded fabric,’ I’d have said, ‘What?!?’9

With the help of the patron, the congregation was prepared to receive the work, a reception that gave the work space and time to contribute to and participate in the worship, evidenced by the interpretations of the work offered above.

While this advocacy was important for the work’s initial reception, for the work to continue to witness faithfully, ongoing advocacy is needed, especially as the rector at the time of Still’s creation has moved on. Current OSP members have inherited a gift from an artist. While the collaboration between artist and patron is no longer focused in the act of creation, it continues in the cultivation of the imagination of the present-day congregation so they are able to see the witness of Still. This might include making historic interpretations of the work available for present and future congregations to aid their own interpretations as they draw out the yet undiscovered ways this work will witness to culture.

3. Conclusions

What we find in the case of Old St Paul’s is an act of exemplary patronage practice. An artistically inclined patron connects with a spiritually sensitive artist: from conversation and collaboration comes a work of art that beautifully fits the worshipping space and serves the community that worships in its presence. This case also indicates markers of best practice in church arts patronage as the Church turns to the arts in its cultural witness. First, this case study demonstrates that the practice of the Church bears on art and its patronage by creating a “boundary” within which the artist and patron must work. While the nature or shape of this boundary is determined by a church’s theology, it nevertheless informs the creation, interpretation, and reception of art for the church space. While some resist the notion of criteria in relation to art in the church (Koestlé-Cate 2012), because the telos of the worshipping space is distinct from “art-world” spaces, the recognition of a boundary is inevitable, meaning the articulation of where it lies is a prerequisite for flourishing arts patronage practice.

This requirement correspondingly makes the church-as-patron necessary for it is here that one finds the role of the patron. Specifically, the patron contributes by helping to make this boundary visible to the artist rather than assuming the artist can “see” and interpret this boundary on his or her own. The patron “sees” the boundary that bears on how the artwork will be interpreted and received because, ideally, the patron knows the tradition the work will sit within and be interpreted by as well as the congregation for whom the work is created. While the patron might not know how the individual viewer will respond, he or she can help the artist to understand the collective posture of a particular congregation.

Awareness of the particular role the patron plays means the patron can also know the limitations of their contribution. Even if artistically inclined, the patron is not the artist. While the patron works with the artist, he does not work over the artist (O’Connor 1969, p. 163). This type of collaborative relationship is only possible if there is an environment of trust between artist and patron, and it seems that key to trust is this question: Is visual art theologically believed to be faithful within the particular church tradition? If art is believed to be able to serve the purposes of the Church, as it is in the tradition of Old Saint Paul’s, it correspondingly creates an environment of trust not only for the artist but also in the object’s potential to witness. This trust allows true collaboration as both artist and patron can meaningfully contribute. Thus, for traditions where art has been regarded with suspicion (or distrust), trust might need to be rebuilt (and forgiveness offered and received) as latent suspicions come to the fore as a result of practice.

However, for a foundation of trust to be cultivated, trust must be extended in both directions: the artist trusting the church-as-patron and the church-as-patron trusting the artist. For the artist, this means coming to a work aware of what he or she does not know that the patron can strengthen and thus contribute. From the patron to artist, trust is not indicated by a patron who lets the artist “get on with it” with no involvement. Rather, robust engagement between artist and patron indicates the importance or gravitas of the practice.

When the act of patronage is marked by this collaboration and trust, the Church can fully inhabit the role of patron, specifically that of protector. Etymologically, patron stems from the Latin, “patronus,” meaning “protector of clients,” “advocate or defender”. In English, the word connotes “one who takes under his favor and protection, or lends his influential support to advance the interests of, some person, cause, institution, art, or undertaking” (Garber 2008, p. 2). Patron-as-protector also finds biblical support in God’s commissioning of Bezalel in Exodus 31. The name “Bezalel” means “in the shadow [or protection] of God” (Gaebelein 1985, p. 64). When God commissioned Bezalel for work in the tabernacle, He offered both His Spirit and His protection for the work that was to be done.

When we think about the relationship between the artist and the Church in this way, the patron becomes the one who protects, preserves, and enables the artist to create. Patron-as-protector also presumes the relational framework advocated. To protect, one must risk the possibility of sacrifice. To be protected, one must acknowledge vulnerability and need. In practice, one of the ways the patron protects the artist is in the way he or she advocates on behalf of the artist to the congregation, something already seen in the way the rector at Old St Paul’s helped to encourage the congregation towards a larger definition of fittingness. One could argue that this form of protection sets the work of art free to witness, for the congregation is enabled to enter into the fullness of the theological capacity embedded in the work of art. Further, preparing a congregation to receive a work also protects the artist as they create on behalf of the other, making themselves vulnerable in their offering of their gift.

Seen in this case, Still is an object of cultural witness within Old St Paul’s. At the time of its installation, the work witnessed to the Gospel by inviting viewers to participate imaginatively in the life of Jesus. It also transformed the church space, putting “resurrection into the place of loss,” thus making the space more fitting for Christian worship and efficacious for witness into the future. While the object is a powerful site of cultural witness, what one must take seriously is the collaborative patron-artist relationship marked by trust and protection that lay at the foundation of this work. As a model for future practice, this case demonstrates what Hans Feibusch advocated in 1946. For artists to be the “mouthpieces” of the church into a broken society,

[A] bold policy is needed… the artists are more than ready… [i]t is for the leaders of the Church to take initiative, to commission the best artists… to give them intelligent guidance in a sphere new to them, and to have sufficient confidence in their artistic and human quality to give them free play. The artist on his side, it will be found, is always glad to have the collaboration of the patron. He does not want to be offered a vacuum to fill as he pleases, he likes to be given the material; but he must be permitted to use it in his own way.

(Feibusch 1946, p. 92)