ntense passions left me awake in the dead of night, staring at my unfinished and finished paintings, trying to find keys that would unlock cryptic doors that I couldn't even yet see and with every frenzied flurry of thoughts floundering to find answers there comes unbidden those despairing questions of failure and purpose where I must justify myself and my actions again and again even though I am sitting there in the grey half-light of the night staring at a successful piece of art which has, to my discerning and self-loathing eye, signs of very real beauty and can I not devoutly believe that if I can create one object, one simple, sublime object of real beauty in my lifetime, have I not lived a valuable and fruitful life and has it not all been worth all the otherwise wasted days and sleepless nights?
 
Thankfully, in the light of day, when I would take long walks through the streets of Florence absorbing the sights, sites, and sounds of that gorgeous city, I would never be possessed of such nay sayings and could concentrate my musings on wonderment and betterment. I was becoming well settled into the routine of my ways and was beginning to appreciate the more obscure crannies of the city. It is such a delight to round a corner and stumble across genius.
 
I had, during my time in Florence, developed a theory on art and beauty. Art is a manifestation of genius, I decided. Art is not about conveying emotions, expressing the soul, being sublime, making pretty pictures or making the viewer reflect on new ideas but, on the other hand, it could very well be any of those things. Anything done with capability, incisive intelligence and forward-thinking vision is art, be it architecture, painting, sculpture, music, mathematics, magic tricks, or even jigsaw puzzles. It is the higher achievement of mankind in any field that marks something as art. When a painter stands before a canvas wondering if a work is finished the question that he must ask himself in order to determine if it is finished is simply, "Does it mark me as a genius?" Anything less is not good enough to stand beside artists of past and future. To aspire to anything less is to aspire to failure.
 
Paintings, sculpture and similar art forms are purist in that they only exist as a vehicle for Genius. That is not to say that they are better or more noble than other forms of expression but they only exist for that reason. They have no function except to be champions of Humanism. A bricklayer might simply make a wall to perform a function for the community but when that bricklayer does something special to that wall to mark it as a thing of genius then it becomes art on the same level as any painting or sculpture.
 
"What about beauty?" one might ask. I contend that beauty is about order, pattern, balance, and perhaps even juxtaposition and contrasts. Even beauty therefore is a testament to intelligence. When we see something that is beautiful we are really seeing something that speaks to great intelligence and planning. The argument against this is natural beauty to which I counter with faith. It is the very order and design of nature that inspires man to feel that there must be a divine intelligence behind it. It is the Genius of God that first inspires worship (where choirs of Angels have not appeared to Herald a divine presence). Certainly it is presumptuous (and wrong) to assert that all mankind is drawn to religion because of beauty but once you realize they are just words you can say anything.
 
 Every small church in Florence has both grand and majestic pieces of art as well as hidden little treasures therefore I was finding myself within the hallowed halls on numerous, regular occasions. I am not a religious man but the solemn beauty of those buildings, haunted by silent reverence, did imbue my soul with a spiritual sensitivity. My spirit was uplifted and embraced by some wholly invisible force yet I am loath to call it religion or even God. It may have been all the very same sensations that a devout Christian feels in their private moments of rapture and though yes, rapture did burst forth fiery from my pounding heart on a few momentous occasions, I never found myself reaching toward a divinity. Rather, even when I was completely swept up in the experience, I was aware that it was mankind that I was worshipping. It is the spirit, intelligence, and humanity of our civilization that buckled my knees.
 
I would oft find myself settled into pews in these quiet places where I would slip into crudely meditative states of mind. Too, I would enjoy witnessing the contented prayers of those devoted to their God being it an elderly, patient individual or a younger couple. Perhaps it was faith by proxy or at least I was filled with a spirit of belief without having to believe. As soon as a priest would start to speak though the spell would invariably be broken. It seems that though the belief and faith of others can encourage similar sentiments in me, being told what one should believe had a contrary effect. Who is to say if this is because of pig-headedness and contrariness on my part or if it was simply not as spiritually uplifting as silence?
 
What became clear though was that I did achieve a level of spiritual improvement through witnessing and studying the devoted prayers of others. I may not have been interacting with or living within society but I was reaping apparent benefits from exposure to it. My hands would not be clasped in supplication and no whispered prayers passed my lips but my soul was rejuvenated and invigorated.
 
I would find a related phenomenon when turning my hand to paint Christian iconographic religious scenes. Initially I would indulge in them in order to undertake the same challenges of the Masters. It is not dissimilar to writing Sonnets in order to better understand the thought process and decision making of Shakespeare. I believed (and still do believe) that sitting down to compose and colour a Madonna and Child is an engaging and profitable mental exercise and since art is all about the mental exercise and so finding exceptionally devious solutions to puzzles like the Old Master subjects are still highly relevant. It is not for their subject matter (even though it is critical that the subject matter be pursued with integrity) but for their set of design problems.
 
When working on these religious themed works and dealing with sentiments of devotion, peace, radiance, and love, I would find my heart and mind becoming infected by them. Was I becoming a better person through art? Was I getting closer to God by painstakingly drawing the face of Christ with integrity? Whether I believed that Christ exists or not, I was still having to act as though I did in order to depict the spirit of Christ and, on a base level, wasn't that functionally the same? There can be no faith without fear.
 
 

VII