![]() ![]() ![]() Braddock, Associate Professor of Art History and American Studies at the College of William and Mary, writes, "Romanticism helped institutionalize the wilderness aesthetic (a.k.a. In addition to these unpleasantries of the real, wide-scene paintings can also mask history with its real narratives–for example, overlooking the presence of Indigenous peoples within the sphere of the landscape view, allowing us to interpose our own narrative fictions on top of the true story of the particular land-scene we are easily gazing at. Landscape paintings hide many things: the heat and sweat of the sun in the sky, the sting of nettles alongside the dreamy stream, the labor of cutting a path through the thicket, the pungent smell of a dead deer in the crook of the decaying log, the buzz of the wasp cone, the haunting call of the coyotes in the middle of the romantic moonlit night. Sometimes when flying into a large city like Los Angeles or Seattle, I am mesmerized by how neat and organized and clean the cities look from up in the air, when I know that if I were down on the corner block, amidst the noise and litter and obstructed views, my senses would offer up such a different assessment. Large-scale representations at a distance can create certain illusive and seductive images by virtue of hiding particularities. Distance sanitizes. Enthusiastic fans of the natural landscape, as seen from the car window or roadside viewpoint, are often not interested in actually getting into that nature, with all of the brambles, boggy patches, detours, obstacles, not to mention the wild animals and hovering (or hidden) bugs. Just as wide-scene landscape art has the power to convert people into nature-lovers, at the very same time it has a tendency to inoculate these very same nature-lovers against the actual nature they are fooled into thinking they love. Yet, even as I applaud and celebrate the landscape genre, I realize that all good things have shadow sides. I am a huge fan of this kind of art in the service of turning affections toward nature-as it has undoubtedly done for me. Frederic Edwin Church (influenced by John Ruskin), The Heart of the Andes, 1859 Influenced by art critic John Ruskin’s dictum that landscape painting should capture the natural world as realistically as possible without romanticizing the subject, Church’s photographic technique is indeed breathtaking. And yet, undeniably the realistic mastery creates a romantic response in the viewer: again, these feelings of wonder, awe, sublimity, delight, and affection. Take, for example, Frederic Edwin Church’s masterpiece The Heart of the Andes (1859). Representational landscape paintings have this power to evoke a chorus of positive emotion in me, and I, as a recipient of the influence of the western art tradition, am quite sure I am not alone in this, noting University of Arizona Museum of Art’s curator Lauren Rabb’s comment that the 19th century was the golden age of landscape painting in Europe and America. Albert Bierstadt: California Spring, 1875 ![]() The large sky filled with dramatic clouds, the wide, spacious horizon radiating openness and freedom, the two majestic trees dominating the foreground in front of which peaceful cows forage in a wildflower meadow-this masterful arrangement sparked in me a feeling of the sublime, a sense of well-being, an unbridled affection for the natural world. So much so that I bought a print upon leaving. I remember the sense of wonder I felt when first seeing Albert Bierstadt’s California Spring (1875) hanging in the DeYoung Museum in San Francisco eight years ago. Today he takes an insightful look at landscape art. You can find Jeff's previous posts for our The Art of Creation column here and here. Today we welcome back Circlewood friend, Jeff Reed, as a guest writer for The Ecological Disciple. ![]()
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