Confessions of an Art Historian in the Field of Art and Religion

By Jenny Patten Gargiulo, Teagle-Wabash Fellow in Art and Religion

"I realize now that I am hearing yet another call layered over the initial call to teach. This new call tells me that it is also my task to help artists see the tremendous gift of their creations, and help others see the spiritual value of all works of art. "

One of the first subjects that we covered this summer in the Teaching and Learning Academy was “Intercultural Teaching and Learning” led by Professor Faustino Cruz from the Franciscan School of Theology. I must admit, I didn’t expect much from the presentation as I had been to some pretty mediocre seminars on this subject in the past. I expected to come away from his presentation with the typical array of material: some new statistics about the diversity of learners and perhaps some new considerations for creating a more intercultural classroom. Professor Cruz’ presentation was anything but typical. I found that I was quite shaken up by some of his powerful and probing questions, specifically those relating to vocation, although there are certainly are some intercultural issues operating at the core!

Here are two questions that had the biggest impact on me: Whose lives are at stake by your work (teaching and research)? Who is your audience of accountability?

These questions caused something of a crisis within me. The internal dialog went something like this: “What does he mean by whose lives are at stake by my work? I’m not a paramedic, I’m a professor, and I teach art history (albeit art history with theological sophistication). Nobody’s lives are at stake by my work!”

My reaction to his question has deep roots. Ever since I declared art history as my major in undergrad (some 13 years ago) I had often been posed a different question (one that admittedly was much easier than that of Professor Cruz): “You’re majoring in art history? What are you going to do with that when you graduate?” I eventually figured out the answer to that question: “I’m going to teach art history.” But all of a sudden, that answer doesn’t seem to be cutting the mustard anymore. I wondered if my colleagues with more theological specializations are struggling with this question, or is it just me, the one specializing in what often seems to be an expendable field?

And just who is my audience of accountability, anyway? Would that be the names on my class rosters, the faces I see looking back at me when I gaze out into the classroom? Or perhaps it is my colleagues in the art department at Sonoma State University? Maybe I answer to the CAA (College Art Association – something like the AAR for the field of art history)? If not the CAA, then perhaps it is the AAR (American Academy of Religion – something like the CAA for the field of theology)? Maybe my audience is my fellow hybrid art and religion colleagues here at the GTU?

And then come more unsettling questions and considerations: What in my life is impeding me to accept the role of an academician in society? Sometimes life isn’t just about not saying something that could hurt somebody, but thinking about who could be hurt by my not saying something.

Personally, all of these questions and issues came at a crucial moment for me. I had just returned from Italy where I left my husband to care for his dying mother. I offered to give up everything I had going for me academically and professionally to be with him through this terribly difficult time. My husband encouraged me to stay the course and take advantage of enriching opportunities like the Teagle Wabash Fellowship. Thinking back on this moment, I realize I was largely motivated by my selfless love for him and empathy for the difficult months that awaited him. On the other hand, I must have seen my vocation as something rather disposable in order to consider leaving it all behind so easily. Only a week after this conversation, there I was back in Berkeley, at the beginning of the Teaching and Learning Academy, being asked to talk about great issues of meaning and value within the context of my vocation.

I wanted to know the answers to Professor Cruz’ questions, and finding the answers required a great deal of soul searching. I kept coming back to certain thoughts and images that seemed to be answering the questions for me. I saw snowflake-like Hawaiian quilt patterns (kapa) and I thought about my theological aesthetics research on the subject. I saw the faces of Hawaiian “aunties” and tutus (grandmothers and elders) and I remembered them beaming with joy when they learned that I shared their deeply theological art form with audiences at the GTU, Saint Mary’s and even the AAR, for I helped give a meaningful voice and create genuine artistic appreciation for their otherwise silenced “craft.”

I began to realize that my audience of accountability isn’t just my students, my peers and the academies; I am responsible to the artists, as well. I realize now that I am hearing yet another call layered over the initial call to teach. This new call tells me that it is also my task to help artists see the tremendous gift of their creations, and help others see the spiritual value of all works of art. Theologically some really powerful things can happen when we look at art as expressions and experiences of spirit, faith and religion. This has some big connotations for "folk art," which is often the art of marginalized people, and also for the art and material culture of popular religion, which is often not taken seriously or valued by the academy. Now I have found a new significance to my work, one that was there all along, but ironically not given voice.
Jule Kamakana's Hawaiian quilt (kapa) pattern: Hala'ai (Pineapple)