Art invariably falls short of conveying the true content of divinity and sagacity and instead portrays religion. Renaissance cherubs, the severe Velazquez, the romantic Dore and Blake, the naive American Hicks — all fall short of conveying a sense of mystery or other-worldliness. Modern pious art assumes foreknowledge of scripture or doctrine to convey meaning. Eastern depictions of the Buddha try to portray serenity (except the bizarre Hotei) but the deities are not always benign, as in Tibetan and Japanese traditions. Simple but endearing are Hindu portraits of blue-skinned Krishna with Radha in a forest setting (and there are Western counterparts) where the viewer feels like an intruder who has seen god and is embarrassed, like the apostle of Jesus at the Transfiguration who blurts out that it is good to be here and what do I do now.
journal of reflections by the resident of the Hermitary