Month: February 2017

Hearing from so many voices/perspectives in My Name is Red allows us to be skeptical of each character’s reliability in their stories. There are many instances where characters show moments of unreliability in their account of the truth. I think this is a critical part of Pamuk’s novel because it is up to the reader to be analytical in their evaluation of the story, especially the murder mystery plot line.

One example of this is on page 114 where Enishte accounts: “”In that case, he won’t be able to marry me,” said my clever daughter smiling. Where did I come up with the detail about her smiling? During the entire conversation, I noticed nothing accept the occasional glimmer in her eyes.” I think it is interesting how small of a detail this is to miss. It is so minor that it seems unimportant, but it also makes us skeptical of Enishte’s perspective of reality.

In a less subtle way, Sheukre openly tells us on page 43 that, “If I happen to tell a lie or two from time to time, It’s so you don’t  come to any false conclusions about me.”

I think there is an interesting paradox here: characters are willing to tell us when they are being dishonest or when they get the facts wrong, which is truthful, but they are being truthful about their unreliability.

An especially interesting part of Orhan Pamuk’s My Name is Red is the format of the novel. It is split up into lots of short chapters with alternating narrators and these narrators are sometimes pretty unconventional. In addition to having the corpse of Elegant act as a narrator, the pictures hung up in the coffee shop act as the voice of several chapters. Instead of using ekphrasis to describe the drawings, Pamuk has the coffee shop storyteller act as a voice for the art. He is speaking as art rather than about it. This seems to elevate the drawings from being just a backdrop for his stories, showing that they have the power to tell stories on their own.

In the chapter I am a Tree, the storyteller seems to almost be making fun of the fear that all representational art is idolatrous. The tree says, “Since I’m not representing something in a book, what comes to mind is that my picture will be nailed to a wall and the likes of pagans and infidels will prostrate themselves before me in worship” (47). This is made to seem ridiculous coming from the image of a hastily drawn tree on a rough sheet of paper. In addition, even though the tree is not part of a book, the fact that the storyteller is speaking for it shows that it can still be part of a story. Art can act as its own story, whether being used to illustrate written words or not. By giving the pictures a voice, Pamuk almost brings them to life, showing that they have a purpose and a story to tell. They are meant to reveal meaning, and anyone who uses them as an idol to worship does not understand their purpose.

In Chapter 28 of My Name Is Red, which is narrated by the murderer, the speaker discusses the tenuous boundaries between artistry and blasphemy. Speaking to Enishte Effendi, he proclaims, “The greatest of sins is committed by painters who presume to do what He does, who claim to be as creative as He” (160). Artists might express a creativity superior to God not only through a public declaration of this fact. This is why eastern art discourages the development of individual style-for fear that an artist’s singular creative brand will overshadow’s God’s creation(s). Thus recognition, too, in Eastern culture, becomes a nonissue. For to proudly claim one’s work is to boast of one’s craftsmanship-to set oneself on the same plane as God Himself.

The precariousness of this boundary is familiar in other realms beyond art. For example, in Puritan New England, those who wished to become members of the congregation were required to give testimonies of faith. Still, in these testimonies, testifiers and church members alike were hyper-aware of crossing the line towards forbidden knowledge. There was a great fear of disrespecting God and pushing into realms where humans did not belong by, almost accidentally, accessing this higher knowledge.

In both eastern and western cultures centuries ago, religion permeated every realm of society, and became, in some respects, a restrictive force. The illuminators in My Name is Red are bound by a requirement to respect God, to curb artistic liberty in order to maintain this dedication to one’s faith. It was not only reverence, and perhaps more so fear that kept artists in line. To surpass God in any endeavor, particularly creative, was inconceivable. Punishment for such a transgression was too, horrifying yet unthinkable. In this climate of apprehension, most artists wouldn’t dare cross the threshold to create anything that even potentially compared to God’s work. Fear of this transgression is at the root of Elegant Effendi’s objection to the project of the secret book. Yet in refusal of this belief that their work could be blasphemous, the speaker murders him.

The murderer and Enishte Effendi seem to concur that artistic liberty  and success can be divorced from irreverence. Pamuk alludes to the fact that this is an idea which came to the West much sooner than the East. Could masterful artistic works, rather than casting doubt upon God’s authority and creativity, in fact underscore his Glory and his exalted position in the human world? Effendi pushes for the completion of the book seemingly ripe with this belief.

 

A prominent theme throughout “My Name is Red” is representation vs. mimesis in the creation of art. When visiting one of the apprentices who he worked with named “Butterfly”, Black listens to his three parables that expand on this conflict. The third story combines those of the first and second to conclude, “that ‘signature’ and ‘style’ are but means of being brazenly and stupidly self-congratulatory about flawed work” (66). By this logic, to sign one’s work after imitating another’s style through one’s own interpretation is to reveal a flaw.  This concept around one’s signature even used when the murderer worries that he has left traces of his own style on the dead body.

If we compare this sinful association with style to a Western philosophy of art, especially in periods of the Renaissance and Baroque, we find a direct conflict. It is a common practice within the study of art history to train your eye to recognize distinguishable qualities in paintings that allow you to identify their artists.  For example, in the painting below by Caravaggio, The Inspiration of Saint Matthew, one can identify his style in his use of chiaroscuro, the balance between light and dark that provides the illusion of volume, and tenebroso, shadowy and murky light.  As one looks at Caravaggio’s paintings over time, one can begin to recognize the typical attributions of his figures.

The ability to create something distinguishable and to recognize styles of others are two qualities that are esteemed in the Western art world.  As illustrated in the novel, this difference partly stems from religion. I wonder what Western art during these periods would look like if concepts of representation for God and Jesus were the same as those for Allah?

Orhan Pamuk’s My Name is Red observes the relationship between the East and the West and notably, the effects of Western influences on art. Returning to Istanbul after 12 years, Black notices the many things that have changed since his departure, recognizing they originate from the growing influence of Western civilization on the East. One of the central themes of the novel revolves around the clash between Eastern and Western methods of painting, which merely express different ways of seeing the world. Islamic painters attempted to depict the world from Allah’s point of view, whereas the Europeans from a human perspective. I really enjoyed looking at the different eastern book covers in class on Monday and seeing which ones seemed to accurately represent what art should epitomize in eastern countries: no discernible faces and no sense of hierarchy. The various narrators often bring up the idea of “signature” and “style” – in the East, all painters were to imitate the work of their older masters, there was no room for personal/identifiable style or technique. However, in the west, painters ubiquitously would take credit for their work by signing their art pieces or making them recognizable with a personal style. Being a westerner, I never really gave much thought to the idea of showing belonging with a signature on religious artwork. I don’t believe this is as controversial nowadays; however, it makes me wonder if any art work that has a religious purpose should be taken credit for, as opposed to merely dedicated to the Divine. I believe that in the end, the debate between East and West regarding art is somewhat futile and only reflects different ideas of devotion to religion, which the East and West may simply not share.

I really appreciated seeing the calendar months from Tres Riches Heures projected side by side in succession. Seeing the months next to each other as they would have been invites comparison and a conversation between the two. I realized that it was almost always an alternating presentation of the nobility/aristocrats and then the peasants save for a few exceptions. This thus allowed us to see both groups in wealth, prosperity, and happiness and there were always subtle unifying elements in the works that encouraged such a likeness to be brought to mind. For example, in the months of May and June:

The angle of the castle sloping in the background of June (on the right)  mimics the procession of nobles heading to their summer palace to go hunting. The two complement each other as our eyes naturally follow both scenes from the right to the left where it disappears beyond the frame suggestive of the expansive lands belonging to Duc de Berry. To match the predominantly green scene of June, some of the nobles depicted in May have also been clothed in green. Similarly, the peasants in the foreground of June have been clothed the dark beautiful blue to match the rich robes of the nobility. The religious motif is present in both with the crossing of the trumpets in the month of May and the church depicted in June.

Just as interacting with the physical books last Wednesday added the additional dimension of sensory understanding, seeing the two calendar months next to each other enriched the meaning of  each. The similarities that could be drawn between the two emphasized the highly romanticized depiction of the peasants that follows our discussion of the calendar meant to pamper the Duke’s vanity.

In the chapter “I Am Tree” from  My Name is Red, an illustrated tree from an illuminated manuscript actively distinguishes itself from the more intentional and realistic figures found in European art. This foreshadows the conflict at the heart of the book-the disparity between Islamic and European art and the way it reflects traditions of culture and of faith. The tree denounces the aspiration to realism and attention to detail in European art, clinging desperately to the decorative tradition of Islamic art.

The chapter closes with a declaration: “I don’t want to be a tree, I want to be its meaning.”  Through the voice of the tree, Pamuk suggests that Islamic art (of the time) demanded a clean separation between art and life. Art is ornamental, fabricated, ethereal. The presence of the colloquial, of the faces of friends and community members in an artistic work, diminished its magic. The tree continues, “I thank Allah that I, the humble tree before you, have not been drawn with such intent.” In rejecting intent, the tree suggests an appreciation of the spontaneity and artistic liberty that characterizes  the creative process in illumination. Illuminators were not necessarily given rigid instructions, and instead offered the freedom to articulation individual visions. In contrast, European artists were confined by the aspiration to imitate life as closely as possible, essentially unable to express individual styles.

Pamuk then draws a distinction between an object and its meaning. The object is plain and two dimensional, simple and undeserving of further explanation. Meaning can be entirely separate, and alive, animated, but not necessarily attached to its real life object. The tree in the manuscript declares itself “the meaning of a tree,” as separate from the tree itself.

The issues that the tree raises reminded me of the Magritte painting, La trahison des images. Viewers have to think about the nature and meaning of images in this work…Is this a pipe, or is this a picture of a pipe?
The statement below the illustration declares, “This is not a pipe.”

Magritte at once acknowledges and pokes fun at the ambiguous language that blurs the separation between an image and a real object. The tree probes a similar distinction, yet declares one superior to the other. Meaning:  liberal artistic expression rises above the actual object or any attempt to realistically imitate it.

I was thoroughly intrigued with the earliest forms of bookmaking and manuscripts after we viewed them in the library today. Two of my other classes for History involve lots of readings of old manuscripts, so it was great to see these books up close.

I believe it was a large book of the history of the world that contained a few blank pages at the end, followed by a large etching or picture of the apocalypse. It depicted the AntiChrist being urged on by the Devil, while a crowd of onlookers listened with rapture. Above them, a wild tumult is occurring, signaling the final struggle at the end of the world.

I find this line of thinking to be a bit counter intuitive: Even as humankind was creating and transforming their world over five hundred years ago, and making new technologies to further assist their artistic and spiritual learning, they were still completely afraid of the impending doom. Whether this was due to the religious sentiment of the time across Europe, or simply a fear of the unknown and strict adherence to old principles, it still struck me as odd to be so afraid that someone would include a massive page of the apocalypse at the end of what was otherwise an incredible and beautifully crafted book.

The invention of the printing press allowed regular people, not just nobles and the Church, to more easily attain knowledge. The Protestant Reformation was largely galvanized by the printing press, and this spread of knowledge, whether religious or otherwise let common people in on the artistic secrets that had eluded them for centuries. While the Apocalypse has not happened (yet) it interests me as to why these images of apocalyptic notions are prevalent in these illuminated manuscripts and early books. Perhaps it kept people grounded into the world they knew, or perhaps it gave them a reason to strive for living the best life possible.

The collection of books on display at the library today had a range of pieces, from lists of cattle written on papyrus to books printed with a printing press. So far in class we have been focusing on illuminated manuscripts. The manuscripts shown today were beautiful, with historiated letters and some marginalia colored in with pigments from different plants. One of the hymnal books on display featured many pictures with gold and bright colors, although not all of the pictures were filled in. It is possible that the pictures were left blank by mistake, but it was interesting how closely they resembled the pictures that were found in the books that came from the printing press.

One point made in the discussion today was that some nobility had the pictures in their printed books filled in with color after the book was complete. Out of the printed books on display, I was only able to find one picture that was actually colored in. It seems that the art of illumination shifted with the creation of the printing press. Now, instead of enhancing images with gold and brightly colored paints, the quality of the image could be enhanced by adding extra detail to the plate used to make the image. Additionally, the medium used to create the plate played a large role in determining how fine the details in the image could be. As the class progresses, it will be interesting to examine how illumination evolves in the presence of new technologies.

I enjoyed looking at the wide range of books presented to us this morning, but one in particular piqued my interest: The Nuremberg Chronicle. This text is essentially a history book from Genesis through the early 1490s. So far in class we have viewed illuminated manuscripts that have served solely religious purposes, but this book combines religion with, at the time, modern history. This offers a glimpse into  life in the 15th century and emphasizes the tight-knit relationship between every-day life and religion. There are even pages devoted to the future, suggesting that Judgement Day is approaching.

Aside from the content of the text, the pictures are extremely impressive and, I find, are the primary allure. The woodcut illustrations depict hand colored, elaborate cityscapes, kings, and battles.

In the 15th century, this book was one of the most extensively illustrated of its time, and one of the most important. This makes me wonder, six centuries later, what is our modern day Nuremberg Chronicle? Is it even a book?