DEVOTIONAL
03.11.20
by Christian Gonzalez Ho
Velvet Painting: Unlearning Darkness
Lynn Aldrich
2016
Velvet, velveteen, painting on a wood panel
24” x 18” x 1”
The first time I saw Lynn Aldrich’s
“Unlearning Darkness” from a distance, I assumed it was a painting of a color
gradient. Several months later, I saw it again from close up and realized I was
wrong. It was not a painting or a gradient, but layer upon layer of velvet
strips arranged in undulating waves of color. I found myself arrested by the
piece’s mystery and subtle strangeness, surprised by the furtive glimmers of
light refracting off the irregularities and uneven surfaces, especially the
light emanating from what, at first glance, had looked like a black block of
fabric at the base. In actuality, it was comprised of layers of different
blacks and brown, punctuated by violet and purple. These punctuations and the
play of light across the material deconstruct the appearance of a gradient,
effectively entwining the piece into a chromatic ecosystem. The result defies
the kind of pure, cool, airbrushed gradients emblematic of Ed Ruscha, Billy Al
Bengston, Craig Kaufmann, and James Turrell, to name a few of Aldrich’s Los
Angeles peers. Aldrich’s work revels in the sumptuous material incarnation of
these colors, their relation to one another heightened by their composition and
proximities.
In 2019, after a month of intense fatigue, persistent swelling in my lymph nodes, and a mounting pressure in my chest, I began to wonder if I had cancer. The mere thought of it felt paralyzing, like watching a black hole yawning open before me. Several months later, my fears were confirmed and I entered that vertiginous universe with its batteries of tests, the omni-present sickness and fatigue that chemotherapy precipitates, and sometimes-smothering weight of uncertainty. And yet, God’s voice and presence suffused and interrupted this journey in ways that were imperceptible from a distance. Like discovering climbing holds on what appears to be a sheer rock face.
It is only under the shepherding of God, immersed in the scorching darkness of the shadow of death, that I have begun to unlearn the logics of fear and despair. The shadow and the shepherd must both be present. In the face of unmitigated terror, my semblance of God is emended by the real God. Like Jacob, wrestling with the angel in the dark; like a Beethoven concerto’s impassioned struggle between soloist and orchestra, by turns opposing, by turns cooperating, even as they are being woven together. This is the sort of “emended beauty” found in the cleft of horror. For me, it is a reminder that I am being refined—not incinerated.
When Jesus prophesied of His own public execution, Peter tried to censure him; it was anathema to their understanding of the Messiah—there could be no silver lining in their leader’s destruction. However, Christ’s resurrection was a victory for humanity that dwarfed the political liberation His disciples had been angling for. It is Christ’s victory over death that ensures that within the horrors of darkness we remain tethered to His love and peace. Through “trouble, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness or danger, or sword… In all these things we have complete victory through him who loved us!” (Romans 8:35, 37) Through the revelation of Christ by the Holy Spirit, we experience the love of God while we pass through a world that remains in the throes of sin and death.
A neo-platonic Christianity seeks to avoid darkness. We often quote Isaiah 58:11 to imply that the light erases darkness. But the literal translation says that light rises in the darkness. Cassell captures this sense movingly with his imagery of the Polish fiddler—his music is “eloquent in the pitch dark/tell-true, indelible … Abundance/emending beauty.” The victory of Christ is more subversive and complete than we dare to imagine. It is an existential concerto, wherein we wrestle and through which we discover His love and learn to walk in His ways even as we pass through the thick and terrible shadow.
In 2019, after a month of intense fatigue, persistent swelling in my lymph nodes, and a mounting pressure in my chest, I began to wonder if I had cancer. The mere thought of it felt paralyzing, like watching a black hole yawning open before me. Several months later, my fears were confirmed and I entered that vertiginous universe with its batteries of tests, the omni-present sickness and fatigue that chemotherapy precipitates, and sometimes-smothering weight of uncertainty. And yet, God’s voice and presence suffused and interrupted this journey in ways that were imperceptible from a distance. Like discovering climbing holds on what appears to be a sheer rock face.
It is only under the shepherding of God, immersed in the scorching darkness of the shadow of death, that I have begun to unlearn the logics of fear and despair. The shadow and the shepherd must both be present. In the face of unmitigated terror, my semblance of God is emended by the real God. Like Jacob, wrestling with the angel in the dark; like a Beethoven concerto’s impassioned struggle between soloist and orchestra, by turns opposing, by turns cooperating, even as they are being woven together. This is the sort of “emended beauty” found in the cleft of horror. For me, it is a reminder that I am being refined—not incinerated.
When Jesus prophesied of His own public execution, Peter tried to censure him; it was anathema to their understanding of the Messiah—there could be no silver lining in their leader’s destruction. However, Christ’s resurrection was a victory for humanity that dwarfed the political liberation His disciples had been angling for. It is Christ’s victory over death that ensures that within the horrors of darkness we remain tethered to His love and peace. Through “trouble, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness or danger, or sword… In all these things we have complete victory through him who loved us!” (Romans 8:35, 37) Through the revelation of Christ by the Holy Spirit, we experience the love of God while we pass through a world that remains in the throes of sin and death.
A neo-platonic Christianity seeks to avoid darkness. We often quote Isaiah 58:11 to imply that the light erases darkness. But the literal translation says that light rises in the darkness. Cassell captures this sense movingly with his imagery of the Polish fiddler—his music is “eloquent in the pitch dark/tell-true, indelible … Abundance/emending beauty.” The victory of Christ is more subversive and complete than we dare to imagine. It is an existential concerto, wherein we wrestle and through which we discover His love and learn to walk in His ways even as we pass through the thick and terrible shadow.
This reflection was originally published on March 11, 2020 as part of Biola University’s 2020 Lent Project.
Read more at: http://ccca.biola.edu/lent/2020/#day-mar-11
CHRISTIAN GONZALEZ HO
Christian Gonzalez Ho holds an M.A. in Architecture from Harvard University and a B.A. in American Studies from Fordham University. Christian's work focuses primarily on the dialogical relationships among philosophy, art, and culture.
From 2004 to 2009, Christian worked in New York City as an off-Broadway playwright, director, and actor. In 2010, he began graduate work at Yale, but left after a semester to intern at the International house of Prayer in Kansas City. During his time in Kansas City, he became the Director of Design at Exodus Cry, an anti human trafficking organization. He currently works as a cultural researcher in Los Angeles, CA. Christian loves to surf, snowboard, play basketball, and drink really, really, good coffee. He is the co-creator and co-director of Estuaries.