The photo of the naked, frost-encrusted doll disturbed me only slightly less than the photo of the man-made, primary-colored “Salvation Mountain.”
The former seemed like something out of really creepy movie involving homicidal, demon-possessed children or a post-apocalyptic wasteland. That’s cool. I can work with that.
The latter was a lopsided advertisement aimed at the inhabitants of Slab City, Calif., a last stop for humanity and an imploded hippie commune according to photographer Doug Coon. The twisted, crumbling, Play-Doh encrusted nightmare is festooned with sayings like “JESUS IM A SINNER PLEASE COME UPON MY BODY.” It’s unsettling in a way that I couldn’t quite find palatable.
But I could find it intriguing. And perhaps that’s a good thing.
There is something compelling about decay. It’s interesting, if not beautiful, and thought provoking, if not sigh inducing. And it’s just as valid a subject as the leaf-strewn rocks and majestic (naturally occurring) mountains also included in Doug Coon’s exhibit.
There is a story presented through the portrayal of the crumbling creations of man. It suggests the strength of time and nature while highlighting the fragility and futility of human achievement. In a contest of “which mountain inspires most confidence and awe,” Salvation Mountain does not fare well in a comparison to Mount Ranier.
But a photo of Salvation Mountain is likely trying to do something completely different than a photo of Mount Ranier. It’s not supposed to be strictly “beautiful” in the conventionalized sense, just compelling. It is supposed to make you look again and wonder what about it inspired the double-take.
That instinct should be embraced.
We need a contrast between the grotesque and the beautiful in order to understand them. Each is, to some extent, defined by its opposite – after all, Miranda wouldn’t be the same without Caliban. But when the two intermingle, it can – perhaps should – prompt a stronger reaction.
Unexpected beauty, even as commonly understood, can be found in rural ruin and urban brokenness. While an attractive curve is not surprising in a winding river, it might also unexpectedly appear in a cluster of salt-clogged cog. Lovely colors are expected in a sunset, but how about a rusting, graphittied door?
You should not discount an artwork because it has a particularly grotesque or decayed subject. Instead, you should stop, take that second look, and ask yourself “why”?
You might be surprised by the answers.
