What art awakens in us, and how it matters
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| Amedeo Modigliani, Nu Couché (Reclining Nude) 1917 |
When I posted on Facebook an AI-generated image of a young woman, bare to the waist, it was simply a piece of art to me: expressionist in style, mysterious, tender, and beautiful. I hesitated only because the figure was nude. Soon after it appeared online, a dear Bahá’í friend wrote to say she felt uneasy. The figure, she thought, looked too young, and she worried it might play into unhealthy fantasies. She admitted it was first and foremost a visceral reaction — a gut feeling that told her something wasn’t right. Her heart objected.
Part of her unease, I realized later after speaking with my wife, was not only about nudity but about youth. To her eye, the figure suggested someone underaged — and in our world, with its painful revelations of exploitation and abuse, that association carries enormous weight. I did not see the figure that way. To me, she appeared simply as a young woman with a slight, undeveloped frame — diminutive breasts, yes, but nothing childlike. Casual, unposed, and not voyeuristic. Yet my friend felt something different: a suggestion of underage vulnerability, and in our cultural moment that alone can feel troubling. The same image, then, lived in two realities at once — one of quiet beauty, the other of potential harm.
That set me thinking. As an artist, I know the human body has always been at the center of art. Michelangelo’s David towers over Florence in his colossal nakedness, admired for centuries as the pinnacle of beauty and strength. At the Academia Gallery, when people stand before the 17-foot-high, perfectly proportioned figure, genitals at eye level, many gasp, their eyes widen, and I daresay pulses quicken. Each time I’ve stood there, I’ve seen eyes widen, smiles flicker, and even laughter rise — the shared astonishment of being so publicly, so unabashedly face-to-face with the naked male form. It is a delight to witness, and it always makes me smile.
Amedeo Modigliani, scandalous in his day, painted nudes with such frankness (including pubic hair) that they shocked Parisian audiences — though today they are celebrated as masterpieces. His 1917 Paris exhibition, which included Nu Couché (Reclining Nude) was even shut down by the police for being too provocative. (Nu Couché sold at auction in 2015 for 170,400,000. dollars.).jpg)
It seems every era has its thresholds of comfort, and what unsettles one may inspire awe in another. It is the same old tension: one person sees beauty, another sees danger.
That set me thinking. As an artist, I know the human body has always been at the center of art. Michelangelo’s David towers over Florence in his colossal nakedness, admired for centuries as the pinnacle of beauty and strength. At the Academia Gallery, when people stand before the 17-foot-high, perfectly proportioned figure, genitals at eye level, many gasp, their eyes widen, and I daresay pulses quicken. Each time I’ve stood there, I’ve seen eyes widen, smiles flicker, and even laughter rise — the shared astonishment of being so publicly, so unabashedly face-to-face with the naked male form. It is a delight to witness, and it always makes me smile.
Amedeo Modigliani, scandalous in his day, painted nudes with such frankness (including pubic hair) that they shocked Parisian audiences — though today they are celebrated as masterpieces. His 1917 Paris exhibition, which included Nu Couché (Reclining Nude) was even shut down by the police for being too provocative. (Nu Couché sold at auction in 2015 for 170,400,000. dollars.)
.jpg)
It seems every era has its thresholds of comfort, and what unsettles one may inspire awe in another. It is the same old tension: one person sees beauty, another sees danger.
