The Human Condition

I recently spent a captivating afternoon in one of my favorite art galleries, the Eleanor D. Wilson Museum, on the Hollins University campus. I have a strong affinity for Hollins since I spent quite a bit of time there back when I was completing a graduate degree in liberal studies.  Sometimes I return between semesters when the students are gone just to stroll through the well groomed grounds and wander through the art gallery. I am rarely disappointed by the museum's exhibits and this one was no exception.

On display was the work of an internationally known artist by the name of Tip Toland, Artist-in-Residence at Hollins, February 11 – May 1 of last year.  Several of her ceramic sculptural portraits were so stunningly realistic I had to resist the impulse to reach out and touch them.

The following is an insightful description of Toland’s work offered by the museum:

“A viewer of Toland’s work can instantly assess and acknowledge her familiarity with the human form, bone, muscle, and skin structure.  The inner truths however, require further observation, contemplation, and time.  Beyond the physical presence, the aspect of her work that makes them truly remarkable is the way the artist has captured the individual features, the nuances, gestures, persona, and the inner psychological character of her portraits. 

Ultimately what Toland is trying to capture is ‘the truth of what it is to be human . . . the human condition, without the veneer.'Toland is known for exploring aspects of life from which other artists steer clear, especially aging and the aged.  Often her figures are nude, exposed, fragile and vulnerable; many seem to be in mid-thought, mid-laugh, or mid self-awareness. . . “

This small, but powerful collection, led to my own meandering observations.  Toland’s nude figures are startling reminders of the ravaging effects of time on the body. Crooked and missing teeth, sagging, accordion-like skin folds with dark pigmented spots, and hairless scalps. 

As a reminder of our own mortality, the subject of aging and the aged in our culture often causes one to grimace.  We’d rather put it on the back burner a while longer in order to develop a good healthy dose of denial.  Ads are plastered with pretty young faces and strong rippling bodies.  And yet, the reality of aging and its obvious trajectory are always in the background.  It's the human condition without the veneer.

Examining Toland’s work brought me back to an awareness I had when working in the health care delivery system, and nothing brought this to my attention more than when I worked in hospice care. Being with those who have only a few short months to live causes one to pause and reflect.  The fact is, the dying, as societal outsiders, live at the edge of life. They have one foot in this world and one in the next.  However, because of their unique perspective they have much to teach us about how to live and how to die.  They are intimately in touch with a truth we will all eventually face.  Life as we know it is harsh, transient and short lived.

Yet, a strange paradox exists. When face to face with our own mortality, we often feel more acutely alive than ever before.  We begin to see with new eyes and realize the value of each precious day.   Are we living each moment with eyes open, a full participant in life, or puttering along in the same old ruts and routines?  Are we living the life we want to live, or making excuses?

 If you hang around hospice workers long enough, one of the remarks you will often hear them make is, “People die the way they have lived”.   My observations tell me that the final years or months of life can be met with peace and resolution or struggle and denial.

The stark reality that Toland’s art so poignantly depicts is that when we leave this world, we leave the same way we came in – vulnerable, naked and stripped of all pretense.  This does not mean we relinquish dignity, grace, and hope.  Rather, it means,  relinquishing the conditioned layers of protection that prevent us from experiencing life directly.

As Toland’s work might suggest, aging strips us of our veneers.  Our skin, like the skin of the artist’s life-like sculptures, turns crinkled, thin and fragile, so thin in fact there is very little left to hide behind.  This can be greatly disturbing or surprisingly liberating.