Art and Death

Quite literally the subject of tonights documentary - representations of death. From the early Etruscans to the SS, via decorated skulls of the Dead Sea, the genocidal sacrifices of the Inca, and the the fear of damnation instilled by the Christians. The motivation and aspiration underlying all of the above was, and always is, power. Images and motifs of death are the weapon of those in the ascendant, like the Totenkopf favoured by the Himmlers black-uniformed nastie. So death can be used to pacify and neutralise opposition, or to promise redemption, equally effectively as it is often employed to instill obedience and fear.

At the conclusion of the programme the crucifix was given particular distinction - it enjoyed the distinction of being the image capable of inciting reverential and fearful emotions with equal authority. The image of a dying man on a wooden cross, sometimes invoking gentle pathos and reassurance, at other times overwhelming us with extreme anxiety and despair. an omnipotent image if ever there was one.

The psychology tests (by Goldberg and Soloman?) were fascinating. In the first, they interupted a string of neutral words (at subliminal speeds) with the word 'death', and then measured the time respondents used to select their favourite images from a selection of deceased icons like Kennedy and Monroe. The second asked them to serve up a disgusting meal to political opponents, after being asked questions what they imagined death to be like. The conclusion was that you are more likely to meditate on death when you are subtly exposed images of it, and that you are more likely to have malicious (or murderous) thoughts when you are confronted and prompted to cognitively interact with the concept of death.

My mind wandered a few times, contemplating the visual spectacle of 40,000 Inca peasants filing up the steps to certain death, and more than once it wandered to images of 737's forging into shimmering towerblocks in the morning Manhatten sunlight. Listening now to Erol Alkan's Bugged In, and considering the bland and fruitless day at the office, I am certain that not only do I seem respectful but not fearful of death, but I also rejoice in the belief that I am immune to such atrocious and despicable propaganda, just as I soon outgrew the cheap trickery of the horror movie genre. If you want to scare me you've gotta have some sophistication buddy - Hitchcock's Vertigo genuinely disturbs me, but I don't recoil from The Towering Inferno.