In When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chodron tells a story about Trungpa Rinpoche:
He was traveling with his attendants to a monastery he’d never seen before. As they neared the gates, he saw a large guard dog with huge teeth and red eyes. It was growling ferociously and struggling to get free from the chain that held it. The dog seemed desperate to attack them. As Rinpoche got closer, he could see its bluish tongue and spittle spraying from its mouth. They walked past the dog, keeping their distance, and entered the gate. Suddenly the chain broke and the dog rushed at them. The attendants screamed and froze in terror. Rinpoche turned and ran as fast as he could—straight at the dog. The dog was so surprised that he put his tail between his legs and ran away.
I have thought about that story so many times, and I have felt an energy in my body that is ready to hurl itself directly at whatever it is I am fearing at that moment. Exhilarating thought! Chodron goes on to say that what really matters in this story is the question, What’s next? The spiritual (or artistic) journey is one that requires that you just keep moving.
My favorite and most frightening “art” dog is from Robert Wilson’s “14 Stations of the Cross”, from an installation at MassMOCA in Western Massachusetts a few years ago (and also seen at a number of locations in Europe.) No bluish tongue or spittle spraying, but a formidable beast to run at directly.
Great post, Deborah – I must think on this and how it may be applied.
Here’s a link to my most frightening art dog. It’s by Goya, in the Prado. And it’s not that it’s such a scary dog — the Duchess of Alba’s poodle comes on a little tougher — but that it sees something so frightening it can’t look away. This is the dog that saw the Apocalypse, and is alone now, nostrils quivering over the rim of an empty world.
http://www.artchive.com/artchive/G/goya/dog.jpg.html
I cannot say why for sure, but my most memorable art dog sighting, seemingly innocuous, really stopped me dead in my tracks in the most uncomfortable way. This occurred at the blockbuster ex. in Seattle on J.S. Sargeant. Massive crowds wondering about with headphones, in correct group sequence around the gallery. There was a series of massive oil portraits of a British Jewish Bourgeois famly, rather lushly painted, but it was in the portrait of the father that this dog sat, at his smug, but accessible master’s feet. A large Spaniel of sorts, this dog had the most obscenely lolling tongue, despite it’s friendly expression. But by it’s very difference from the dignified patron, it distracted in a strange way. And, for this reason I have formed a perverse aversion to things Sargeant, despite his painterly brilliance – and for one would not trust him to paint my portrait without editorializing in some manner.
Great story. I hope you can rekindle a warm feeling for Sargent. (He is a painting god, after all.)