This picture, by James Martin, depicts the back view of a tiny human figure standing on a foreground rock surrounded by a swirling, ambiguous background. The setting takes up three quadrants of the painting, and could be identified as the sea, a storm, or clouds rolling over the landscape. It conveys an impression of dwarfing the viewer. In one way of seeing the picture, there is a darker diamond-shaped void cleaving the background squalls which could also be seen as a powerful waterfall. Whatever one’s first impressions, the image is reminiscent of the work of Caspar David Friedrich, the most prominent artist of the German Romantic movement. He is best known for his allegorical paintings of quiet figures contemplating sublime landscapes: night skies, morning mists, barren trees or Gothic ruins. Martin’s work has echoes of many creations by Friedrich especially, perhaps, in his most widely known work, The Wanderer above the Sea of Fog. Here Martin uses an artistic compositional device called Rückenfigur - literally back-figure – where a rear view of a human is placed in the foreground of a picture gazing at a landscape. Thus the viewer can vicariously identify with the figure’s perspective and be invited into the scene. John Lewis Gattis says of The Wanderer, ‘the impression it leaves is contradictory, suggesting at once mastery over a landscape and the insignificance of an individual within it. We see no face, so it’s impossible to know whether the prospect confronting the young man is exhilarating, or terrifying, or both.’ And so with the deliberate ambiguity of this image, we can only guess at how the individual is feeling and it leaves much for our reflective interpretation.

This artwork was chosen because it conveyed something of the clouds and chaos that are theming this quiet day. In Exodus 24, Moses went up to Mount Sinai and stayed there for seven days until God spoke to him. I’d not noticed that until re-reading this passage. Seven days! Seven days in the cloud – whether one looks at his situation literally, metaphorically or both, that is a long time to be in the uncertainty of not being able to see. As humans, many of us want to understand where we are, to know where we are going and we like control of both. Although I wrestle with both God and myself over this concept, I recognise one of the great mysteries of our faith is to let go of my control and begin to live this uncertainty, to, as it were, stop and purposefully stand in the cloud with Moses and God. I am reminded of TS Eliot’s paradoxical statements in his Four Quartets such as in order to arrive at what you do not know, you must go by a way which is the way of ignorance. The story of Elijah in 1 Kings 19 also comes to me. He, too, went to a mountain to hear from God. The weather did its worst: powerful wind, ground-breaking earthquakes and consuming fire, indeed all the might and majesty of the ambiguous maelstrom in front of our little viewer, but God spoke in a whisper saying ‘what are you doing here?’ When I went to Victoria Falls, I remember the physicality of being near to something so incredible. I remember the desire to be close enough to get a great view, but also that there was definitely a point that was too near when my awe tipped over into fright. I think this picture also speaks of the balance of closeness and farness from God. I wonder whether we are like that with God, when does getting close to the splendour of God just seem too close? So whether like Moses you feel that you are confused in the cloud, like Elijah you are listening for a quiet voice amongst chaos or perhaps you are teetering on the edge of being drawn into a closer relationship with God, this image has much for us to contemplate.

Reflection questions:

What do you see when you look at this picture?

Which way do you move, into the picture or away from it? And why?

What are you doing here?