As spooky season approaches, I typically have the privilege of writing a Halloween-related article, which gets released with our themed issue. Despite being a week early, I still decided it would be worth writing an article revolving around the chilling and often grotesque nature of art, in hopes of somewhat relating to the many themes of Halloween. That being said, I want to first briefly discuss the modern horror genre, and ultimately, how it fails. Horror films of the past often revolved around the human experience and the psychological nature of fear. In the present, the absurd gore and corniness of modern slasher films dominate. They serve as a truly odd form of entertainment, centered around the sensation of fear — jump scares, haunted mazes, and the occasional “possessed doll”-type film. In some ways, I wonder if we were ever supposed to discover this form of “entertainment.” It always seemed truly obscene to me that you could go to the movie theater, watch an entirely abhorrent sequence of events, and come out “entertained.”
In identifying the contrast between horror films of the past and the present, I started to think about aspects of the real world—outside of cinema, fiction, and simulations—that truly frighten people. Immediately, my mind shifted to a number of topics: civil unrest, war, poverty, illness, tragedy — the list is practically endless. Clearly, we aren’t frightened by all of these enough because we see them on our social media constantly, but somehow still haven’t tossed our iPhones in the trash. In truth, we aren’t confronting these topics; we are isolating ourselves from them with every swipe, click, and shutdown. Isolation: that’s the one. We are horribly afraid of isolation, yet most of us don’t even realize how familiar we are with it.
Art has the exceptional capability to confront us with topics that are uncomfortable. It creates a basis for introspection, evoking a variety of emotions—guilt among them—which cause discomfort and emotional fragmentation. While certain art forms and artists will take a more direct approach, truly confronting viewers with obscene and oftentimes provocative imagery, others will rely strictly on symbolism and elusive themes. I believe that in art, isolation is a heavily recognizable theme, in that it can be illustrated both figuratively and abstractly.
An artist who excellently conveyed the “horror” of isolation figuratively was Edward Hopper, an incredibly influential name in the world of American Realism who created striking pieces conveying the expansive yet reclusive setting of a troubled 20th-century America. Pieces such as “Automat,” “Nighthawks,” and “Office in a Small City” take a very direct approach to conveying the theme of isolation. Hopper’s characters are relatable; they are regular people performing the mundane tasks of daily life, but in a manner that is confined and unsettling. Hopper’s piece “Intermission” is so static that the feeling of isolation is inescapable, as a lady sits alone at the theater waiting for the curtain to lift again, almost symbolizing the end of a social drought. Hopper’s ability to effectively frame his landscape pieces makes for an equally disturbing calmness that further intensifies the already disconcerting stillness of his work. Pieces such as “Drugstore” are intelligently framed at eye-level, engaging viewers directly with Hopper’s world. The dim light washing over the drugstore corner veils the surrounding world, subjecting the viewer to an intense moment of solitude and melancholy.
While Hopper’s paintings were primarily figurative, recognized artists like Mark Rothko utilized color fields and other abstract imagery to characterize the psychological complexity of isolation. Admittedly, I’m not the biggest Rothko fan, but I think that there is a stark difference between being in a room with a painting and sitting at your desk. Rothko’s color field paintings are unapologetically empty, so much so that if you went to an art museum and walked through an exhibit full of them, the intensity of the color void would eventually cause immense discomfort. This is intentional — Rothko would use large muted canvases, which are highly effective at conveying the overbearing somber emptiness of isolation.
Isolation isn’t always a bad thing, but it’s definitely one of contemporary society’s greatest struggles. The digital age has contributed to a shift towards seclusion, providing new outlets from the stresses of isolation by creating a medium that simulates the effect of being present. Learning to face our fears—isolation among them—doesn’t have to come from cheap horror thrills or haunted mazes. It can be as simple as looking at a piece of art, a medium that you simply can’t turn off.
