For the past month, this essay of Nancy’s has been occupying my thoughts. His concept of the “threshold”, the intimate relationship of viewer to a work of art – a looking at death – at painting and the painting of death, and no less than a beautiful, close, poetic reading of Caravaggio – that is what I see in Nancy’s essay. There is more of course, to Nancy’s complex writing on art, I am painfully aware. Understanding is always partial and fragmented. But the pleasure and engagement of art is not a bounded, enclosed space, but open to return, to re-encounter, to new interpretations.
Some of Nancy’s final words form the basis of my response. The “open,” says Nancy, has no access, for the open is always already access.
I have taken Nancy’s words out of their context – for no other reason than their beauty – and placed them into a sequence on their own. In the original, Nancy discusses the viewer’s place and relationship to the death represented there in Caravaggio’s painting, (“The Death of the Virgin”) but to me, the words may speak of any death.
Just nothing, a place to use the phrase “nothing other”.
Four phrases from the second paragraph of Nancy’s essay “On the Threshold” are the source for this sequence of drawings. I like Nancy’s words – how we invade the space, engage with an image – and how it in turn seizes us, attracts us, pulls us in.
We are, in fact, that threshold, suggests Nancy, the point of engagement, the space of perception, attention, and interpretation.
The M-Webster dictionary gives the following definitions for threshold
“…a physical marker, like the plank, stone or piece of timber that lies under a door. The end or boundary, the place or point of entering or beginning; the point at which a physiological or psychological effect begins to be produced. A level, point, or value above which something is true or will take place and below which it is not or will not.”
The point of interest for me is that portion of that definition that speaks of the “end or boundary, the point of entering or beginning,” that ambiguous point that is both beginning and end, true and not true, real and unreal – and one which can be considered physically, psychologically or symbolically.
I think perhaps Nancy, with his poetic play on words, intimates the possibilities of the word – threshold – and places our involvement with the image in these multiple realms of experience, for (I have found) Nancy never leaves a word with one bound meaning, but enjoys the layered and shifting sense that each word can invoke.