Published in Print December 2021
Art by Eve Smith
‘A tear, like a blob of mercury, can’t be pinned down. So why should I try to understand people who cry in front of paintings? […] For a simple reason: tears are the best visible evidence that a person has been deeply moved.’ James Elkins
Why does some art make us experience an outpouring of emotion? Is it due to the beauty, the technique, or an internal and emotional reason unrelated to the work itself? As someone who is constantly crying (and most especially around art), I wanted to understand why others have similar reactions. Below are four Trinity students’ responses to my question, “Has a work of visual art ever made you cry?”
(Responses have been edited for brevity and clarity).
Annabel Merheim-Kealy
Fourth-Year Classics student
What? The Milkmaid (1660), Johannes Vermeer
When? Late 2017
Where? In a History of Art class
Why did it make you cry?
“I cried about this while writing an essay about which painting I would save from the Rijksmuseum […]. It sort of took me by surprise that I had to give myself a minute to just have a little weep before I could finish my referencing. I have a personal connection to this painting because it introduced me to two of my passions: History of Art as a whole and Vermeer himself.
[…]
The atmosphere of the scene and how incredibly tangible […] it is made me cry; how [the milkmaid] is drawing out the task of pouring the milk, a small ritual I find incredibly touching. She has prolonged the […] serene moment in her busy day, and […] we have been permitted to share it with her. [There is] such intense clarity thanks to Vermeer’s delicate and incredibly detailed handling of the scene. I truly feel like I could be there in Delft with her on a slightly cold April morning.
[…] What really set me off in the end though was writing about her small, almost imperceptible smile that […] looks like she might be about to sing to herself. That […] is what makes this woman feel real to me, […] and makes Vermeer’s attention to detail so worthwhile. I can place myself in the room with this woman, I can feel the weight of the jug she’s holding, and I can hear her quietly singing to herself nearly 350 years after it was painted. And now I’m crying again.”
Leigh Winkelhake
Fourth-Year History and Classics Erasmus student
What? Bath Curtain (1992) and Edge of the Tub (1994), Hugh Steers
When? Spring 2021
Where? Twitter
Why did it make you cry?
“Pretty much all of Hugh’s paintings have gotten me emotional, but [these] ones moved me most and really got me crying.
Hugh illustrated the experiences […] of queer people who came before me and who lived – and died – through the height of AIDS epidemic. Queer love was made something to be ashamed of […] but Hugh embraced it. His art deals with painfully beautiful intimacy, tender moments that […] make time stop and make you feel like the only thing that is important in life is the love you feel right now. But these moments are plagued with mortality and suffering.
[…]
His art makes me cry because I continue to struggle with openly expressing queer love when others can see. I am fortunate enough to exist in a time where the stigma has lessened, a privilege Hugh was not given. To see his art unabashedly display the intricacies, the sublime and the tragic, of queer love made me feel emotions that I can’t always put words to; I [feel] grateful for medical advancement that curbed the epidemic, frustrated that so many suffered so deeply, seen through the depiction of non-heteronormative love, but also feel longing, to feel such a closeness that the subjects had.
Hugh painted intimate moments […] but thousands of people […] saw themselves within them. […] His art was so important to the gay community of the time and continues to be deeply appreciated within the queer community.”
Luke Hayden
Third-Year History student
What? One: Number 31 (1950), Jackson Pollock
When? June 2019
Where? Video essay on YouTube (Nerdwriter1, How Art Arrived at Jackson Pollock)
Why did it make you cry?
“It floored me, utterly, and I can’t place a finger on why. I usually get nothing out of abstraction, and Pollock in particular was just a name, but I came across a video essay on this painting and was stunned by how much this got to me emotionally. I cannot say I wept, as it would be untrue – rather, I was so overcome with the despondence, and pure, unfettered feeling within the painting, all chaos, that I could do nothing but sit there, and let [the emotions] wash over me. The first reaction was the strongest, as ever, but seeing it will never not have an impact on me.”
Anonymous student
What? Judith Slaying Holofernes (1612), Artemisia Gentileschi
When? Around May 2020
Where? Tumblr compilation about survivors of sexual assault (SA)
Why did it make you cry?
“This was during a period where I was processing a very violent sexual assault I experienced when I was 18. […] I didn’t have the capacity to talk about what happened to me so I would listen to a lot of music/watch a lot of cinema/read a lot of books that dealt with the themes of SA and all the messy awful conflicting feelings that come with experiencing it. I’m still not too sure if it’s appropriate to refer to my anguish like that or whether this makes me a “bad” victim, but it was the only way I could make any sense of what happened to me.
[…] I sobbed for Judith, Artemisa, myself, the girl I used to be, and the capacity for love that I had which was ostensibly dashed. I felt a kinship with them, comparable to the sorority I found within online survivor communities at the time, that I couldn’t express to friends or family […].
I think that the painting’s association with the monolithic “Female Rage” I see discussed in online circles can be very reductive […]. [The painting] embodies a unanimous “Female Solidarity” that was both absent and present in my own life. Unlike Judith, I felt like I didn’t have a watchful eye or the aid of a servant and that I had to seek that support out for myself. Little did I understand that this support was ubiquitous in my own life.”
Quick-Fire Crying Round:
Eimear Cuddihy, Third-Year English student: Rose (1966), Agnes Martin.
Jessica Allen, Third-Year English student: Arrival of a Train at Vienna Northwest (1875), Karl Karger.
Gale Aitken, Third-Year English student: Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion (1944), Francis Bacon.
