Diamond Zhou

Oct 411 min read

The Sublime

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SATURDAY EVENING POST

October 5th, 2024

Seventy years after Barnett Newman’s 1948 proclamation, “The Sublime is Now,” the term “sublime” has undergone significant transformation, becoming a ubiquitous reference point in contemporary discussions. Its use has expanded to encompass a broad range of artistic expressions, often serving as a justification for the emergence of new forms and concepts. This proliferation of meanings has rendered any precise definition difficult within the art world. However, it remains possible to identify certain traits that provide insight into how the sublime continues to be understood in art.

Barnett Newman, Adam, 1951–2, Oil on canvas. Tate T01091, © ARS, NY and DACS, London 2002.

Barnett Newman, Eve, 1950, Oil on canvas. Tate T03081, © ARS, NY and DACS, London 2002.

In The Sublime is Now (1948), Barnett Newman argued that the essence of modern art lies in the destruction of beauty, as beauty hinders the artist’s pursuit of the sublime. For Newman, the emphasis on form, representation, and sensory appeal in traditional art, particularly in religious contexts, limits access to the divine or the “Absolute.” He aligns with Immanuel Kant’s view that the sublime, unlike beauty, cannot be represented through tangible forms and instead exists purely as an idea of reason, unbounded and beyond sensory experience.

This frustration with the constraints of representation drove Newman to abstraction. In works like Eve (1950) and Adam (1951-2), vast expanses of red interrupted by vertical bands replace figurative depictions of biblical figures, evoking a sense of the sublime beyond literal representation. Although his abstract compositions eschew form, they retain a symbolic resonance through their titles, suggesting a metaphysical engagement with the divine.

Helen Pashgian, Untitled, 2023, Cast urethane.

The sublime in art is a complex concept, rooted in both emotional and psychological experiences that transcend what we think the ordinary is. When we discuss the sublime, we are introduced to a realm where art’s impact is not merely visual but visceral, where the mind and emotions are overwhelmed by what appears boundless, infinite, or ineffable.

“The sea was open in front of my eyes, it was a sunny day, and a clear sea horizon could be seen. And the view made me feel ‘I am here, and I exist.’ From that time on, my memory is continuous and intact until now.”

– Hiroshi Sugimoto

Hiroshi Sugimoto, Caribbean Sea, Jamaica, 1980, printed 1991, Offset lithograph, from the portfolio "Time Exposed" (1991). Courtesy of Art Institute of Chicago.

The Historical Foundations of the Sublime in Art

The sublime has deep philosophical and rhetorical origins, beginning with the Greek rhetorician Longinus’s treatise On the Sublime (1st century AD). Longinus defined the sublime as a quality that elevates and transports the viewer, inspiring a sense of grandeur that bypasses logical reasoning. For Longinus, the sublime was not confined to art or nature but could also be found in language and thought: any experience that had the power to move us to states of awe and wonder. He argued that the sublime can “strike” the soul, expanding the consciousness of the viewer and inducing an emotional state that transcends ordinary experience.

Later, in the 18th century, Edmund Burke’s A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757) differentiated the sublime from the beautiful by associating it with fear, awe, and vastness, elements that overpower the senses and incite a feeling of terror that is pleasurable because it does not pose an actual threat. Kant furthered this by describing the sublime as an experience that exceeds the limits of human comprehension, inducing a cognitive struggle as one tries to grasp the immensity of nature or the infinite.

Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Judgment (1790) advanced Burke’s ideas by framing the sublime as an encounter that exceeds our cognitive and perceptual limits. For Kant, the sublime arises when we try to comprehend something immense or formless, such as the infinite expanse of the universe or the chaotic power of a storm. This attempt to grasp the ungraspable results in a kind of cognitive dissonance or struggle, which Kant described as “negative pleasure.” The mind is simultaneously confronted with its own limitations and its ability to transcend them, leading to an experience that is both humbling and elevating.

The Emotional and Psychological Impact of the Sublime in Art

The emotional impact of the sublime in art is profound. When we encounter a sublime artwork, we experience a range of emotions that might include awe, reverence, fear, joy, and melancholy. The artwork seems to reach down and touch something deep and primal within us, bypassing the mind to speak directly to the soul. This emotional resonance can often manifest as a physical sensation, such as a quickening of the heartbeat, a feeling of breathlessness, a shiver down the spine, or simply an urge to cry.

Joseph Mallord William Turner, Snow Storm - Steam-Boat off a Harbour’s Mouth, exhibited 1842, Oil on canvas. Courtesy of the Tate.

Consider J.M.W. Turner’s Snow Storm: Steam-Boat off a Harbour’s Mouth (1842). Though, hardly a very big painting, Turner’s swirling, chaotic brushstrokes capture the raw power of nature, dwarfing the helpless steamboat caught in the tempest, and we are made instantly aware of nature’s indifference to human life. Yet, the painting compels us to look and to be absorbed by the chaos and energy, and we relish in the fear we feel in the face of such power, which is tempered by the overwhelming majesty.

John Martin, The Great Day of His Wrath, 1851-3, Oil on canvas. Courtesy of the Tate.

Similarly, The Great Day of His Wrath (1851–1853), by artist John Martin, who was known for his dramatic apocalyptic scenes, embodied the terrifying sublime by exploring themes of divine retribution and cosmic catastrophe. The psychological impact of this encounter is a kind of ecstatic surrender, a moment of letting go and embracing the immensity of forces beyond our control.

Humility and Transcendence in the Sublime

Humility is a core element of the sublime experience. Humility in the sublime is not simply about feeling small or unimportant; it is also a gateway to transcendence. When we humble ourselves before something greater, we open the possibility for a kind of transformation. By acknowledging our limitations, we create space for wonder, curiosity, and a deeper connection to what we do not know. The sublime, then, is not just an encounter with vastness or intensity, it is a state of receptivity that allows us to be changed by what we experience. In this sense, humility is an emotional state that aligns us with the very essence of the sublime. It allows us to be moved, to be awestruck, to be terrified or elated without needing to assert dominance or control. Humility makes it possible for us to meet the sublime as it is, to let it speak to us in its own language, and to embrace our place within its boundless and beautiful realm.

“I’m interested only in expressing basic human emotions — tragedy, ecstasy, doom....”

- Mark Rothko

Rothko Chapel interior in Houston, Texas, via Architecture Research Office.

Rothko’s large-scale colour fields, with their luminous, floating forms, create a space where the viewer can lose themselves. The effect is meditative and profound. As we stand before a Rothko, we become aware of our own presence as part of something much larger and more enigmatic. The colours seem to breathe and pulsate, inviting us to move beyond ourselves and enter a shared space of emotional experience. This act of surrendering to the painting’s enveloping presence is a gesture of humility, a moment where we acknowledge our own vulnerability and embrace it as a pathway to a deeper understanding of existence.

Agnes Martin, Little Sister, 1962, Oil, ink, and brass nails on canvas and wood. Solomon R. Gugenheim Museum, New York, Gift, Andrew Powie Fuller and Geraldine Spreckels Fuller Collection 2000.40.

Agnes Martin, Friendship, 1963, Gold leaf and oil on canvas. Gift of Celeste and Armand P. Bartos. Courtesy of Museum of Modern Art, New York.

Similarly, Agnes Martin’s minimalist lines and divisions, with their subtle variations and imperfections, evoke a sense of quiet humility. Her works are not about grandiosity or spectacle; they are about the sublime beauty found in simplicity and repetition. Martin’s paintings invite viewers to breathe, to see, to let go of the need to grasp or control, and to simply be in the presence of the artwork. This stillness, this gentle unfolding of perception, creates a sublime experience that is both emotional and spiritual. We become attuned to the delicate balance between order and chaos, presence and absence, and in doing so, we experience a kind of simple transcendence.

Barnett Newman, Vir Heroicus Sublimis, 1950-51. Courtesy of Museum of Modern Art, New York.

Vir Heroicus Sublimis (1950–1951) by Barnett Newman, whose Latin title translates to “Man, heroic and sublime,” was the artist’s largest painting at the time. Through his signature “zip” motif, Newman explored the sublime. The monumental scale of the work engulfs the viewer in a vast field of red, where vertical lines slice through expanses of color, suggesting an encounter with the infinite. This simplicity and scale evoke a sense of overwhelming presence and separation. Newman likened this experience to an encounter between people: “One has a reaction to the person physically. Also, there’s a metaphysical thing, and if a meeting of people is meaningful, it affects both their lives.” For Newman, the sublime is about the viewer’s confrontation, both with the painting and with an abstract, immaterial force that simultaneously invites and resists understanding.

Hilma af Klint, Group X, No. 1, Altarpiece (Altarbild), 1915, Oil and metal leaf on canvas. The Hilma af Klint Foundation, Stockholm. Photo: Albin Dahlstrom, the Moderna Must, Stockholm.

Hilma af Klint, Group X, No. 2, Altarpiece (Altarbild), 1915, Oil and metal leaf on canvas. The Hilma af Klint Foundation, Stockholm.

Hilma af Klint, Group X, No. 3, Altarpiece (Altarbild), 1915, Oil and metal leaf on canvas. The Hilma af Klint Foundation, Stockholm.

The Spiritual and Mystical Sublime

Hilma af Klint’s abstract compositions, such as those in The Paintings for the Temple series (1906–1915), were influenced by her engagement with spiritualism and Theosophy. Her works are attempts to visualize invisible forces and energies that shape reality, creating a new language of forms that evokes the sublime through their sense of otherworldly presence. Af Klint’s paintings are charged with a sense of mystical transcendence, drawing the viewer into a space where colour and shape resonate on an emotional and spiritual frequency that bypasses logical comprehension.

Lawren Harris, North Shore, Lake Superior, 1926, Oil on canvas. Courtesy of National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, Canada.

Lawren Harris, Abstract No. 7, 1939.

Similarly, Lawren Harris, a member of the Group of Seven, used stylized forms to evoke the spiritual essence of the Canadian landscape. His early works convey a sublime sense of tranquillity and majesty, where nature becomes a reflection of divine order. The sublime is found in the stillness and purity of the landscape, inviting the viewer to contemplate the spiritual dimensions of the natural world.

Harris’s later geometric abstract works embody a sublime that transcends the physical grandeur of his earlier landscapes, reaching instead into the realm of spiritual awakening and inner vastness. Stripped of natural references, his luminous triangles, circles, and radiant hues evoke a sublime serenity, an encounter with the ineffable that invites viewers into a space of meditative contemplation. Harris’s sublime is no longer about the external forces of nature but about accessing a deeper, universal truth within. Through the purity of form and colour, he leads viewers to an experience of the infinite, where beauty and transcendence merge into a quiet revelation, elevating the spirit beyond the limits of comprehension. His abstractions become a sublime journey inward, where humility and harmony resonate in silence, revealing the sublime not as something viewers see, but as something they become.

The Sublime in Contemporary Art: Immersion and Awe

James Turrell, Dividing the Light, 2007. Pomona College Skyspace © James Turrell.

Photo by Florian Holzherr.

James Turrell, Aten Reign, 2013. Daylight and LED light, dimensions variable. © James Turrell Installation view: James Turrell, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, June 21–September 25, 2013. Photo David Heald © Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York.

James Turrell, Roden Crater. Aerial view of crater bowl, July 6, 2004.

Photo: Courtesy James Turrell studio.

James Turrell, East Portal from Roden Crater Project, 1979– . Site-specific installation, Flagstaff, Arizona. Night view © James Turrell. Photo: © Florian Holzherr.

James Turrell, Crater’s Eye from Roden Crater Project, 1979– . Site-specific installation, Flagstaff, Arizona. Day view © James Turrell. Photo: © Florian Holzherr.

James Turrell’s light installations, use carefully controlled lighting and architectural forms to create the sensation of being enveloped by light itself. The viewer becomes a participant in the artwork, absorbed in an experience that defies ordinary spatial and temporal boundaries. This experience of being enveloped, of losing oneself in a boundless, luminous field elicits a sense of wonder and humility that is quintessentially sublime.

Richard Serra, Band, 2006, Los Angeles County Museum of Art, purchased with funds provided by Eli and Edythe L. Broad.

Olafur Eliasson’s The Weather Project, which filled the Turbine Hall of the Tate Modern with a simulated sun and mist, created a sublime encounter that merged nature and technology. The artificial sun, with its immense, glowing presence, invited viewers to bask in its light, to contemplate the merging of reality and artifice, and to experience a communal sense of awe. The work created a space where the sublime was not something to be feared but something to be shared —a collective experience of wonder and humility.

“There is a point where beauty meets truth, where wisdom meets delight, where heaven meets earth. It is to this vision of the sublime that my painting aspires.”

– Joseph Kyle

Joseph Kyle, Gaia #7, 1997, Acrylic on canvas, 72 x 60 in.

Joseph Kyle, Entelechy Series II #6, 1993, Acrylic on canvas, 72 x 60 in.

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The sublime in art is not just about depicting the vast or the terrifying — it is about eliciting an emotional and psychological response that moves us beyond the ordinary. It engages us on a profound level, stirring emotions that we cannot easily define or contain. The sublime is about the limits of human experience and understanding, about what happens when we encounter something so powerful that it reshapes our perception of ourselves and the world. It is a humbling force, but it is also an expansive one, one that allows us to transcend our own limitations and glimpse something greater, more mysterious, and more beautiful than we can fully comprehend.

We are delighted to acknowledge the exceptional work of our friend at Robert Kardosh Gallery (formerly Marion Scott Gallery) for his outstanding exhibitions that are elevating Inuit art within the Canadian contemporary art scene. His commitment to showcasing the richness of Inuit artistic practices has been remarkable.

Robert has recently launched "Inuit Art Thursdays," a bi-weekly online digest dedicated to exploring various aspects of contemporary Inuit artistic expression. Published on the first and third Thursdays of each month, each edition promises a thorough exploration of a specific topic, providing deep insights into the world of Inuit art. This initiative not only enriches our understanding but also enhances the visibility of Inuit and Contemporary Inuit art practices and artists. Sign up for his email list to receive these newsletters.