A deeply personal search for meaning in Michelangelo’s frescoes―and an impassioned defence of the role of art in a fractured age. What do we hope to get out of seeing a famous piece of art? Jeannie Marshall asked that question of herself when she started visiting the Sistine Chapel frescoes. She wanted to understand their meaning and context―but in the process, she also found what she didn’t know she was looking for. All Things Learning to Look in the Sistine Chapel tells the story of Marshall’s relationship with one of our most cherished artworks. Interwoven with the history of its making and the Rome of today, it’s an exploration of the past in the present, the street in the museum, and the way a work of art can both terrify and alchemize the soul. An impassioned defence of the role of art in a fractured age, All Things Move is a quietly sublime meditation on how our lives can be changed by art, if only we learn to look.
This one is definitely going on my favorites list for the year. I stumbled across it in the art section of a local bookstore, grabbed it on a whim, and I’m so glad I did. I’ve never read a memoir that mixes such personal life details with church history and art history all in one. Honestly, since I’m not very religious, I figured I’d get bored at some point, but the author’s storytelling was so well-crafted that it held my attention all the way through.
The author herself is atheist. So reading about her deep fascination with the religious artwork of the Sistine Chapel was unexpectedly thought-provoking. It gave me a whole new perspective on how art, even when tied to faith, can speak to anyone regardless of belief.
She writes, "As a non-Christian, I felt that my interest in Christian art was irreverent, but now I see that believing the story of Christianity doesn’t really matter. A good piece of art touches the same spiritual need in me that it does in a devout Catholic. The intensity of religious art communicates itself even to the non-religious among us because it is about our shared urge to reach up and beyond the knowable world.”
By the time I finished, I wasn’t just impressed by the art or the history. I felt like I understood something deeper about why humans create in the first place. This book reminded me that you don’t have to share someone’s faith to be moved by their devotion, and that great art has a way of bridging those gaps. It’s the kind of read that lingers with you, and I already know I’ll be recommending it to others.
This memoir was kinda like the book baby of two others I enjoyed this year: In A Dark Wood (by Joseph Luzzi) and All The Beauty In The World (by Patrick Bringley).
It had the same soul searching as those two, done so in the light of encounters with great works of literature and artwork (Dante's Divine Comedy and The Metropolitan Museum of Art, respectively). I'm growing to enjoy this genre.
The iconic stories speaking of truth and goodness, the lasting images pointing us toward beauty and the divine — they will not leave us unchanged.
What an interesting book! I really had no desire to see the Sistine Chapel, but I think this may have changed my mind. The author had so much of her own background as well as church history woven throughout. She says she is an atheist, so it was an interesting viewpoint to read about all that from. I’m not sure where I came across this book but I’m so glad I did! I’ll be thinking about it for a long time.
Elegant, original and bursting with insight, ALL THINGS MOVE is the prelude I wish I'd had for my first and only encounter with the most celebrated art work in the Western canon--Michelangelo's iconic frescoes on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Neither my brain nor my eyes could take them in as I craned my neck in the jostling crowd. I felt unequal to the challenge of looking at the frescoes, a typical reaction.
Marshall, a Canadian living in Rome, would not set foot in the Sistine Chapel until the death of her mother sent her on a quest to understand their enduring relevance. In the course of many visits, she grappled with them and the reverberations they stirred in herself. Unlike her mother, a guilt-ridden Catholic, Marshall is an unbeliever, painfully aware of the blood spilled in the name of God. Death, followed by the pandemic, had shaken her to the core, as plague and the Sack of Rome had shaken Michelangelo. In the course of many visits to the Sistine Chapel, she discovered what she has in common with the master and all visitors who have asked themselves, while gobsmacked by the spectacle, "What's it all about?"
An art work is not an object frozen in time. It's a relationship that absorbs and magnifies what each viewer brings to the experience. Ranging nimbly between memoir, cultural history and the annals of religious warfare, this book is first and foremost a guide to the art of looking. What you'll learn here about the Sistine Chapel will go with you on your encounters with art everywhere. As Marshall writes, "Art answers a human yearning, a basic need to engage at a level beyond the rational and beyond the spiritual. It isn't religion, it has no doctrine, and while it changes over time, in its larger sense, it isn't exactly man-made, no more than the clouds above us. No more than the crowd in the piazza is made by someone, I thought to myself as I stepped from under the colonnade and walked out among the others."
On top of all its other beauties, ALL THINGS MOVE is exquisitely designed and produced, a triumph of the publisher's art (well done, Biblioasis). It would make a perfect gift for anyone who cherishes art or is planning a visit to Rome.
don’t be fooled by how long it took me to finish this. it is an absolutely delightful read. the final part wraps up the memoir so beautifully. how grateful am i for art and people’s reactions to its manifestations.
"To create art is an act of faith, faith in a continuous, changing, sometimes regressive and sometimes evolving flow of humanity. Without the viewer, it is meaningless. We bring meaning to it as it reflects us to ourselves."
This is the kind of book I want to start reading again immediately.
An intelligent, gentle musing on what art does for us, and how we shape the culture of "art" in return. Marshall has a subtle feel for telling detail. Her personal and family histories, divulged and applied to her observations of the famous Sistine Chapel, make Michelangelo's fingers reach toward our thoughts. I loved this accessible, liberating and thoughtful book, curiously well-matched by Douglas Cooper's edgy black and white images of present-day Rome.
Can art transcend life? Move the viewer to a higher, perhaps more spiritual plane? Even if the viewer in not religious.
Something happened to Canadian writer Jeannie Marshall. Not the first nor second time but on a later visit to the Sistine Chapel. In fact, like others before, she experienced the Stendhal syndrome, where the writer was so overwhelmed upon seeing so much art on his first visit to Rome, that Stendhal began shaking and convulsing. Stendhal had to sit down, calm down before moving on.
Michelangelo painted his monumental work between 1508 and 1512. Four years of back breaking work of the creation of the world, told in nine separate sections, the most notable is God touching life into Adam. The entire ceiling is filled with images from the Bible. The scale is grand, the theme is grand, and it overwhelms the viewer.
The art work was paid by indulgences. If you sinned and worried about getting into heaven, you could make donations to “lighten” your time in purgatory. Artists during the Renaissance kept busy painting and sculpting for the church. The commoner, who couldn’t read but went to church was constantly reminded of their duty to god and the church. The money rolled in.
Martín Luther was not happy about this. Corruption, he complained in his 93 theses against the church. The pope was not worried. He wrote in Latin. Luther took advantage of the printing press and wrote in his own German. Things went downhill for the Pope.
In 1527, Rome was invaded and sacked by those loyal to Luther. They battled and more importantly they tried to vandalize the artwork. The pope succeeded in keeping them at bay but one third of the population had died (a plague didn’t help). Michelangelo was in Florence during this time but knew of the violence and the split in the church. Life was never going to be the same.
Once again, Michelangelo returned to paint the Last Judgement between 1536 to 1541. It’s a terrifying painting. Half the people go to heaven; half to hell. A good looking blonde Jesus makes that decision (inspired by the Apollo Belvedere statue). The latest pope apparently wept when he saw it, hoping to be selected for heaven, or perhaps because of his sins.
Terrifying beauty. An oxymoron but one that applies. The creation and the destruction. The beginning and the end. How can one not get moved, overwhelmed? The art critic Robert Hughes says one needs to be moved by art. The artist creates art but the art must go both ways. The viewer needs to feel something. It can be a memory, a feeling, a change.
Eppur si muove. All things move. It was reported that Galileo said this after his trial after being condemned as a heretic. He alleged that the earth was not the center of the universe. He was right.
Jeannie Marshal reflected on her family, her past. Connections, losses, her mothers rejection of the church, her grandmother’s desire to see the Sistine Chapel. A collision of past and present. Something more than images on a wall.
A beautiful read through one of the greatest artworks ever created. The book itself with photographs of Rome by Douglas Anthony Cooper and the colour plates of the Sistine are mind blowing.
We all want something from the Sistine Chapel. We want to understand it, but we also want some of its glory sprinkled upon us like holy water. We want to take hold of the messages painted into the plaster, to gain some insight into life here on Earth, and to figure out how to live. We want to be people who have seen the Sistine Chapel. But even our shallower motivations lie on top of something more profound--- the desire to be touched by greatness, and to discern its meaning in our lives.
This was a deep and lovely read. When I picked it up I wasn't expecting something so existential, but was delighted by all the questions in it about humanity and how those questions connect to Michelangelo's masterpiece. The Sistine Chapel ceiling is one of those works of art that seem to have lost their meaning and impact due to their sheer ubiquity. Marshall writes about trying to form a relationship with it through its fog of fame after having avoided seeing it for years, despite living so close to it as an expat in Rome.
She writes about the place of religion in our lives (she herself is an atheist), about art and attention, and about grief and our constant searching to understand who we are and why we're here.
I went to the Sistine Chapel to see something bigger than myself and my small, common sorrows. I wanted to see something enduring, something that outlasts its creator. I wanted to feel part of a world that means something, a world that continues; I wanted to feel that those we had lost were part of it too. We find consolation in art and in contemplation. If I love someone and they die and are gone forever, what does that mean? What does it mean that I exist now but someday not even the memory of me will survive? Art is communion, it unites us in our experience of the human condition, it allows us to ask those most essential, basic questions together. The intensity of religious art communicates itself even to the non-religious among us because it is about our shared urge to reach up and beyond the knowable world.
It was beautiful to read about her coming to personally know this work that is one of the most famous in the world, and to see her struggle to express the inexpressible feelings that art can give when it touches you at the deepest level.
An introspective response to multiple viewings of the Sistine Chapel (painted 1508-1512) in Vatican City.
While the author is "Learning to Look at the Sistine Chapel", the reader is guided to do the same.
The author, Jeannie Marshall combines memoir and autobiography as she reacts to and responds to the Sistine chapel. She brings in prayer cycles particularly from Christianity, much from Psalms although the Bible (both Old and New Testaments and associated writings are included), art and iconic images. You'll also find response to art critics from many ages and perspectives.
Color plates and are interspersed throughout the clay-coated, shiny pages. A bibliography rounds out this dense, beautifully crafted book.
Thanks to Biblioasis in Windsor, Ontario http://biblioasis.com for a copy to read and review.e
For anyone interested in ART, faith and spirituality this is the book for you. Wishing I had this book with me on my several visits to the Sistine Chapel for a more ecumenical understanding of what I was seeing. A beautifully written meditation on how art shapes our lives, knowingly or not. An excellent read!
“I went to the Sistine Chapel to see something bigger than myself and my small, common sorrows. I wanted to see something enduring, something that outlasts its creator. I wanted to feel part of a world that means something, a world that continues; I wanted to feel that those we had lost were part of it too.”
Great start to my reading year! Enjoyed this meditation on the Sistine Chapel. Personal experiences, some historical context, and also personal family history weave together nicely. I really like how Marshall does address some of the difficulties we can have rushing in as tourists to try to comprehend a complex work in a few minutes only - so true!
A writer searching to express the elusiveness of bonding through: dance/ art/ poetry. To touch or submerge. To marvel while questioning. Jeannie was an engaging guide as she explored meaning in one’s life.
I recommend this book with all my heart. This beautiful book is helping me understand my own intense reaction to a statue of Mary in Rouen Cathedral many years ago.
This book provided an interesting way to view religious art in the 21st century and gave a compelling personal narrative to accompany the authors thoughts on art
I doubt I'll get to see the Sistine Chapel frescoes. This well related personal account vicariously gave me an idea of the experience without getting a kink in my neck.