Glory in the Unfinished
Glory in the Unfinished
Andrew Senior
On Rembrandt’s Simeon in the Temple
“A painting is complete when it has the shadows of a god.” — Rembrandt
I have a compulsive need to finish whatever I start writing. I am more than capable of writing to a conclusion at the expense of quality. The result is mediocre output, the despondency of work rejected and, I suspect, exasperated editors. But even with more redrafting, more refinement, or more editing, is anything ever truly finished?
I can’t help despairing at the Ecclesiastical thought that “all streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full.” I don’t want to be stuck in a place of seeming never-endingness, “chasing after the wind.” It doesn’t come naturally to me to redraft a piece of fiction again and again in search of a perfectly articulated story, or to pour over a poem week after week, laboring to find words that might give it deeper meaning. I imagine that the same is true in other artistic disciplines; a painting can continuously be layered upon, an album can be further remixed and reordered, a film scene can be edited over and over. I don’t want to admit that the unfinished is an irrefutable component of humanity’s flawed existence “under the sun.” I want the reassurance of completion. I want my own sea and I want to fill it.
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Rembrandt’s Simeon in the Temple was left in his studio as a work in progress when he died in 1669. The painting, beloved despite its unfinished state, now hangs in the National Museum in Stockholm. The surface is dappled, the figures hazy around the edges, the color comparatively weak and the aged face of Simeon himself lacking in definition. The other Rembrandt portraits in the museum by contrast display the artist’s characteristic muted, rich color palette and his ability to fully realize his human subjects. Girl at a Window, The Kitchen Maid captures the contemplative, playful look of a young woman between tasks. Saint Peter captures the face of a man who has known the gravity of personal failure, reinstatement and costly gospel declaration, firmly grasping the key of the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 16:19). Self Portrait, from 1630, captures a proud and youthful confidence in the artist’s earliest days.
Rembrandt, Simeon in the Temple
But as I studied Simeon in the Temple, it struck me that the incompleteness might have unintentionally, but providentially, enhanced Rembrandt’s meditation on what the moment meant to Simeon. Simeon’s prominent position in the pale light, casting in from the left of the picture, is emphasized by the figure behind him still emerging from the dark blotches of paint. The indistinct face of the old man helps to create a sense of a life fading, and a grasping hold of a final, precious moment. The lack of strong definition of lines or mass across the canvas, and the rough and smeared texture of the paint still in the stages of initial application, have the effect of melding Simeon’s cloak and his outstretched, praying hands right into the cloth in which the child is wrapped. The visual impact that results is a powerful sense of intimacy between the two figures, which draws attention to the mystery of Simeon holding in his hands the very God who created him, to whom he is praying and who will be his salvation.
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Simeon appears only in Luke 2:25-35. His part in the gospel story is brief, but heraldic. Simeon, in a sense, discovered in his faith what Rembrandt said of his art: “Try to put well in practice what you already know; and in so doing, you will in good time, discover the hidden things you now inquire about.” Luke wrote of a man in-dwelt and led by the Spirit to worship in God’s Temple, a man still waiting for the consolation of Israel as he neared the end of his life. It is a great and beautiful irony that a painting left unfinished by Rembrandt at his death depicts one who was to declare with such finitude, “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you may now dismiss your servant in peace.”
Such was Simeon’s conviction concerning the revelation of holding the Christ Child, that he was content to die because God had shown him how all things would be fulfilled, for all people, once and for all. It is a moment of incredible faith in the faithfulness of God and drew these prophetic words from Simeon’s lips:
For my eyes have seen your salvation,
which you have prepared in the sight of all nations:
a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and the glory of your people Israel.
Simeon in the Temple presents a wonderful contrast; an incomplete image of the moment that Simeon foresaw the completed work of Christ, a work that was not cut short by death, but rather ended in resurrection, full forgiveness, and an open way to the heavenly realms.
But when this priest had offered for all time one sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, and since that time he waits for his enemies to be made his footstool. For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy (Heb. 10:12-14).
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Art historian, Hans Rookmaaker, wrote compellingly about the relationship between the work of Christ and the work of Christian artists. In his book Art Needs No Justification, Rookmaaker suggests that we have the life-renewing force given to us in Christ and by this, with his help, we might make something that is full of love, life, beauty, righteousness, peace and joy. He said that this can be expressed by saying that we are “on the way,” following Christ, following the narrow path, following God’s way. We work in freedom. We do not need to prove ourselves. We do not need to make our own eternity.
Rembrandt’s two depictions of Simeon in the temple indicate that over the course of his painterly life he grasped this. The first scene, painted in 1631, is a demonstration of fully accomplished artistic ability, with Simeon a majestic figure in the mighty surroundings of the temple, prominent amongst the many onlookers, holding out a hand of blessing over the Christ Child and his parents. The second painting has none of the same grandeur and virtuosity. Instead, with the unsteady hand of an aging painter, Rembrandt presents a moment of near-solitary intimacy, Simeon’s own hands in humble prayer as he reverently holds his Lord. Rembrandt’s focus is entirely on Simeon’s end of life encounter with the long-promised arrival of his Savior.
In another of his books “Modern Art and the Death of a Culture,” Rookmaaker considers what this “on the way” means for our output and the possibility of succeeding in our art. Rookmaaker says “Whether God will give us this or not, whether we shall have time to do it or not, whether as artists we are good or bad, as long as we can stand before Him saying that we have fought our battle and followed our calling, we can be confident. We do not need to be afraid, for nothing can divide us from his love.”
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In my approach to my writing, I have much to learn about reorientating my artistic practice to the way of Christ. How much is my desire to see my work finished actually a reflection of not knowing the freedom of following God’s ways and timings, of trying to prove myself, to myself, of failing to acknowledge the eternal that God has opened my eyes to? But I find tremendous liberation in what Rookmaaker articulates so well. It reminds me that I can’t overcome my flawed humanity, but that God can—and has. I am free from an existence in which creativity knows only its own egocentric purposes and its own never-endingness. I can aspire to work that is full of the fruit of the Spirit, the very Spirit that dwells in me. Of my writing, as with everything else, I can join The Preacher in Ecclesiastes in saying “there is nothing better for a person than to enjoy their work, because that is their lot. For who can bring them to see what will happen after them?” (Ecc. 3:22).
No Christian artist will stand or fall by their artistic output and achievement. No half-written story, no song still in progress, no unfinished painting, can separate us from the love of God.
In this regard, it is good for me to write for the sake of what will be finished, where God can, in whatever way, be glorified by my words. But there is no harm in slowing down, in enjoying the labyrinth process, in embracing the unfinished, in abandoning work if that is what is required to hone my craft and ultimately make the best use of the gift God has given me.
Simeon in the Temple spoke to me despite being unfinished. In fact, because it was unfinished the painting re-enforced the story it was telling; a sure reminder that the only thing in the universe that truly needs to be finished, already is. God does not need or demand the completion of human works for the fulfillment of his plan. That is a part of his gift of grace. In that place of freedom, I write.
Andrew Senior
Writer & Poet
Andrew is a writer of fiction, poetry and reflections on faith. He is based in Sheffield, UK and has had work published in various local and UK publications. Other of his faith reflections have appeared on Fathom, Foundling House and Story Warren. More of his published work can be seen at: https://andrewseniorwriting.weebly.com/
Photography by Clay Banks