Deutscher and Hackett

'The written word, too, most often quoted from the bible is... without apology used as a subject for painting... The matter is... the one most people want to lay down rules about. But how do we lay down rules for this sort of painting? Part of a painter's work is to discover rules and... test them as he goes along, to see if they will work for him and for us. When a whole sky cries "Elias"... who shall say lettering shall not be big in a picture?'¹

Exploring the ambiguity inherent in the comments of observers at the Crucifixion, the Elias series - of which the present Let be, let be, 1959 is arguably one of the most celebrated examples - represented McCahon's first great foray into the 'word paintings' which today so distinguish his oeuvre. Commenced in January 1959, with the greatest period of concentrated activity taking place between June and August, the series was, according to the artist, initiated as a reaction against what he perceived as the domination of his painting by purely landscape concerns. Departing from his personal interest in solving technical and stylistic challenges posed by the Titirangi landscape, now McCahon sought rather to pursue art as a means of communication, to address himself to a potential audience. Thus, the Elias works delve into the deeply human concept of doubt, contemplating the doubt of bystanders, of the suffering criminals crucified at the same time as Christ, of the artist himself, and not least, the doubts of his viewers. Let be, let be 1959 is arguably one of the most celebrated examples - represented McCahon's first great foray into the 'word paintings' which today so distinguish his oeuvre. Commenced in January 1959, with the greatest period of concentrated activity taking place between June and August, the series was, according to the artist, initiated as a reaction against what he perceived as the domination of his painting by purely landscape concerns. Departing from his personal interest in solving technical and stylistic challenges posed by the Titirangi landscape, now McCahon sought rather to pursue art as a means of communication, to address himself to a potential audience. Thus, the Elias works delve into the deeply human concept of doubt, contemplating the doubt of bystanders, of the suffering criminals crucified at the same time as Christ, of the artist himself, and not least, the doubts of his viewers.

In particular, 'It is Christ's exclamation, 'Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthan?' and the bystanders' comment 'Let be, let us see whether Elias will come to save him', that are the key to the Elias series. McCahon exploits the ambiguity that arises from the crowds' apparent mistaking of Christ's cry, "Eloi, Eloi'' ("My God, my God'') for an appeal to Elias (or Elijah). A 9th century BC Hebrew prophet, Elias was popularly believed to have 'never tasted death', having been taken up to Heaven in a whirlwind, seated in a chariot of fire (2 Kings 2:11). By implying the possibility of alternative responses to the same combination of words, McCahon sought to explore the uncertain nature of doubt, faith and belief.'² As Gordon Brown elucidates, 'The multiple readings of the two utterances become clear immediately several paintings from the Elias series are examined. This is so even when the texts are divorced from their painterly context and considered simply as words. If, however, McCahon's intentions are to be appreciated to their fullest extent, then the nonnaturalistic imagery and mood established by the combination of shape and colour in a particular painting must be considered, along with the words, as a single unified entity. In a real sense these paintings do require viewers to modify their normal pattern of looking at pictures. Some viewers may feel that a see-sawing action is required between the acts of seeing and reading. For others no such problem exists.

In Let be, Let be 1959, the initial 'let be' is enclosed, well-lit and in both the visual and verbal sense given emphasis over the second 'let be' which is shaded and has the illusion of being placed slightly further back in the picture. The main part of the text occupies the central area where part of the inscription seems to fade as the words 'will he' echo the opening of the text in a loss of confidence as they merge with the light supporting ground colour. Below this inscription the persistent image of the cross dominates the bottom portion of the painting: the symbol of the Crucifixion, dark and foreboding. Beneath the left arm of the cross, set in isolation, is written 'Elias', while under the other arm - as if balanced against the name Elias and all he represents - is inscribed 'will he come to save him'. This in turn is a variation of the statement found in the central portion of the painting, repeating it but in diminished lettering, as if hope is fading. The colour in this work is delicate, but while the harmonious qualities impart an aura of silence to the visual appeal of the work, it is applied in a supportive role to the words and not for any decorative quality it may possess.'³

For indeed, as with the best of McCahon's work, in Let be, let be - '...it is the existential situation that prevails. While this can be seen as the agony of expectation and of doubt, fixed within the immediate landscape where light and shade, hope and despondency alternate across hill and valley, the greater concern of the Elias series is for the human predicament seen at close quarters. The viewer is asked to stand with the artist, in a situation where each person must decide the issue in their own way. The Elias paintings are a personal confession in which the artist's concern is less with art than with the meaning of life. It is a confession that, while it affects a solitary person, has become externalised and addressed to all. It is art used to give the conflict of faith and doubt coherence of thought, effort and expression in its most positive form. As R.N. O'Reilly observed about McCahon and his work, "...Faith and doubt is a recurrent theme in the paintings' He writes of himself as a doubter. Certainly he is no angel but a vulnerable mortal with all our common frailties and passions, and we can sense how near he has often come to desperation...'⁴

1. M.T. Woollaston, 'Man's Predicament in his Own World', Christchurch Star, 14 October 1959 quoted in Bloem, M. & Browne, M., Colin McCahon: A Question of Faith, Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam & Craig Potton Publishing, New Zealand, 2002, p. 192
2. Bloem & Browne, ibid., p. 191
3. Brown, G., Colin McCahon: Artist, A.H. & A.W. Reed, Wellington, 1984, p. 115
4. ibid., pp. 117-119

VERONICA ANGELATOS