Purpose of the Artist in Life Class Novel

The Response of the Artist in Life Class

The response of a visual artist does not differ from that of a journalist or even a civilian in the face of wartime atrocity. The response should always be one of truth. The journalist responds with words that are meant to depict the true reality of what is happening. The civilian even tries to gauge the truth through all the senses and means available, responding in ways open to him—seeking help, giving help, seeking justice, offering mercy, and so on. The response of the visual artist is simply to show what is there—not in words but in image. This is indeed what Paul begins to achieve in his own art, which in the wake of the war experience “is imbued with a hitherto absent authority” (Scott). In other words, he begins to see and to realize the deeper realities of life. That which eludes him in the beginning of the novel in Tonks’ life art class (his inability to draw the line below the skin) is reflected in his art, which has been purified through intense experience of ultimate realities—life and death.

At the heart of the novel is the idea that life is about being engaged—in one way or another. The novel is filled with complicated characters, from Paul to Neville to Elinor—all of whom are trying to find their way, while seeming more or less capable, confident, or lucky than they might actually be. The point is that life comes at everyone, and everyone responds differently—some engaging with it, as Paul learns to do with the Red Cross, and others hiding from it, feeling the engagement to be too intense or frightening. The point of the artist, however, is to have an unflinching gaze, eyes that penetrate and see, and skill to recreate and represent the reality taken in by the immersive experience of engagement. The whole point of being an artist is to represent the reality, to tell the truth about the reality—and this is what Paul begins to do at the end of the novel: he writes to Elinor, “I’ve taken to getting right away on my days off, can’t stand the place, can’t work (draw, I mean, the other sort of work I do in a trance). I managed to get an ambulance driver to take me up to the front line, promising if he was full on the way back I’d walk. He’s called Guy and he’s a Canadian, very dark skin, furrowed cheeks, he looks too old to be here, but here he is. And taciturn in the extreme, which suited me. I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to look” (Barker 246). With those words—“I wanted to look”—Paul reveals the artist within. The artist is there to look—and so, too, is the journalist. The civilian, too, cannot really help but look—but sometimes relies on the artist to help give focus or framing to the reality of what is happening, because otherwise the reality can be too overwhelming. That is another job of the artist—to take reality and distill it into manageable portions, so that the average person can better deal with it, process it, and handle it in a still honest and positive manner.

The correspondence between Paul and Elinor is, in one sense, a journalistic reflection of the artistic process in which Paul is engaged. Both writers are artists—but Elinor is at home, sheltered from the war; Paul is at the front lines, seeing it up close. The war is shaping him directly, because he is engaged directly. He is not hiding. He wants “to look” (Barker 246). Elinor, too, may want to look—but indirectly and from a distance. This is the experience of most civilians who do not want to be soldiers or involved in war. They will read about it and feel something as a result, but their contact is limited. The journalist must convey the reality as best as possible, but the end result depends on the end-user and the extent to which the reader is willing to engage with the text. The same is true of the viewer of the art that is produced by the drawer. But the journalist and the artist must convey the reality, and they do so simply in different mediums.

The response of Elinor is interest and concern, and this is typical of the ordinary citizen. Paul is, in a way, still an ordinary citizen—but because he has engaged with life and seen the end of life, he is changed, and his art reflects this ability to penetrate more deeply into the reality of life. He can communicate better in his prose, and touch on the matter in his drawing. He has the “authority” to do so that Scott speaks of because he has lived a life. There is a clarity of purpose now, where there was none before back home in Tonks’ studio at the Slade.

However, this clarity of purpose does not mean that journalists or artists or civilians are unaffected by what they see and hear and read about or experience, directly or indirectly. In fact, they all might experience a different kind of trauma. Journalists and artists might approach war from different angles, but they both grapple with its emotional and psychological toll, just as civilians do at home.