Art and the Tears It Rarely Shed

(Vincent on a Kerala vacation - ai art project)

For much of history, art seldom moved us to tears. It wasn't until the advent of technology—when Islamic fundamentalists began to exploit image-making for propaganda—that art in Islamic traditions began engaging with emotions beyond awe and reverence. Before this shift, the finest Islamic craftsmen created intricate patterns and artefacts, masterpieces of skill but devoid of emotional depth.

Indian art followed a similar trajectory. Its Buddhist, Hindu and Jain sculptures and images often relied on themes of devotion, eroticism and sensuality, masquerading as love, but rarely delved into universal human emotions like pain or longing. These works celebrated beauty and form but lacked the emotional resonance that could stir the soul. Mughal or other Indian miniatures, for instance, were delicate displays of stylized love or power—elegant yet emotionally flattened.

European art was the same until the Renaissance of the 15th century. Before then, it was dominated by the church and royal patrons, who reduced art to a vulgar display of authority and lust cloaked in craftsmanship. These expressions failed to evoke basic human emotions. They didn't make us cry, laugh, or ache with empathy. Instead, they inspired awe, devotion, or, at best, sensual pleasure.

The story was similar across African, American, and Southeast Asian art traditions. Despite their cultural richness, these artistic expressions seldom invoked tears—one of the purest emotional responses that binds humanity together. At its core, pain stands as the most universal human experience. It transcends ego, unlike romance, and gives love its enduring power. Love born out of pain—shaped by the fear of loss—is love at its most profound and lasting.

The Renaissance marked a turning point in European art. Humanism taught patrons to value emotions, and with it came a seismic shift in artistic expression. Suddenly, art began telling stories of pain and tragedy that resonated with universal human experiences. The lives of artists themselves became tales of sorrow and struggle, their pain immortalized in their works. This emotional awakening made their art legendary, capable of touching hearts across generations.

However, the 19th and 20th centuries—especially the post-war world—ushered in an era of cold intellectualism in art. The raw humanity of earlier works gave way to sterile, conceptual pursuits. Stressed of its emotional core, visual art became a commodity, catering to the clinical gaze of critics and traders. The spark of human emotion flickered briefly in the works of abstract expressionists, but postmodern theorists and their "manufactured" artists extinguished it, replacing the heart with intellectual and textual profanity.

Today, as humanity faces the mounting crises of climate change and cultural fragmentation, art must rediscover its emotional essence. Pain, laughter, and the shared humanity they evoke are needed more than ever. Perhaps it's time to bring these humane expressions back into the sterile white cubes of galleries and museums. To breathe life into the art world once more. Perhaps.

(Recently, when I published an AI-generated piece titled "Van Gogh's Travel Diary in Kerala," a few of my friends asked me, "Why Kerala?" I chose not to reveal my reasoning to them. But in truth, the choice was deliberate—in my view, Kerala art brims with intellectual profanity than elsewhere in India. So, i was exploring the journey of this poster boy of tragedy in art world in that landscape )