Learning to See
A Feature Review of
Art Is: A Journey into the Light
Makoto Fujimura
Hardcover: Yale University Press, 2025
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Reviewed by Jeremy Bugh
I am not an artist. I may be a creator in my own way just as you are in yours, but I do not fall neatly within the categories of artistry in our society. Furthermore, I am not an eloquent art critic. I do not understand the depths of beautiful paintings, I struggle to pay attention to lyrics, and I’m still waiting to enter my “reading classics” era. But l am intrigued by the creative process. Whether you are like me or more advanced in your consumption or creation of art, Makoto Fujimura has something to offer you in his new book, Art Is: A Journey into the Light.
Fujimura is a contemporary artist based in New York who primarily works with the traditional Japanese art style known as Nihonga. He writes and speaks about the intersection of faith and art and is the author of numerous books, including Art+Faith: A Theology of Making, and Culture Care: Reconnecting with Beauty for Our Common Life.
If you have never read one of Fujimura’s works, this is a fine place to start, but by the end of it, you will have grabbed another of his books off the shelf. Art Is: A Journey into the Light is part memoir, part art history, part art philosophy, and part theology. Much like his art itself, his writing forces you to pause in order to take it in. Only in slowing down can we come to appreciate the kind of art that caused the artist to pause in the creative act.
As the title indicates, the book reflects on what true art really is. If you want a dictionary definition, you’re looking in the wrong place; in fact, you are looking for the wrong thing, because if art could be neatly explained, it would not be art. Instead of providing a concise definition, Fujimura offers brief statements embedded in personal stories. Here’s a sampling of what he claims gives art its essence:
Art is awareness. Art is being made aware of our world, full of wonderment and sorrows (4). Art is the creation of meaning through our senses (33). Art is a path to receive and cultivate the gift (charisma) of life. Art is simply to pay attention to these small miracles, and to create into them with childlike faith (74). Art is a liturgy of peace (94). Art is prayer. Art is an expression and a response to Love (116).
These statements shine through the pictures Fujimura paints, crushing up the pigments of his experience and forming them into beautiful colors for his canvas.
Art Is challenged me to think deeper and, in a way, to quit thinking. On first glance, much of Fujimura’s artwork seems not to “say” much. In fact, my inner critic (which is completely unqualified for the job), used to be quick to scoff at art like Fujimura’s. (Admitting this makes me lose points in the Christian-Substack, theology-of-art, Inklings-inspired world, but I’m just being honest.) When I first saw Fujimura’s Lux Aeterna – Hope, I admit that my first thought was “It’s just red…” Many of you will read this, look up his work for yourself, and think the same thing. That’s fine! But what if the art that we don’t understand is precisely the art that has the most to teach us, that has the ability to make us see?
Fujimura’s theme is that art helps us see. He repeatedly makes the case that art enables us to see through the eye instead of just seeing with the eye. Art, he argues, shows us the depths of greater mysteries than we could ever see with our artless eyes (35).
Though I first did not understand his work, I have come to appreciate it. By reading more about his creative process, I learned how meticulous he is about every step. One of the most captivating stories for me was the creation and display of August 30th, 19:33, oyster shell on belgium linen. One summer, Fujimura worked on a painting that even to him seemed unimpressive. White oyster shell on white linen. In some ways, it seems like nothing. Fujimura was aware of this. But in a unique, spiritual experience, he saw the painting “through” his eyes for the first time. Even the artist could not truly “see” his own painting until God opened his eyes and his heart, and he “fell into the mystery of this deep darkness. It opened the chapel of the mystery and darkness, which signals our true Home” (37). So, when it was first displayed, he stood quietly in the back of the room, observing as passersby took in his art. Most patrons, he said, simply glanced and walked by. Sadly, I probably would have been one of them. It’s just white on white canvas, after all. But some who have eyes to see would stop and stare. The painting held something for them because they took the time to listen. Or maybe because their ears had been tuned to hear these notes. Whatever the reason, some individuals were enthralled, even to the point of tears, by this work of art.
What does this mean? It means there are layers to good art, and our eyes need time to adjust to see the light anew. I can’t see it yet. But I know it’s there. After learning of Fujimura’s process, understanding his heart behind his work, and learning about how his creations affect others, I see that I don’t yet see. But I long to. And maybe I’m learning to.
As I come to the final pages of this book, I head to work. I’ve worked at my current job, in my current office, for two and a half years. Nearly every Monday through Friday for around 130 weeks, I have parked in the same parking garage, walked west to cross the alley between my building and the garage, and entered my office. But this day, I pause. As I step out from the shadows of the parking garage, I notice three columns of light sitting directly in my path. They’re beautiful, and I’ve never seen them before. I take a moment to look for their source, and realize they’re coming from three windows on my building, where the sunlight is bouncing off and shimmering down onto the ground at my feet. I take a moment to thank God for this random piece of beauty that I have been unaware of until now. Then I realize: I am learning to see. And I have Makoto Fujimura to thank. Or maybe just art itself.
Jeremy Bugh
Jeremy Bugh is a Program Director for Baylor University and a PhD student at Biola University. You can follow him on substack at https://jbfoster.substack.com/ where he writes about the intersection of faith and culture. The focus of his creative work is to help others develop a biblical approach to engaging culture and embracing faithful presence in this Already/Not Yet Kingdom.
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