I’ve always enjoyed art history. It’s a study that I’ve always found both comforting and fascinating, as I’m relatively familiar with art but am always willing and eager to learn more: the Who’s, What’s, When’s, and Why’s behind the world’s art. So naturally when the opportunity came long to take a “Religion in Art” class, I figured there was no better way to forward my art history studies (which I had initially intended to have as a minor, but have since switched to the more reasonable, but equally unlucrative, journalism) than to learn about the religious focus of Eastern art.

I was very wrong.

My professor, who for all intensive purposes I will call Dr. R, is an incredibly insightful man. His studies of philosophy and religion no doubt shine through as he teaches the class with a miraculous amount of confidence and ease. I am not religious, and I am left to assume he isn’t either, because after taking this class I have learned what can only be summarized by Nietzsche's concept that “God is dead.” Every god, no matter your religion, has been fabricated to secure our feelings of mortality and give our lives greater spiritual meaning, and that’s a fact. We then paint these gods in order to keep them closer to ourselves, and to make ourselves feel more connected to a higher entity. And thus, art was born, and my belief system has died.

My professor focuses on philosophy in art a lot, and while I really enjoy learning and being able to understand philosophy in concept, (as it turns out existential thinking has become something that tortures my mind at all hours of the day, and Dr. R has made sure of that no matter where I am and what I do), I am wasting a life that will inevitably end in the tragedy of self-awareness. I had always imagined that philosophy would drive me towards a more enlightened lifestyle, the same reason I drink Kombucha.

However, the concepts of philosophy and psychology we discuss always leave me feeling confused and sad. My lesson on Kupka and Kandinsky soon became a lesson on spirituality and how, apparently, I only have it because I am, by scientific standards, always near death. Not to mention most of the pieces we discuss in class that I once considered nothing more than beautiful pieces of art have been ruined for me by in depth discussion and analysis. This is both because of the aforementioned existentialist discussions we often conduct, but also for another reason: we’ve spent multiple lessons talking about baby Jesus’ private parts.

One of the required readings for that class is a book entitled, "The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and in Modern Oblivion," and while it points out some really interesting aspects of art that border on the erotic, it also makes it a point to note the amount of phallic contact made between Jesus Christ and St. Mary. I don’t know what to think of it. I’m not religious. I don’t think I will ever be. But this stuff would turn me away from Catholicism if I was bordering between two faiths, and with that being said I can no longer even look at Mother Mary without the likes of Norma Bates coming to mind. Every painting, sculpture, etching and mosaic, all designed, apparently, to draw emphasis to Jesus’ hoo-ha. Every guiding light, every look of admiration, every structural aspect of the painting, all designed to align perfectly with the phallic area of “Jesus Christ our Savior.” Horrible. The idea is horrible.

I do not doubt the intelligence of my Dr. R, and quite frankly if he was teaching another class about other philosophies or art history I would be signed up as we speak. His lectures are fascinating, as is his sense of style. When the semester commences I will most certainly miss his duck-printed shirts, bleached blonde hair, and emphasis on 'learning to learn' versus 'learning to test.' The truth of the matter, however, is that if I had known this class was going to be about more than how religion has influenced modern art, and how Mary and Jesus and non-secular concepts have weaseled their way into even the most contemporary of artists, I would have perhaps prepared myself better to take notes on the ideas of death, mortality, and Sexy Baby Jesus.