Artist Kat Malazarte was probably at the front row seat when Socrates made a Ted Talk about his trial for impiety; it was an episode that immortalized the statement that “an unexamined life is not worth living,” and an examined life was the subject of Malazarte’s first solo show at Pablo Gallery titled Kenosis.

Malazarte dove deeper into self-examination, which led her to kenosis, a Greek word that means self-emptying or a process of relinquishment.

Admittedly, this is a foreign concept expressed by Malazarte in a world that promotes just the exact opposite—filling ourselves up with everything, anything, just to make ourselves something less than miserable. And she was right. Concepts like kenosis are like lone voices in the wilderness of contemporary existence. It is a complex and unimaginable idea in the fast-paced digital era where narcissism is king and overindulgence with anything and everything is queen. We live in a society with inhabitants who are fixated on the omnium-gatherum.

Malazarte certainly observed and experienced the normalization of people’s obsession with instant gratification, unjust accumulation of wealth, and pleasure galore. She despised it. It is a life devoid of meaning for her.

She depicted it in Kenosis, and she showed the possibilities of going against the tide, making her an unorthodox young gifted female artist with a one-of-a-kind glitter. The collection of works in Kinosis is copious with religious rituals, practices, and symbols of the Roman Catholic faith, effectively conveying the artist’s spiritual renewal and anchoring. It is a pastiche of art fertile with narratives and symbolism and with a medium and presentation that brings the viewer back to the Renaissance Period, where dominant societal notions like purity, innocence, and religiosity were deliberated upon by the community through art.

Malazarte showed that self-emptying is not only possible but actually meaningful, especially for those who ponder a life of substance and contentment.

Transforming a meaningless life

Examining her life, Malazarte tried to feed her soul with accolades, achievements, and other ephemeral distractions, wrote Iñigo de Paula. As expected, however, these things failed to nourish her. See, it was this engagement with the fleeting and temporal—the worldly—that left her disaffected.

It illustrates a contradiction. Malazarte’s physical existence and spiritual being were in constant flux. On the exterior, we saw a solid and stable Malazarte, but she was a restless soul on the inside—an artist whose mental, emotional, and spiritual being were agitated and anxious by the unsubstantiveness offered by the external forces where she evolved.

The turbulence within was described by de Paula as a time of trouble, of trepidation, of losing touch, and of hitting the rockiest of bottoms, but kenosis ushered spiritual equilibrium into Malazarte as she relinquished commodities that create disconcertment and unloaded the temporal, giving space for the meaningful to flow in and flourish.

Malazarte recognized that striving for goodness amidst life’s challenges, especially when worldly influences tempt us, is a difficult task; hence, the tension between the temporal and the spiritual will remain constant and must be subjected to the religious virtues and vigilance of the faithful.

Again, de Paula writes: Faith can be a daunting thing, a cross to bear, but Malazarte, instead of being burdened by the weight of her faith, was uplifted by it.

Clearly, Malazarte attained peace—a calm after the storm caused by kenosis—showing religious themes to demonstrate the emancipatory desire of the spirit from things temporal and even from life itself.

Ode to Christ

The show was also Malazarte’s way of honoring her mentors and Christ as she re-emphasized His sacrifices to save humanity from sin and eternal damnation.

Malazarte leaned on the rituals of a prayer and a confession during the tempestuous times. She pondered: To the thorn-crowned King hanging on the cross, the Christ who emptied Himself and taught us what self-giving love means—and Who most of the time is misunderstood, ridiculed, and maligned by those who refuse the love He offers.

Everyone is familiar with what the cross is and what it looks like, she said, confessing that she once hated it, dreaded the idea of it, and did not understand it. I once left my faith, questioned it, and lost all the reason to live a life rooted in it, she declared.

In the midst of turmoil and in her darkest moment, she also found herself communing with the wisdom of St. Augustine, St. John of the Cross, and Russian author Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

Dostoyevsky’s words comforted her: “The darker the night, the brighter the stars,” and she was touched by St. John of the Cross, who said, “The endurance of darkness is the preparation for great light.”

She consoled herself with the words, “You cannot love what you do not know,” and uttered the St. Augustine Prayer.

Too late have I loved you, O Beauty so ancient, O Beauty so new.
Too late have I loved you! You were within me but I was outside myself, and there I sought you!

In my weakness, I ran after the beauty of the things you have made.
You were with me, and I was not with you.

The things you have made kept me from you – the things which would have no being unless they existed in you!
You have called, you have cried, and you have pierced my deafness.

You have radiated forth, you have shined out brightly, and you have dispelled my blindness.
You have sent forth your fragrance, and I have breathed it in, and I long for you.

I have tasted you, and I hunger and thirst for you.
You have touched me, and I ardently desire your peace.

Kenosis allowed Malazarte to realize that all our wanderings would lead us back home. As she reverted to the Catholic faith, she rediscovered not only the dreadful Cross, but also the One crucified on it.

She reemerged from self-emptying, an enlightened one, and filled with new life.

Post-kenosis, she said, we are all called to live a life of kenosis, to empty ourselves in order to behold something much more beautiful, a self-giving love, a purer form of love. Aren’t we all just wanting to love and be loved?

Yet again, she reminded the viewers of the words of St. John of the Cross: that the soul must empty itself of self in order to be filled with God, that it must be purified of the last traces of earthly dross before it is fit to become united with God.

Credits:
1. Photos were lifted from the Facebook post of Patrick Ang
2. The exhibit text by Iñigo de Paula and statement of Kat Malazarte were used for this article.