"... that's how I felt at the art museum,
both safe and elevated."
-- Janet Fitch, White Oleander
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| Solidarity, Georges Minne (marble) 1898 |
"I believe in walking out of a museum
before the paintings you've seen begin to run together.
How else can you carry anything away with you in your mind's eye?"
-- Elizabeth Kostova, The Swan Thieves
Leo is on Spring break this week. Spring, sadly, seems not to have heard about this arrangement and is vacationing elsewhere in some far-flung, idyllic locale.
Hey Spring, could you at least send us a postcard? Tweet us a picture? Do something to let us know you're OK and weren't eaten by sharks?
No? Nothing? (sigh of despair)
So while Spring is busy coming in like a lion and going out like a goddamned sonofabitch, we decided to head to the Cleveland Museum of Art.
Before going any further, I want to apologize for the quality of today's photo. I had to shoot it with a cell phone because I was a big stupid head and forgot to put the memory card in my damn camera, which dangled, useless, around my neck all afternoon. This shot was the best I could do under the circumstances. The circumstances being that I am a fucking idiot.
Of course, it being a museum and all, we looked at a lot of art that cut across genres and eras and styles and time. There was a special exhibition of Van Gogh's "repetitions," which I didn't love, but didn't hate. It was interesting, but wasn't necessarily my cup of decaf.
There was also a traveling exhibition of Japanese art from the Tokyo National Museum which was also not my favorite.
I was bummed that the contemporary gallery was temporary closed, and the photography exhibit was still being installed. Grr.
In the permanent galleries I stopped in to visit a couple of my favorite pieces -- Picasso's La Vie, Degas' Frieze of Dancers, Modigliani's Portrait of a Woman, Church's Twilight in the Wilderness. (A few years ago I drove all the way to Cleveland just to see Twilight in the Wilderness when it was first installed. I couldn't find it, so I asked three different helpful museum guides "Where is Twilight in the Wilderness?" They all directed me to the bottom of the basement stairs, where the restrooms are. I finally figured it out. They thought I was asking for toilet in the wilderness. Some of their English is a little shaky.)
I found it interesting how certain pieces always grab my attention -- after multiple viewings they still pull me across a gallery for a closer look -- while others don't speak to me at all. And some, well some just stop me in my tracks and leave me speechless.
That's how I felt when I saw this marble sculpture of two nude boys standing in a little boat, holding onto one another for balance. It's called Solidarity and is the work of Belgian sculptor George Minne. Before reading more about the piece hours later, I allowed my imagination free rein to ask questions and fill in the blanks. (I like to form my own ideas and first impressions before letting the art historians and experts tell me what to think. Call me a rebel.)
These two skinny boys -- all sharp knees and elbows, ribs, hip bones and scapulas, holding on tight to one another while their little boat bobs and rocks on the waves -- made me feel something deep inside. Simultaneously they look delicate yet strong, their hold on each other certain, yet tentative. Who is steadying who? Are they lovers? Friends? Brothers? Are they afraid? They seem anxious, yet unusually calm and secure -- protected -- in each other's grasp aboard their storm-tossed boat.
I lingered a long time on this one before reluctantly leaving it behind until my next visit.
At dinner afterwards, I asked Leo if there was anything he'd seen in particular that stuck with him, that he was still thinking about. His phone was full of pictures -- paintings, helmets from the armor room, a bronze eagle from the Japanese exhibit. He said his favorite, though, was Self Portrait With Hat by Karl Schmidt-Rotluff. For my husband, it was a vase with peonies and butterflies.
But for me, it was those two skinny naked boys, who, it turns out, are brothers.
Art for me is like wine. Either I like it or I don't.
And I liked this one. I hope to visit it again and again. That's the good thing about museums. The art stays there and waits for you to come back, hopefully next time with the memory card in your camera.
