Last week Friday I had the opportunity to tour the MIA with my daughter, Jill. We went especially to see the Botticelli exhibit, with selections of artwork from the Uffizi in Florence, Italy. It was a great opportunity to see things that only visitors to Italy would ordinarily see, and we were grateful to have them here for a time. It was crowded, but we could still get close to most things eventually. Very impressive paintings, of course, some very large. Although I noticed what I have observed before over the years, that after viewing all the "masterpieces," it was the smaller images -- in fact, in this case the drawings -- that seemed to mean the most to me. They are so intimate. So carefully and thoughtfully rendered, with only the most modest of ambitions for themselves. The larger works were intended for prominent installation in cathedrals and palatial homes, but these drawings were probably tucked away in books and folders once they had accomplished their purpose of helping to plan the paintings they led to. They may have been framed and hung on walls at some early date, but even then their presence would have had to be a very low key contribution to a larger space. And yet, I kept going back to them to view them more closely. They rewarded our close attention.
Jill and I also spent some time looking around the rest of the museum. Two of my favorite rooms featured drawings from late 19th century Europe, and I again was drawn in to their intimacy and modesty of scale and ambition. While the Botticelli was a crowded $20 special exhibit, the rest of the museum is free -- but we pretty much had these other rooms to ourselves. Very quiet, for the most part. There were a lot of school children milling about, and they weren't always very quiet, but it's good that they were there, I think. I was especially happy to see them in the African and Asian exhibits, reacting naively and authentically to the objects that naturally struck them as so odd. Such foreign cultures which created such unique items... There was so much to see...
Most of what is there goes largely unseen, of course. I had to wonder if some pieces had been closely viewed in years. We walk by treasures that could fill our hearts and minds for a lifetime were we to stop and really take them in. I, of course, walked by most of it with the reset of the crowd. I stopped and looked as much as I could, but there is too much. There is no way to take it all in, even in a lifetime of looking. For instance, I spent some time with the Islamic art before Jill joined me. Breathtaking art -- but only if one has the time to look at it. As well as it is enshrined and displayed it can be hard to see fully. It's so out of context, lifted from some time and place and placed under plexiglass... It made me think of my Remnants series, where I have set aside bits and pieces of the natural world to create a way of valuing those small objects which are so easily overlooked -- and fast disappearing -- in our culture. These precious objects on display struck me as remnants of long past cultures, mere markers of history to most who encounter them, and that is all. Objects that were once vibrant pieces of life for people now live as artifacts in a museum to remind us that we don't make things like this anymore... There is a sadness that comes with this viewing...
Jill and I also spent some time looking around the rest of the museum. Two of my favorite rooms featured drawings from late 19th century Europe, and I again was drawn in to their intimacy and modesty of scale and ambition. While the Botticelli was a crowded $20 special exhibit, the rest of the museum is free -- but we pretty much had these other rooms to ourselves. Very quiet, for the most part. There were a lot of school children milling about, and they weren't always very quiet, but it's good that they were there, I think. I was especially happy to see them in the African and Asian exhibits, reacting naively and authentically to the objects that naturally struck them as so odd. Such foreign cultures which created such unique items... There was so much to see...
Most of what is there goes largely unseen, of course. I had to wonder if some pieces had been closely viewed in years. We walk by treasures that could fill our hearts and minds for a lifetime were we to stop and really take them in. I, of course, walked by most of it with the reset of the crowd. I stopped and looked as much as I could, but there is too much. There is no way to take it all in, even in a lifetime of looking. For instance, I spent some time with the Islamic art before Jill joined me. Breathtaking art -- but only if one has the time to look at it. As well as it is enshrined and displayed it can be hard to see fully. It's so out of context, lifted from some time and place and placed under plexiglass... It made me think of my Remnants series, where I have set aside bits and pieces of the natural world to create a way of valuing those small objects which are so easily overlooked -- and fast disappearing -- in our culture. These precious objects on display struck me as remnants of long past cultures, mere markers of history to most who encounter them, and that is all. Objects that were once vibrant pieces of life for people now live as artifacts in a museum to remind us that we don't make things like this anymore... There is a sadness that comes with this viewing...
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