School of Athens, Raphael, fresco, Vatican Collections
One cannot forever avoid the beaten path, especially those of us who specialize in the history of art. I know that I cannot say that I lived in Italy for half a year and didn't see certain members of the cannon.
As a result of this fact, I found myself this weekend pushing through crowds on the Rome metro, standing in line for over an hour alongside the walls of Vatican City, and staring at the frescoed Sistine Chapel listening to security guards try to quiet the crowd and still all cameras (a task fit for Sisyphus).
As a result I have now in my collection the two following ridiculous photographs:
Portrait with a copy of the Doryphoros, courtesy of Hannah K, Rome, 2008
Portrait Feigning Astonishment at the Feet of the Apollo Belvedere, Courtesy of Hannah K., Rome, 2008
No, seriously, I had to do some thinking about the experience of wading through the throngs of visitors snapping photos of this and that famous art work. In the first place, I was very surprised that photos were allowed in the Vatican Museums (with the exception of the Sistine Chapel). I took very few as I felt very uncomfortable doing so. And besides, I have far superior reproductions in several books at home.
Out of respect for the less famous works, I did what I could to turn around and examine the fresco on the wall opposite the School of Athens, but it's hard. There is so much to see, you can't process it all. I love looking at art, and I reached a point where I needed to get out of there. So what do you spend your time looking at?
More importantly, what makes up that experience of looking? Hannah said that she was overcome to a certain extent by the experience of the Sistine Chapel. I felt like I should have been, it's the Sistine Chapel, for goodness sakes! But I wasn't, and I wondered why. Granted, I studied the ceiling, searching for those elements I had read so much about. Proximity, the space between the two fingers, Don't forget the frescoes on the sides, Did you know Boticelli, Perugino and others were also involved? I looked for something other than the figures, examined the colors and thought about how Michelangelo's use of color highlights for the creation of volume related to my term paper. But I was not awed. I felt like I could say I had seen it, something I had to do, and so I could move on.
The Apollo Belvedere, Laocoon, those were different. It still wasn't the feeling I remember having standing with a particularly unknown marble statue somewhere in Scotland, but I did have a hint of that grandeur.
So, why? More specifically, why not? Dr. Kwakelstein has talked about certain works within the idea that we are raised seeing reproductions. The Mona Lisa, the David, Pieta....the list goes on. I would hate to think that this has been what has numbed me to the the true experience of seeing a work of art. In the age of mass media there is a much smaller margin for surprise. I won't say it is gone, but you have certain expectations already for what you are going to be seeing.
I am not going to lie, the waves of people everywhere kind of ruined things for me. But that is a double-edged sword. As a student of art, I want to be able to sit silently with the work, preferably in its original context. I would re-create that original experience. On the other hand, I love that all these people are here! That they come from all over the world, that it is something that will not be forgotten. (The Vatican Museum is sneaky about this, they make you go through one half or the other of the museum before you ever get to the Sistine Chapel....they make you look at things some people would never consider, for example a hall of 16th century frescoed maps of the papal territories, very cool.)
I don't feel too guilty though. I could have sat in front of Bernini's Apollo and Daphne or Caravaggio's St. Jerome (both in the Galleria Borghese) all afternoon if they would have let me. It probably doesn't help that I have been slowly developing an academic and aesthetic aversion for a lot of Renaissance art. (I don't feel guilty about this either.)
At the end of the weekend, the beaten path is exhausting and sometimes frustrating, but rewarding. Best thing is to make sure you travel it with the right person and you keep everything in perspective. In St. Peter's Square, Hannah almost started crying; she said to me, "Monica, we're in Rome, I mean, we're really in ROME!"
Out of respect for the less famous works, I did what I could to turn around and examine the fresco on the wall opposite the School of Athens, but it's hard. There is so much to see, you can't process it all. I love looking at art, and I reached a point where I needed to get out of there. So what do you spend your time looking at?
More importantly, what makes up that experience of looking? Hannah said that she was overcome to a certain extent by the experience of the Sistine Chapel. I felt like I should have been, it's the Sistine Chapel, for goodness sakes! But I wasn't, and I wondered why. Granted, I studied the ceiling, searching for those elements I had read so much about. Proximity, the space between the two fingers, Don't forget the frescoes on the sides, Did you know Boticelli, Perugino and others were also involved? I looked for something other than the figures, examined the colors and thought about how Michelangelo's use of color highlights for the creation of volume related to my term paper. But I was not awed. I felt like I could say I had seen it, something I had to do, and so I could move on.
The Apollo Belvedere, Laocoon, those were different. It still wasn't the feeling I remember having standing with a particularly unknown marble statue somewhere in Scotland, but I did have a hint of that grandeur.
So, why? More specifically, why not? Dr. Kwakelstein has talked about certain works within the idea that we are raised seeing reproductions. The Mona Lisa, the David, Pieta....the list goes on. I would hate to think that this has been what has numbed me to the the true experience of seeing a work of art. In the age of mass media there is a much smaller margin for surprise. I won't say it is gone, but you have certain expectations already for what you are going to be seeing.
I am not going to lie, the waves of people everywhere kind of ruined things for me. But that is a double-edged sword. As a student of art, I want to be able to sit silently with the work, preferably in its original context. I would re-create that original experience. On the other hand, I love that all these people are here! That they come from all over the world, that it is something that will not be forgotten. (The Vatican Museum is sneaky about this, they make you go through one half or the other of the museum before you ever get to the Sistine Chapel....they make you look at things some people would never consider, for example a hall of 16th century frescoed maps of the papal territories, very cool.)
I don't feel too guilty though. I could have sat in front of Bernini's Apollo and Daphne or Caravaggio's St. Jerome (both in the Galleria Borghese) all afternoon if they would have let me. It probably doesn't help that I have been slowly developing an academic and aesthetic aversion for a lot of Renaissance art. (I don't feel guilty about this either.)
At the end of the weekend, the beaten path is exhausting and sometimes frustrating, but rewarding. Best thing is to make sure you travel it with the right person and you keep everything in perspective. In St. Peter's Square, Hannah almost started crying; she said to me, "Monica, we're in Rome, I mean, we're really in ROME!"
Self-Portrait with St. Peter's Basilica (Or how I learned to stop worrying and be a tourist), Monica Butler, Rome, Spring (weather), 2008
