La Vie


October 28, 2001
11:44pm

Susan, Yvette, and I saw From Hell last night. It was alright. I probably would've liked it more if I weren't making fun of it the whole time, but that's an unfortunate side effect of seeing it with my friends. I can't help myself. If something tickles me it must be said.

The thing that struck me most about it was how visually intriguing it was. I don't know who's responsible for such things (probably the cinematographer or something), but they did a really good job. The only thing that really bothered me was that the other prostitutes in the Whitechapel district apparently couldn't afford soap or toothpaste while Heather Graham's character appeared to have access to a hair dye kit and some conditioner.

I went to the art museum after church today. I have to write a six page paper about some late nineteenth/early twentieth century piece of art for one of my classes. Of course - since I couldn't find someone to come with me - I had no sense of control and ended up staying for four hours.

I came through the doors intent on finding an appropriate painting and getting out when I saw the giant travelling Picasso exhibition on my left. I was even about to pass that up (because going in would mean having to pay $7) when I saw the edge of La Vie from Picasso's blue period. It managed to take my breath away, even while viewing it from so far away. This was a painting I had only seen in art history books, and there it was in the flesh (so to speak). It was so large, so vivid, so pregnant with meaning. How could I pass that up?

Before today I could only see these paintings in some over-priced text book, which could never do them justice. To be able to stand mere inches away and study every nuance, every subtle hint of color, every thoughtful brushstroke. To witness the vast scale, to imagine how Picasso painted, to see his signature made with his own hand. It was awe-inspiring.

Getting lost in the museum was wonderful. I explored rooms I didn't know existed. I saw paintings I didn't know our museum possesed. I saw the slick surfaces of pop art and the careful chiaroscuro of Renaissance angels. I saw ancient Madonna statues, eaten away by time. I saw the brilliant remnants of gold leaf illuminating Byzantine paintings.

Then I wandered into the older part of the museum, which I haven't been to in years. This was the museum of my youth, where the voices of my elementary school art classes echoed around expansive columned halls. I saw the rooms of ancient Egyptian art, and all the pieces looked just as fresh as they seemed to me fourteen years ago. I saw the vivid colors of the sarcophagi and it was hard for me to believe they were thousands of years old. It was hard for me to believe that these works were touched by ancient hands and gazed upon by ancient eyes.

Next, I came to the room that fascinated me most as a child. It was filled with gleaming armor, heavy chainmail, and lethal weapons. There were lances, swords, and battle axes suspended in glass cases. There were massive medieval tapestries lining the walls high above my head. I remember imagining the men who wore these heavy pieces of armor and wielded these swords. I wondered if anyone ever used them in battle, or if anyone breathed his last while wearing them. My young mind was filled with romantic visions of chivalrous men on important quests and people who lived and died on honor. As an adult I know that their lives probably weren't that exciting. They probably just took it one day at a time like we do now. However, such realities never intruded the imaginings of my childish mind, and I really miss that. I found myself being more fascinated with my memories of the place than with the actual relics displayed there.

All in all it was a very inspiring trip. I only wish that inspiration had rubbed off on me. It's a late Sunday night and I have a big drawing project due Monday night. I haven't even started it because I haven't a clue what I'm going to do. Unfortunately, my creative mind has been replaced with anxiety and the fear of a drawing teacher who's never satisfied with my work. Oh well.

Back to the real world...