Showing posts with label George Clooney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label George Clooney. Show all posts

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Would You Give Your Life to Save Art

by Christina Carson

Recently Bert and I watched a movie entitled The Monuments Men, based on a book of the same name, a true story written by Robert Edsel, an ex-American oilman, who moved to Europe and became interested in Art. He questioned how so much of it survived the double threat of Nazi destruction and Russian theft during WW ll and sought the answer. The movie, written, directed by and starring George Clooney, is a fascinating story of what human beings can accomplish when impassioned by the same love and sense of value for a common goal. The goal was to locate and save as much of the treasured Art of Europe as they could. The plan was to do it with volunteer museum directors, curators, arts scholars, educators, artists, architects and archivists.



The 345 men and women who ultimately served in this capacity came from 15 nations. They were of all ages and joined the military sub commission MFAA (Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives section), went through basic training, and got dropped off in a combat zone to do their work – find the Art and rescue it. Their job was made even harder by starting late in the war. The Germans were in retreat and destroying their Art caches as they went.

These saviors from the MFAA were placed in situations of grave danger, little resources, no trained expertise in this endeavor and very little planning, but saw their work as having to succeed at all costs. We owe to them their vision, one which grasped how greatly civilization could be devastated by the loss of many of the greatest works of art every created.

Coming from a culture where art is the first thing we drop out of education when budgets are cut, and from a society where  only a small fraction of the population shows interest in Art, I wasn't in the best of positions to understand what these volunteers knew inherently about its value  Not until I chanced on a young woman in Florence, Italy whose delight it was to take her afternoon and show me the antiquities of her city, did I realize the effect Art could have on a society that honors it as a necessity of life.

But my real metamorphosis from ignorance to appreciation happened one dark January afternoon in Amsterdam when I visited the Rembrandt Museum. The collection is housed in a restored 17 th century building in which Rembrandt lived and worked for twenty years. The small rooms lent a sense of intimacy to the viewer, and that afternoon I was the only person there.  I walked into an upstairs room, looked around and then moved toward a painting on the far wall, but every few seconds I whipped around as one does when they sense someone else is in the room. Several times this happened until I finally stopped and stared at
one of the paintings. I realized then what was going on. I could not distinguish the eyes of the subjects in the paintings from those of an animate being. They were so alive that it made me feel like I’d stepped through a veil and had actually entered the room where these men in the paintings were gathered. I could feel their eyes on my back which was why I kept turning around.

There I stood; my first introduction to what can happen, what can be created, brought to life that does not die in the works of great masters. Art is not only an archive of visual history but also a conduit that brings forward the state of consciousness that can create in this fashion. Treating that state of consciousness with the reverence it deserves, to me is the real importance of honoring and saving antiquities. That state of consciousness is a key to tapping vast creative potential within us all.

The danger toward Art today is not its loss through plunder; in fact a great danger exists in this era of endless distraction. Saul Bellow pointed to it when he said: 

“…I wonder whether there will ever be enough tranquility under modern circumstances to allow our contemporary Wordsworth to recollect anything. I feel that art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos. A stillness that characterizes prayer, too, and the eye of the storm. I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.”

Art is our mother ship in whatever medium it occurs. It is the ark that keeps placing us on the high hills and offering a vista about our true nature in this universe we're still far from grasping. Would you give your life unto its keeping? I believe I would.






Sunday, April 20, 2014

A Book that Got Me Thinking

by Christina Carson

American Gods – now that’s a riveting read for you. It was the title that caught my attention. You wouldn’t normally find me in the stacks of Sci Fi or fantasy. Though, when I realized the title wasn’t intended metaphorically, it was already too late. I was hooked.  The book won awards for science fiction, fantasy and horror, but from my perspective it could also be championed as a sociological exposé, for it gave me insight into something I have always wondered about. Why didn’t America have mythic gods and their fables like every other culture on this planet – gods that brought rain, ones that gifted power, ones that were funny and tricky? I know, I know the Ten Commandments start off with: Thou shall have no other gods before me, but obviously we haven’t listen to that. Instead we went plastic and paper. Credit cards and money became our gods. I mean seriously, is there anything in our culture that we can’t link money to as a solution or salvation? Anything?

Maybe America was programmed from the get-go toward technology rather than the personal touch, wampum instead our word, and fantasy icons rather than Odin’s or Thor’s. Who knows? Written by Neil Gaiman, a Brit, American Gods offers some subtle, discerning reflections about the nature of a culture without its own mythology. And for me it clarified the adolescent quality this culture has retained. It is like we are children without authority figures; self-centered and irreverent, full of can do, affronted by the thought of life like ours elsewhere in the universe.

I have always enjoyed hearing the observations of those from other cultures, for like fish who can’t know water; it is not possible to
know much about ourselves through the culture that shaped us. Gaiman brings no judgment to his observations, just the sense that though these various worldly gods weren’t exactly there as role models of piety, they could offer magic and momentary reprieve. Maybe that’s why we had such a need for a Hollywood and Disneyworld. They provided respites from anxiety and fear, but not powers of deliverance.

In the East, Buddhism made room for the gods that had already ministered to that part of the world for centuries, for Buddha realized how little mankind had available to alleviate the endless pain and suffering of human existence. He was not about to take a seeming source of solace away from people, but rather offered a Dharma that would make little gods ultimately no longer necessary.

I wonder where that leaves us. No one to bring rain; no one to make peace, and less green in our pocket with each passing year, but plenty of toys to keep us distracted along with Mickey Mouse, and George Clooney or Madonna to fill our dreams.


Christina Carson, Writer