Art Blog - Art & Aesthetics

I went to the Louvre some time ago, that fancy art museum in Paris. The details are sketchy now but I remember my wife Elizabeth and I walked along Les Tuileries past a giant Ferris wheel and a gold statue of Joan of Arc. Not to be all touristy, we went past the big glass pyramid at the Louvre and in the side street entrance.

I was on a mission to see just one painting: Jacque Louis David's "Oath of the Horatii." I'd seen it in a picture book and even did a sketch, but aside from that painting I didn't care about anything else except avoiding crowds. I didn't need to see Venus or Victory or Liberty - and certainly not the Mona Lisa. No maps, no guides, no headphones. And no Mona. That would be typical. I'd hate to be typical. I don't run with the pack. I'm a contrarian.

Elizabeth had her own agenda that started with the gift shop so I took off to find David's Oath. Sure, I saw some famous artworks on the way: Gericault's "Raft of the Medusa" that desperate shipwreck of a painting, and Ingres' "Odalisque" - she with the serpentine spine. I saw pictures of revolutionaries and aristocrats aplenty as I searched the galleries until, bam! There it was, the "Oath of the Horatii" -- that big old Neo-classic masterpiece: a picture painted in 1784 after a story told in 0 AD about an event in 660 BC. It was big and manly, potent and heroic, a fraternity of brothers ready to fight the enemy. That was a favorite theme in Revolutionary France, and with their penchant for antiquated morals, this Roman scenario fit the bill. The painting shows Horatius handing out swords to his three sons who were all jacked up on a "let's go get 'em" trip against a clan from Alba while their women whined about the coming rumble. Me, I'm just thinking, like, "Careful, boys - or somebody's gonna lose a finger." So, yeah it's a pretty awesome painting. Mission accomplished.

I was backpedaling away from that heavy scene when I stumbled blindly into another gallery where I was caught off guard -- taken by surprise. I suddenly sensed a force field, a magnetic presence in the room. I turned and there she was, holding court over her subjects: presiding from her elevated position over a flock of adoring fans, onlookers all agog, buzzing like bees, snapping pictures and clicking devices as if she was giving a press conference. Calm and confident, she knew how to make a statement, how to win a popularity contest. All eyes were on her. Mona Lisa.

In spite of myself I was drawn by her countenance to the outer fringe and flux of her followers. She was radiant, well-modeled in form with hot and hazy contours - sfumato I guess they call it. Smoke got in my eyes. Then our eyes locked and she followed me as I inched through the crowd. She smiled at me. I wasn't sure at first, but yeah -- it was definitely aimed at me. Her beauty was way more than skin deep. It reached down to the very soul -- mine. My heart raced. She tried acting all coy and demure and stuff, but we were having a moment. I nodded and she winked. She was beguiling and I was smitten. I drew closer and closer and finally confronted her and right then and there, with her back against the wall, we consummated our impulsive affair. We sublimated. That's right - we had an aesthetic interlude, Mona and me, in front of a crowd of onlookers and security guards. What was I thinking? We parted just as suddenly as we had met.

I caught up with Elizabeth. She'd been browsing, people watching, checking out her own cast of bronze and marble stud muffins. The next thing I know, we're in a café dining on chateaubriand. I was feeling guilty and pondered the wisdom of telling her about my secret rendezvous with a woman not nearly as beautiful as she is. But how to tell her? "Hey honey, guess who I bumped into" or "You'll never guess what happened in the Louvre." What a putz I'd been - a typical tourist seduced by paint on a poplar panel! Now I'll have to admit it to my wife, 'fess up to the whole psychic affair. It'll be a hoot. But then, it's not like Mona was going to be blabbing anything to her husband Francesco. What to do.

"Garcon" I said, "Bring us a bottle of La Gioconda -- I mean Gigondas!" .

COMMENTS

 

1

  Gary Peterson ( homepage )

08/22/2008 * 09:04:48

Thanks, Zander -
That you understand the power of figurative art is evident in your own strong work. I've also admired Katz' work "Ada" in pictures, but I would like to meet that painting in person some day as well. -GP

 

2

  Zander Lassen ( homepage )

08/21/2008 * 09:59:15

Hi Gary- Thank you for sharing this story and a piece of your soul! It is amazing that a piece of art can touch one like that, and I suppose that I need to get used to and come to expect it (as an artist). I had a similar experience when I encountered an Alex Katz portrait of "Ada" at the Met. Her mouth looked like she was about to cry but her eyes and skin said everything would be alright. She reminded me how powerful art can be, a similar power to your experience of the Mona Lisa. Let's expect this power from art! Thanks- Zander

 

3

  Gary Peterson ( homepage )

08/17/2008 * 10:01:22

Michael,
Mob mentality being what it is, the real spectacle was the crowd itself and the electrified ambience of the entire room. I confess that I didn't really get all that close to the not-so-large icon floating just over the heads of that gawkfest - didn't have to. I could see Mona clearly (she really is quite lovely). I was mainly just amused to be part of the "happening," especially since it really was a blind coincidence - and you know what they say about love...

 

4

  Michael Mize ( homepage )

08/15/2008 * 22:25:03

Gary...Gary...Gary.....tsk, tsk. How could you man?! You walked into that place with such confidence, looking for a painting with some real substance by an extraordinary artist. What happened? She caught you off guard and before you knew it you were knee deep in cliche.

You know, I've never understood ol' Mona. I've never been able to figure out what the big flippin' deal was with that tragically dull portrait. I've always told myself the people who are in love with that painting don't really know anything about art, and they only love it because every else who doesn't know anything about art tell them they should think it's great. Multiply that by five hundred years and that equals media frenzy and rock star status. I've found comfort in this admittably self-righteous and condescending attitude towards Mona and her admirers.

But then I read this blog. And someone whom I respect, someone who does know a lot about art, gets himself sucked right in like a Japanese tourist. (Be honest, did you take a picture with your cell phone?) It's got me feeling all uneasy. Is there more to this painting than meets the eye? Do I have to come down off my holier-than-thou soap box? Yeah, the sfumato is interesting and stuff, and so what, she's got a quirky smile. I still don't get why she gets to be the poster child for our entire artistic heritage!! Say it ain't so, Gary! You've got me feeling all confused.

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