Great Works II

On Sunday, I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art, otherwise known as the MET. There were numerous collections of art, and I decided to explore two European paintings galleries. They exhibited artworks from different time periods: one from the years 1250 to 1800 and another from 19th century to early 20th century.

Many works from the 16th century reminded me of the scripture we read in class, Genesis 1. The majority of them was dedicated to portraying the notions of Christianity, as well as the religious figures including Jesus Christ and Virgin Mary. Even the subjects of traditional portraits were mostly monks and the followers of Jesus.

On the other hand, paintings during the 18th century possessed dark, gloomy backgrounds, which often brought out the ideas of sublime. Of course, we all know that sublime was a significant element of the Romantic Era. Many of them depicted war, nature, natural disasters, etc. One drawing that awed me the most was The Forest in Winter at Sunset, painted by Theodore Rousseau. Its size captivated me at first, as it is a vast piece of artwork; its dimensions are 64 x 102 3/8 in. The painting not only impressed me with the feelings of horror and dreadfulness, but it also made me wonder: ‘why did the artist produce such artwork?’ Unfortunately, he passed away before he could finish it.

Interestingly, the overall floor plan of the MET resembles that of a maze. Because of narrow aisles that connect different galleries, you won’t be able to guess what you will encounter unless you actually enter the room. This was one of the aspects that I liked about the museum. Every time I traveled from one room to another, I was filled with an excitement to view more artworks.

Before Sunday’s visit to the MET, I never understood people who visited art galleries during their pastime. However, this experience was truly inspiring. I will definitely explore many more museums in New York City, perhaps to make my ordinary life ‘sublime’.

The Forest in Winter at Sunset, painted by Théodore Rousseau

The tranquility found in the “Rooftop Garden Commission” by Dan Graham with Günther Vogt lies in the laughter and quite conversation among the young and the old, of the muffled strides of strangers walking on top the fake grass, and of the winding mirror that reflect almost to all the people and the garden around me. The tall, winding, two-way mirrors between parallel hedges of equal height are like a centerpiece engaging the attention of visitors to enter on either side of the piece. On entering a side of the sculpture, I can see my own reflection, the reflection of another, the reflection of the hedges behind,and the reflection of Midtown Manhattan’s skyscrapers. I’ve become absorbed in the act of seeing.

I’ve read about the commission to be inspired by a maze, but never would I have expected a maze to be as transparent as this, nor as simple as this. I am not lost in trying to find my way out. Despite the curvature of the steel rimmed mirrors, my walk into the sculpture is my walk out. As I walk in, I walk alongside the curve because it is similar to how a movie reel depicts images on the big screen. I can enjoy watching several reflecting images alone, moving behind me as I step forward. With each step, however, I leave people and material objects behind me until I became the focal point with the occupied garden as my backdrop. At the end of the sculpture, I came to face myself, to see myself, to meet myself alone. My eyes were on me. I decide to turn back, essentially to acquit myself from the sculpture. I was then welcomed by the same vastness I chose to give up. I wondered afterward if my leaving these people and those objects behind meant anything if I’m left alone.

Graham’s sculpture is an interesting piece. I met with solitude and companionship much quicker than I would have wanted. However, by forcing the action of looking onto the visitor, Graham shows that these feelings are always around us. We can leave behind anything and gain anyone, but as long as we keep looking, we’ll feel something.