Ever since Ella and I began traveling overseas in 2015 I’ve wondered why I’ve had this desire to see Renaissance art. It doesn’t matter whether it’s early, late, or in the middle of, at museums I dawdle. In Rome I was rushing from Caravaggio to Caravaggio. In Venice we had to catch the train to Padua so I could see the Giotto’s in the Scravegni Chapel. Here in Belgium I couldn’t miss the van Eyck altar polyptych. As I am continuing to discover, these trips are also about travels into my past.
When I was a kid growing up in Chicago I was fascinated by a multi-volume set of small, hard-bound books covering the history of Renaissance art. I remember the red cloth binding of the pocket-size books and the colorful glossy reproductions of famous paintings. I was intrigued by the flatness of perspective and the expressionless faces. The scenes were mostly Biblical which meant there were stories that could be understood, stories easier to fathom than some Baroque battle action, or Rococo picnic.
What I came to realize later was how the symbolism of the Renaissance paintings, although limitedly Christian, gave them depth. Although wooden, the still and stately figures had captured the essence of a story. They had come to an abrupt stop and were frozen in time. The paintings and the stories have stayed with me ever since.
At the same period in my life my parents would take me to the Natural History Museum in Chicago and I would gaze up and marvel at the woolly mammoth. Talk about being frozen in time! There were a lot of other stuffed creatures in that museum, but the one that keeps coming back in my mind is the woolly mammoth. He didn’t need to be in action for me to conjure up a story.
I’ve found when it comes to recalling moments in history, the stunning still shot is easier to remember than the time sequence of the experience. Like the assassination of JFK. Out of all the constant television coverage and commentary and encounters in mid-school and at home, it only takes two photos to symbolize the saga and bring back all the emotions. The first is of Oswald taking the gut shot; the second is of Jackie standing in the doorway of Airforce One with bloodstains on her dress.
Like a Renaissance painting capturing a moment, looking back at a single photo out of our travels will bring back an entire experience. Like the desert camp in Morocco, or one of the shinto shrines in Japan. And what makes it all really interesting is that I won’t know which shot will do it for me until months, or maybe a year, after we’ve come home.
I visited Chicago as a kid. I wanted to go to the Science & Industry Museum. In my family there was no thought of The Art Institute. In Zamora they had a functioning water-driven mill, just up my alley, unfortunately closed for repairs. The Cathedral was also closed for repairs but, no matter, I’ve seen lots of churches. So did these childhood experiences express our desires or create them? Hard to say.
Funny I can’t remember the Jackie photo, my salient images are the Zapruder film and John-John saluting the casket. I also remember the Jack Ruby photo but that event is only tangentially related the the assassination.
The drama of capturing Oswald as he’s shot with clear agony on his face and the shocked reaction of the guy in the cowboy hat wasn’t as detached for me as the Zapruder footage which was always accompanied by a frame-by-frame analysis. Weirdly enough I remember how disturbed people were at having seen Ruby shooting Oswald live on TV like the violence of the assassination (Zapruder’s film not having been developed yet) went from confused reports to zooming in on a closeup.
So relatable. Although I did not witness these same events. I too am in awe of events that seem emotionally and randomly placed in my psyche. The unconscious works in mysterious ways. The why of what I do and not do is baffling to me sometimes. I feel like Joseph Campbell would have something more profound to say about this phenomenon.