Head of Religion, Antonio Canova (1757-1822), plaster, c. 1787/1788
 

I was recently in Washington, DC, where I had lived for much of my adult life. After an absence of about a year, I was taken by how familiar, yet foreign, the city felt. I suppose there’s some truth to the old platitude that we can never go home again…yet I keep trying.

After an initial period of disorientation (numbered streets go which way?), I regained my bearings and wandered down to the National Mall to the National Gallery of Art (NGA). To think I’d lived in the city and had only visited this marvelous museum only a handful of times is a bit shocking. But this time I was untethered to a job, a house or kids, and had time on my hands to ramble at leisure, and soon became engrossed by sculpture, both classical and modern. 

The absence of time constraints can sometimes focus the mind, allowing full appreciation of the previously overlooked. Rodin, for instance, is one of history’s most well-known artists, yet somehow, I’d never truly appreciated his skill and craftsmanship. Seeing “The Thinker” up close made me, well, think.

The Thinker, Auguste Rodin (1840-1917), bronze, 1901
 

According to Wikipedia, François Auguste René Rodin is considered by many the founder of modern sculpture. Born in France in 1840, he submitted his first sculpture for exhibition, The Man with the Broken Nose, to the Paris Salon at the age of 24. It was rejected. The piece nonetheless embodied the style and “feel” that would characterize his work: an emphasis on texture, the subject’s emotional state, and a sense of “unfinishedness.”

Rodin’s “Thinker” is an idealized image of man; serious, rational, principled. But would his work of art find a place in today’s world? A world of conspiracy theories, government dysfunction, and barbaric acts of terrorism. In Rodin’s day, men were considered the epitome of evolution-women regarded as subservient; physically, mentally, emotionally. Were a woman depicted as a “thinker,” the piece would have been rejected many times over and Rodin himself scorned as a serious artist.

As I write those lines, I’m led to ponder the artist’s role in society. Does art merely reflect our culture back at us? If that was solely the case, would women’s roles in society be the same now as back in the 19th century? Or does art break that reflection, show the world as it could be, illuminate the possible? I happen to believe the latter-that art (in its myriad forms) recycles, builds, deconstructs, and ultimately finds new expressions, new insights, new understanding. Music, prose and poetry, dance, sculpture, and painting allow us to find joy in life, understand it in a new light, and even offer shelter from pain. 

Venus, Antonio Canova (1757-1822), marble, c. 1822/1823
 

The Age of Bronze, Auguste Rodin (1840-1917), plaster, 1898
 

As I strolled through the NGA surrounded by these great works of art, I felt small, insignificant, and grateful for the brief respite from the insanity of the outside world. And grateful that this art exists, and has survived, is testament to the people, artists and non-artists alike, willing to create and preserve these masterpieces of humanity for future generations to admire.

Diana and a Hound, Paul Manship (1885-1966), bronze, 1925
 

My mother died in 2017 at age 83. She was an artist, and a thinker. Were she still with me today she’d point out the flaws in my writing and photography, we’d argue about the role of art, and I’d find our discussion fairly frustrating (mainly because she was usually right). But she wasn’t pointing out flaws or inconsistencies to diminish or embarrass me. She was trying to learn, to broaden her horizons, to know her son better. She lived by her personal maxim: “aun aprendo.” Still learning.

As I wandered through the National Gallery, surrounded by works of art I, for the first time, began to understand. Again.

More later.

Study in the Nude of a Little Dancer Aged Fourteen, Edgar Degas (1834-1917), bronze, 1926

Figure of a Woman "The Sphinx," Auguste Rodin (1840-1917), marble, 1909

Diana of the Tower, Gustus Saint Gaudens (1848-1907), bronze, 1899

Head of a Bull, Gaetano Monti (1750-1827), marble, 1824