As a young boy, growing up in a lower middle class family, going to museums was an opportunity to escape the confines of the urban landscape and be transported to far off places not only in the world but in time. I could visit the museum of Natural History and be surrounded by pterodactyls, tyrannosaurus rex, brontosaurus and even mosquitoes the size of my head, or I could be 20,000 feet under the sea smack in the middle of fight between a squid and a whale. If I visited the Met I could walk through the Dutch hall and imagine myself fetching various flora and leaves for Vermeer to mix his own paints while watching him create one of his masterpieces. Or better yet I could pique my creative curiosity by visiting the Guggenheim and wondering if people really did have both of their eyes on one side of their face in the 1920's as Picasso portrayed them. Looking back the shear ability to allow the mind to wander in those types of directions is an immeasurable gift.
Lately, to me art itself has taken on a more concrete identity, as not just the great equalizer--- equalizing people's backgrounds and opportunities---but more, the great revitalizer. I happen to be sitting writing this entry in a place that is near and dear to my heart, the Catskill and Hudson River Valley region of upstate New York. It is a place in which I find great beauty and charm, however a less informed person might look around and see a locally depressed economy, a high degree of poverty and lack of modern amenities (Starbucks anyone?). They might make the snap judgement that nothing important or meaningful could be happening here and that the area is in need of white-wash gentrification. However if you were to visit some of the wonderful art galleries, coffee shops and festivals occurring you will see there is more to the story than meets the eye. There are people that care deeply and passionately about their communities and although some of those surface observations might be right, art is the turning tide that is keeping these magnificent towns relevant. So in a very literal sense art is breathing new life into these communities by helping spur commerce and economic development. The Walkway Over the Hudson exemplifies this type of progress. What started as an artistic vision of a local resident in the early 1990s to fix a "fire scorched, abandoned eyesore over the Hudson" transformed into a magnificent jewel of the region celebrating it's one-millionth visitor in less than two years after being opened to the public. Creativity and artistic expression is the life-blood of many of these towns.
In a more abstract sense, adulthood has changed the way I look at art and the reasons for my trips to museums. With each trip I am able to revisit perspectives and angles I no longer have time to ponder. I am able to see things that tend to get lost with life experiences. As a child you are a clean slate, unwilling, but more likely unable, to judge things for what they are on the surface. As a child you ask questions, dig deep and see things with open eyes and an open mind. As an adult the business of life forces you to simplify and overlook things you have heard and seen before and take what you want and leave what you don't like. You are forced to categorize, simplify and pass judgement.
Dayna and I recently came back from a trip to Israel. One of the stops on our journey was to a town called Tsederot. This is not a big city and hence has had little name recognition, even amongst Israelis until a few years ago. That was until the intifada. It's proximity to the Gaza Strip (only a few miles away) made it a ripe target for 50-200 bombs per day. Homes, schools and synagogues were destroyed daily and residents would have only 60 seconds forewarning to find cover. Initially, any sane person would feel pity for these people and pray for their safety regardless of political views given that these are innocent civilians just trying to live their lives. Secondly, you might ask, as many often do, what would drive these people to live in constant fear for their life instead of just moving to a more secure location. However, upon visiting this town we found that the people of Tsederot didn't want our pity and found our question of moving a perplexing one. As many unequivocally stated, Tsederot is their home, and although they were scared for their own lives and those of their children, this fear all too quickly gave way to hope for their home and hope for their future. Hope that one day all the pain and suffering they have endured will be gone and they will be able to live in peace with their neighbors.
You see this hope visually manifested are all over the town. Streets are lines with bomb shelters, that are covered in technicolor street art. Playgrounds are surrounded by whimsical snakes with cavernous bellies and empty purple castles so that the childhood naivete I spoke about before remains unbroken. Even some of the shrapnel from the bombs have been used to create sculptures of playful musicians. The people of Tsderot are irreverent, many might say. They will not surrender to fear or run from their homes. They want a new age and what better way to express that than by creativity and art. Life continues, no matter the hardship, and the people of Tsderot understand that better than most. Hence the artistic pulse of the town beats louder and stronger than anywhere else.
Seeing and observing art transports me back to my childhood naivete and gives my mind and senses the shock they need to stop and attempt to see the world through a lens I threw away many years ago--- which is really, no lens at all. As an adult you forget how much baggage you travel with and all the limiting choices you have made to help you understand and simplify the complexities of life. In those moments in front of an architectural wonder over water or anthropomorphistic bomb shelter, you get the opportunity once again to see something in the world through someone else' eyes or with a different filter. It is then that you are able to share in another's vision and maybe, just maybe help change the world for the better.
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