We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Fra Angelico (1387-1455), the early Renaissance painter, was a Dominican brother in the San Dominico monastery in the hamlet of San Domenico, on the #7 bus route between Firenze and Fiesole, where a Bird Dog daughter is dwelling at present. This is an alterpiece of his, still there performing its holy function, and not hanging under bright lights in an art cemetery.
Dominicans - Domine canis - The Dogs of God, charged with rounding up the lost sheep.
By coincidence (thanks Alert Reader - man, do we have good readers), Fra Angelico has a big show at the Met in NY right now.
Lots of thoughts about this as many of my relatives direct or directed art cemeteries. Will be brief:
The best way to appreciate art, of course, is when it is serving a holy purpose, as you note. Or in one's home, both taken for granted and occasionally deeply appreciated, as much for one's personal connection with the artist or laborious hunt obtaining the work as for its artistic merit. My house is stuffed with art inherited, created and only occasionally bought by my family. Prints are for college dorm rooms only. There's that beautiful picture of Venice Auntie X painted off on her frivolous toot with the gondolier...
But art cemeteries are essential. Both to preserve and display artistic treasures in a time of cultural barbarism, and to educate the masses. Would you rather have a Pieta adorning the wall of an insider trader, displaying his wealth and craftiness in obtaining it from a dubious source, or on a museum wall where a professional tree climber stares speechless at it "It's so beautiful it makes me dizzy" ? Or the child from the projects on a school trip dazzled by an Impressionist painting seen for the first time.
People like us take our domestic art for granted. Museums are a way of sharing the wealth.
Oh, the only reason why it might be okay for the insider trader to take home the Pieta is if it is part of God's plan to stir him to repentance and making restitution for his wrongs.
Yes, I agree entirely.
But would rather see things in the spot for which they were made, given the choice.
After an hour in a museum, I develop "museum brain", a minor and temporary but debilitating affliction of the mind, soul, and spirit.
you guys are too smart. commentary like this makes the farm seem anything but dylanesque.
"Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble,
Ancient footprints are everywhere.
You can almost think that you're seein' double
On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs.
Got to hurry on back to my hotel room,
Where I've got me a date with Botticelli's niece.
She promised that she'd be right there with me
When I paint my masterpiece."