Time Traveling, Art Historian Book Chapters - Essay Example

?Running Head: FICTIONAL ART ASSESSMENT Art in its time Art in its time Prologue In developing this marvel, this piece of technological wonder that can transport me through time, I have contemplated the meaning of time as it shift from one period to the next. Time is like all other aspects of the universe, finite, miniscule particles that make up a greater whole, creating a connectivity from moment to moment, dissected down to its smallest piece until it is unrecognizable until put back into some semblance of a whole. As I step into the machine, I think of the periods of time and the great works that will be there when I arrive. I took the greatest care in detail, the clothing prepared, my language skills perfectly honed to a time and place, as well as history can inform me, although I am sure things will not be fully as I expect them to be once I arrive. I sit into the contraption, its cold steel lying under its camouflage, an exterior that seems to be a wooden platform with a structure around it, resembling something of a small shack to be set down in out of the way alleys, calculated to exist, or within outlying avenues that support the nature of such a building. The shack would fool anyone who looked at it, its nature defined by its purpose. I step into the machine, the slight hum filling my ears and buzzing my senses as it begins to move through time. I have set the dials under the panel so that I will appear where I desire, and then stand in the center, closing my eyes because the feeling of moving through time disturbs my sight, a detail that most others do not feel when they are given the privilege of using the machine. I cannot wait to see this place, the time and moment that I have decided to enter Rome, her majesty impressive in the present, which will most likely impress me more in its past. My eyes shut, I let the hum move over me until it stills, and I assume that I have entered the right space and time, the slight strange clunk as I appear affirming the very human need for noise, something to announce to the rider that he or she has arrived. The sound, very much like the clicks on a computer as one touches the button, the noise created just to appease the user. Chapter One The Sistine Chapel I cautiously open the door, seeing that I have arrived in the alley as I expected, stepping out of the machine, I see that it looks very naturally, like a makeshift shack that was erected to temporarily house someone of no means from bits and scraps. I can see that it is not, but most people who would not know that it was there, would not think anything, or at least much, about its presence. As I take a breath, it feels like for a moment it is knocked from me as quickly as I breath in, the scent of the city foreign, both lacking something and feeling something added, my hand automatically coming up to cover my mouth as I try to adjust to the odor. The lack of automobiles assaults my senses as I draw in a breath, feeling it catch from its foreign taste as it hits the back of my throat. It takes a few minutes for me to be able to breath more easily, which then leads me to feel the discomfort of my clothing, heavy and cumbersome now that I am out of the air conditioned lab and in the air of the year 1511. As I step into the streets of Rome, I realize that more than just time changes from period to period. The air, the feel of the sun as it beats down to a still protected earth, the ozone layer still intact and providing filtration, all make a difference in the taste of life during that time period. Italy has that natural glow of amber, as if the olives have broken open and become airborne, and this is heavier and more beautiful than I have ever experienced in modern day Rome. I ache to see the countryside and experience its beauty, pure and whole before technology stripped it of its beauty, but I have a task that I must accomplish. I must see the Sistine Chapel before it was the Sistine Chapel and still the reconstructed Capella Magna, letting my eyes rest upon the newly painted ceiling, as Michelangelo strokes his brush, creating his masterpiece. I know it is a common piece, something that has iconic value and has been used until it is commercially beyond that of the wonder of its original majesty, the fingers of Adam and God emblazoned on coffee mugs and mouse pads. The original work, though, as the stroke of the brush of Michelangelo strokes the surface would not have that consumerist taint that the image sometimes holds. The painting, a visual feast for the eyes, reminds me of time, the many pieces disected down to details as I look at the work, its message clear and comforting even in the 21st century. To see it in person will be a piece of divinity, the nature of the work on the ceiling some of the finest work ever to come from the artistic heart of Michelangelo. As I walk the paths, carefully mapped out from old texts about the city, towards the chapel, I suddenly hear two people, their speech clear above the din of noise within the city and I turn a bit pale. I realize that the intonation of the language, the sound of the words are foreign to me, the de-evolution of language from present time Italian back to 16th century Italian subtly, but at the same time, shockingly different than the language that I studied. My ear, with the language of Italy not natural to begin with, is having difficulty understanding as the words form differently than those I had learned to hear in my time. I take in a breath, realizing that my voice will be foreign and I will have a great deal of difficulty understanding daily language as it is commonly spoken in this time. Michelangelo’s ceiling was painted for Pope Julius II who served as his patron. The chapel was restored by Pope Sixtus IV, the chapel taking its new name from his own. As I step into the chapel, my slight journey leaving me winded as I am not used to life without modern conveniences, I look up to the beauty of the open space, much of the work accomplished, but visible through structures of scaffolding, rickety, but seeming to hold as the painting peeks through the various places where it stands. I see the Master on his back, his brush extended up and moving as he paints, my heart breaking as I know his eyes are failing him, the strain and consequences of the work (Perkins, 1878, p. 96). I timed it right, the work on The Creation of Adam, in progress and as I stare up at the work, I am transfixed. I am quiet, the chapel empty at the moment except for the Master so high upon the scaffold. I am dressed as a servant, so as not to capture anyone’s interest. The work reveals the thick, muscled work of Michelangelo, his knowledge of anatomy coming through in his sinew and flesh of each figure. The work reveals his intense sexuality, the movement sensual and expressive as each figure plays his or her part. The work is religious, but he injects his own sense of gender and humanism into the work, his feelings revealed through an allegory of his own aesthetics that exists within the nature of the frescos. The engaged civilization, drenched in the art of discovery and open to the musings of philosophers and scientists as they re-envision the world through discussion and innovation is reflected in the nature of the painting, an actively intellectual and physical world that existed in the 16th century. The Classic period of Ancient Greece and Rome are reflected in the work, the piece seeming almost sculptural and mythological in scope. As one looks up, the passion of time seems to occur before the eyes (Nickerson, 2008, p. 128). Before my time travel, I felt this same moment when I first walked into the chapel, its greatness and universal importance radiating throughout the chapel. Chapter Two Chartres Cathedral I travel back in time, from Rome, to the town of Chartres which is south of Paris. I land my machine in a glade, this time, empty of all but a deer as I look over to the left when I leave the safety of its interior. I have arrived on the proper day, otherwise there would be smoke in the air still, I think. The year is 1194 and it is the first few days of June. Exact days are difficult to pinpoint, but a general space of time is the only possible hope when making a jump through time. I step from the meadow and towards the town, the western towers visible as I break into a bit of a run. I want to see their majesty, the nature of the Cathedral before it burns, and to document it all before it goes up in flames. The site has been the place of many religious affiliations, people traveling toward the area in order to see the various places that emerged over the years. The cathedral is a temple of the Marian cult, the Mother the representation that is most often worshipped within the cathedrals of the late middle ages. I run into the building, my garb not quite right I notice as the research had been off slightly in style. I pause to pay my respects, observing the rituals of entering a house of the Catholic Church, then make my way to the statue that I most dearly wish to see. I find her, the wooden gleam of her exterior more beautiful than I had imagined, her copy a pale reproduction of this piece. The wooden statue of Mary that stood in present day Chartres was a copy that had been made from a copy, its nature slightly altered I can see, as decades and centuries separated the third version from its original, which I am not clear enough to know if this was the first or second version (Ball, 2009, p. 9). The Virgin, Our Lady of the Crypt is beyond beauty, the work an unique piece of connectivity as it had been recopied, not once, but twice due to fire damage. I put my hand to my lips, the importance of seeing such a work beyond my ability to fully experience the moment. As I look at her, I hear shouting and it takes me a few moments to realize that I did not arrive before the fire, but on the day of it, the slight scent of smoke wafting through the air. Somewhere in the city, the fire was blazing that would destroy a part of the Cathedral. I hung my head, then, knowing my trip would be short, the nature of the fire being such that to change a minute detail would render an impact on history. If I made someone move more slowly, engaged someone in a conversation that changed their position or place during the blaze, something important could change. As I saw the height of the Cathedral from my vantage point, I thought of its importance and the way in which it had been constructed, different portions representing different aesthetics throughout its history. The sculpture, the stained glass, and the numerous other works that resided within the place of reverence provided a space in which to study a number of cultures side by side, their history reflecting from one to the other so that history stood before the eyes. To see it in one of its original states, at the time of one of the fires was an awe inspiring moment. The Cathedral, commissioned by the church and a source of pride for the city, was paid for from the proceeds of taxes levied on the people. The Count of Blois took the Cathedral as a point of pride, but it was the mayor of the city who exaggerated the damage of the 1194 fire in order to create changes to modernize the building. The cruciform Cathedral, though, was never altered too far beyond its original design and the amount of work that still exists and is in good condition creates a connection to a great number of time periods through the reuse of stained glass, the differences in aesthetics, and the nature of changing ideologies that are still cohesive in creating each incarnation (Ball, 2009, p. 210). As I approach the machine, the small shack like appearance that would have grown up over night in the glade, I glance back, knowing that great changes were about to take place. Chapter Three The Garden of Earthly Delights My next trip would be the most difficult to manage, and as I sat in the little wooden chair, my language skills improving as time past and I waited to catch my final artist at his work, I sighed softly looking into my jug filled with wine, I grimaced a bit, the flavor better than the brownish hue that the water that was available always revealed. Three weeks stalking Hieronymous Bosch had left me hungering for modern society, but I was determined to finally see what I had come to see. I was in the town of Oirschot, my life focused on seeing one thing, my eyes not taking in all that was the town because of the frustration in not being able to pinpoint the time frame for the work that I was seeking, my predatorily nature having been aroused in my frustrations. I saw him, then, walking by as I sat outside drinking my wine, the taste bitter and unrefined, and cheap as I had not much in coin left to spend on my travels. I emptied the jug, shook it out and put it into my small pack, then fell several steps behind him as he traveled towards his studio. After making a fuss over a merchant’s cart, trying to make it clear that I had other business nearby, I waved to him, smiling as I had two weeks previously made his acquaintance. Hieronymous walked towards me, his nature more cautious than I liked, but I was determined to see the work in progress. We had guessed at the year, and we had guessed correctly. The piece was surmised to have been created somewhere between 1480-1490 or 1503-1504. We had chosen the earlier time period, but I had needed to wait before finding a way to broach the subject. I told him I wanted a commission, a triptich, and in response he told me about this work, his description leaving me without a doubt. I waited for him to be ready to show me his work, when he was ready. He was ready. He told me it had been commissioned by a name that was unknown in history, one I will not repeat here, nor its purpose as it is unknown in modern history, but save for the day when such revelations can be given due to the time machine that modern society had yet to know about. Thus, such revelations were not possible. When he revealed the piece to me I was shocked at the startling beauty of a partially done painting, done in oil on wood that held a variety of details, all adding up to a time and place within the work. The nature of man’s fears, his hopes, his dreams and nightmares connected the past to the present within the work, but I was surprised by his own take on it. Despite the apocalyptic nature of interpretation in modern society, it turned out that Belting (2005) had been more correct in defining the work as utopian. References Ball, P. (2009). Universe of stone: Chartres Cathedral and the invention of the gothic. New York: Harper Perennial. Belting, Hans. (2005). Hieronymous Bosch: Garden of Earthly Delights. Munchen: Prestel. Hagen, R.-M., & Hagen, R. (2003). What great paintings say. Koln: Hagen. Nickerson, Angela K. (2008). A Journey into Michelangelo's Rome. Berkeley, Calif: Roaring Forties Press. Perkins, C. C. (1878). Raphael and Michelangelo: A critical and biographical essay. Boston: J.R. Osgood and Co. Read More