I’m on study leave, laying low, traveling soon,1 so when my fellow curator and friend Rob invited me to spend a free night with him Manhattan, in a Sheraton no less, I cleared my open schedule and jumped on Amtrak.
Rob is the same fellow who headed up the whirlwind tour of The British Museum that I mentioned in my dispatch about chariots as cars.
He had to correct me about one thing, though: Our docent had three hours to show us a blip of the innumerable riches of the collections, not one hour as I asserted.
Sometimes you gotta stretch the truth to sell dispatches, am I right? (Forgive me).
While you’re in a forgiving mood, can I make two more confessions?
Behind The Curtain
First, a sin of ignorance, as the Old Testament puts it. At the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) I crossed a sacred line.
Becoming untethered from Rob and his son, I found myself ponderously shuffling from room to blessed room, gobsmacked by the paintings, vintage films, and outrageous sculptures.
It was all too much: Van Gogh’s Starry Night is hanging over there, Matisse’s massive The Dance is over in that room, and somewhere behind you hangs Andrew Wyeth’s Christina’s World, just as solid and humble as your mom’s kitchen clock.
I was In a visual swoon and lured in by a retrospective of the Japanese video artist, Shigeko Kubota.
Her sculptures, hanging or at floor level, combine TV screens and ersatz wood-working projects into 3-D sculptures.
The installations are meant to evoke our own interpretations of nature, coming, as they do, through electronic screens and the perceptions of our own eyes. At least, I think that’s the point.
I wandered behind one of the works and was amused by some not-so-artful electrical switches, wires, and monitor backs that kept the screens glowing.
Then a guard gently admonished me, “Sir, please come out from behind the lines.”
I looked down and realized my transgression. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see those!” I really hadn’t.
Maybe this is not so much a confession but a warning to all of you to watch where you’re going unless you want to see something really cool.
Haven’t we all fallen prey to such curiosity as killed the cat? Please say Yes.
Wired For Sound
In your current mood of grace and sympathy, dear reader, hear my truer confession:
On Sept. 5th, 2017, I knowingly trespassed at a U2 concert in Buffalo, New York.
Before the show, while the sun was up and I was feeling curious about the “largest flat screen in the world,” I took a stroll around the Bills stadium.
I entered into a zone which looked deserted, maybe off-limits, but not gated. And that’s when I saw what no concert goer should see:
The Great Oz behind the curtain, the secret in the hot sauce, the back side of the tapestry: A massive wall of connected video screens.
As I was leaving that area to go back to my seat, I was approached by a security guard who had the defeated look of a defensive back who almost got that interception.
He gave me a scrutinizing look and simply closed the wide-open gate to prevent any other curious felines from seeing the secret behind the spectacle.
That night U2 played every song from their Joshua Tree record, celebrating 30 years of its impact. High-def films plastered their backdrop, seamlessly: Driving shots on two lane roads in American deserts, staring hitchhikers emerging from the scruff, and vanishing points ending in turbulent skies.
Nothing I saw behind the sets could diminish the euphoric beauty of their stage craft. I felt like I was ushered into the seventh heaven on a warm autumn evening.2
Fasten Your Seat Belts, Mouseketeers!
I’m reminded of a video that throws light, literally, on the otherwise darkened chamber that is Space Mountain at Disney World.
The ride is a blast, not just because it’s meant to take place in space; It’s a roller coaster in the dark. All a rider can see are glimpses of planetary lights and gleams of carriages.
There’s no way to prepare for sudden drops or banking curves. It’s all screams, screeches, and seat-scooching.
Watching the video has not “explained away” my sense of awe, nor would it turn me off from entering into Space Mountain again with the baited breath of a mouse in a cheese house.
One thing’s certain. Like anyone else, I’m wired for wonder and enchantment. I can suspend my need for certainties if I want to. And I often do because I’m a creature with an imagination.
The Holy Of Holies
When I was a student at Bloomsburg University, Dr. William Bailey taught a secular course called The Bible and Literature. We were asked to write a small paper on any biblical topic or section we were curious about.
I chose a small line that still intrigues me:
And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.3
The reader is invited to imagine what it must’ve been like for a curtain, THE curtain in the Jewish temple, to be torn asunder on the day Jesus of Nazareth was crucified.
It must’ve been a huge spectacle. To this day, it is laced with an even larger theological importance.
When we step behind God’s veil, we’re not made privy to all his works, as if the warp and woof of his providence were suddenly laid bare, but we are given something much greater: Welcome, forgiveness, and the mysterious, enchanting, dumbfounding love of The Holy One.
Our next big trek begins February 24th, taking us down the coast from MD to Raleigh through the heartland of Alabama and into the bayous of Louisiana and over to Laity Lodge near San Antonio, TX. Then we venture home up through Memphis and Nashville. Here’s my itinerary and Instagram feed for keeping track of us.
This all took place after a half hour of scrolling poetry on the screens and a marvelous opening concert by Beck and his band. Twice in my life I’ve wanted to go out like Elijah on a flaming chariot, both times at a U2 show. It must be that I have “more work to do on earth” because we made it back to Lancaster. 😇
The Gospel According to Mark, chapter 15, verse 38, English Standard Version.