Been there, done that

Duiring the past two years, I have been fortunate to visit a number of important galleries and museums. There I have made a personal connection with art-works that have been part of my life since undergrad art history, and likely before, thanks to a mother who encouraged our reading and learning, 

I have been short-of-breath and weak-kneed before well-known and well-loved works at the Uffizi, the National Gallery and Courtauld in London, the Vatican Museum and a good number of Florentine palazzi. So fortunate. Not bad for a little girl from 'the County', yes?

I have not been alone at these times, however. I have struggled with the selfie crowds. Now, far be it from me to impugn others' motives for visiting, but the oppressive throngs of people putting themselves or others into the frame with famed works of art was ... a challenge. 

I tried to laugh, to shut it all out, to find my own moment with a work. One especially funny experience was watching a group of  totally unselfconscious girls primping and posing for phone photos in the mirrors of the mind-boggling Florentine Baroque Mirror Gallery at the Medici Palace. "I'm ready for my close-up Mr. DeMille."

I remember another laughably frustrating episode at the National Gallery last spring. How hard could it be to get close to VanGogh's Sunflowers? Try impossible. Queues for a photo with the bouquet. Why? Maybe because we have all seen this image forever and everywhere. And a photo beside the sunflowers matters. "As seen on TV" has power.

Back at the Uffizi, I had to nudge myself to remember to find it all amusing, and find my own way to connect with Botticelli's Primavera. I found the simple act of standing at far right or left of works (not the ideal photo vantage point, which kept the crowds at bay) gave me a surprisingly intimate connection. "You'll let me stand this close?"  But then, I took the photo. The photo is proof that I was there. A physical memory. Is that why we do this?

I am pondering in public here, always risky. I'm looking for wiser heads than mine to explain it. Maybe I'll dip into John Berger. Not sure this 'Why we see art in museums' LINK helps, but it's there for you to decide.

Awe happens anyway. You know, when I found my solo corner beside the Botticelli, in a spot no-one else wanted, awe happened. And that's good enough for me.