Winter Moon of the Winter Solstice
Holiday outing with Anne, Kate’s sister. We went to the MIA, tickets for the 4:00 pm terra cotta warriors. This is the last hour of the day, the museum closing at 5:00 pm. There were crowds downstairs in the lobby, crowds on the 2nd floor wandering through the China and Africa galleries and crowds, many people, in the exhibit itself.
(who do you suppose the gladiator finds to fight? One of the officers in Germanicus?)
This has been a big one, passing Rembrandt apparently already, though that’s hard for me to believe. We meandered through, looked at the wonderful gold hilted dagger and the Bo bell, the beginnings of the Qin state back in that faraway time. Homer’s time. A time of marauding nomads in China. 770 B.C.
As we finished the announcement came that the museum closes in 5 minutes. Doors were shut denying access to certain galleries. All of us herded down the main corridor, the one with Doryphoros and out, the corridors becoming empty, going into the magical space that art takes on when the viewers leave. What is art when no sees it? Do the terra cotta warriors fan, sit on the benches before another tiring day of educating the masses? Does Frank blink his eyes, no doubt dry from a day holding them open. Perhaps Picasso’s baboon takes over the place, swinging from the Calder and the Chihully and maybe opening the door of the Tatris.
We’ll never know because all the art finds its way back to its stations before the next human returns. I could sense them getting ready, perhaps willing us all out so they could get on with their night. The Buddha wandering over to discuss divinity with Vishnu and Shiva and Parvati. The old sages getting up from their poses beside waterfalls and on the balconies of secluded houses, perhaps dropping into the scholar’s room for a chat, some tea.
But then again, maybe everything stays the same, static and waiting. Would be a shame if it did.
