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Jul. 16th, 2003 06:22 pmI went to the Metropolitan Museum today, which is something I rarely do, at the behest of someone else, and wound up wandering through the Asian galleries, which is also something I rarely do. After an attempt to find Chinese art, we spent the day in the Indian art section and I was unexpectedly mesmerized by it.
Of course, it helped that most of it was sculpture (painting doesn't tend to move me, objects do), and that much of it was extremely ornate and of remarkable scale (either quite small or very large).
As a child, I had a fixation with Indian art only in the most peripheral of ways -- mainly the arm and hand gestures in the sculpture (something that has infected my dancing since forever) and the multiplicity of arms. I remember thinking that such creatures were so beautiful and presumed they were mostly women, for their grace, eyes and implied softness of torso, when much later I realized they were mostly not.
Today I was fascinated with the perfection of their faces, which I at times seemed to recognize pieces of, the precisely sculpted lips, and eyes that smiled even in stone. A few pieces seemed like things to sit down in front of and talk to -- some seeming used to it, and few seeming even to wish it. Mostly though I smirked and nodded in the empty gallery, and thought, "I need to come back here alone".
All of it was more graceful and powerful than I would have expected, and made me think of a few people in my life, all of whom would giggle at me for being so into such an atypical of me museum experience.
This was also the first time I've been in the Met since 9/11 and the security process startled me. It was fine, but just one more thing that is no longer as it once was.
Of course, it helped that most of it was sculpture (painting doesn't tend to move me, objects do), and that much of it was extremely ornate and of remarkable scale (either quite small or very large).
As a child, I had a fixation with Indian art only in the most peripheral of ways -- mainly the arm and hand gestures in the sculpture (something that has infected my dancing since forever) and the multiplicity of arms. I remember thinking that such creatures were so beautiful and presumed they were mostly women, for their grace, eyes and implied softness of torso, when much later I realized they were mostly not.
Today I was fascinated with the perfection of their faces, which I at times seemed to recognize pieces of, the precisely sculpted lips, and eyes that smiled even in stone. A few pieces seemed like things to sit down in front of and talk to -- some seeming used to it, and few seeming even to wish it. Mostly though I smirked and nodded in the empty gallery, and thought, "I need to come back here alone".
All of it was more graceful and powerful than I would have expected, and made me think of a few people in my life, all of whom would giggle at me for being so into such an atypical of me museum experience.
This was also the first time I've been in the Met since 9/11 and the security process startled me. It was fine, but just one more thing that is no longer as it once was.
