Since 2001, this day has always inspired reflection. Reflection on the events of a day I know I will never be able to forget and how it changed our world, but for me it has also become a time of personal reflection. Quite unintentionally, September has become a month marking the anniversaries of some of the most defining days of my adult life. On September 11, 2002, I signed the lease on my first apartment in Los Angeles, and so it's a day I remember as the beginning of my time in L.A. On September 24, 2006, I married Eric. September 9, 2007 was my first day at the Getty, which in my mind marks a significant advance in my professional career. So, as you can see, for me this is a month of anniversaries.
A lot can happen in seven years. People always ask if I feel like a city girl now that I've been here for a few years. "Not really," is my usual response. I have gotten used to this city, but I don't think I'll ever reach a point where I feel attached or sentimental about it. Rather, in the last seven years I've become something else: Someone who is just as comfortable cruising up Sunset Boulevard as the four mile road back home. Someone who has taken many a VIP group of big city executives or celebrities through major museum exhibitions but knows just as well what it's like working on the line at Donnelley's. I'm glad I've acquired that versatility, but moving away from one's roots can make them harder to hang on to, and that can be a depressing reality. Over the last seven years I have given that idea a lot of thought, and ultimately have taken a lesson from one of my favorite novelists, Sharyn McCrumb, who is a self-described Cosmic Possum. What in the bloody blazes is that, you ask? As McCrumb puts it,
"The term, coined by Tennessee poet Jane Hicks, (Blood and Bone Remember: Poems from Appalachia, Jesse Stuart Foundation Press, 2005) refers to people of Southern mountain heritage who have acquired modern sophistication without losing touch with their regional origins." She continues, "For Cosmic Possums culture is not an either-or proposition. The trick is to move into the future without letting go of the past, because if you lose your cultural identity, you have nothing to sustain you in the modern rootless world which lurches from one ephemeral trend to another."
Now, I come from the plains of Illinois, not mountains of southern Appalachia, but the point is well-taken. Living in L.A. can be a very homogenizing experience if you let it. People in the city tend to look with disdain or condescension at any region of rural America, and it can be very tempting to simply make yourself into the image of whatever "ephemeral trend" is currently raging. But you can choose to take a different perspective. One good thing about being in a city full of people who are from somewhere else is that you learn to value, take pride in, and appreciate the gift of the past and your own story of "Back where I come from..." That is the outlook I've chosen to take, and based on the frequency with which I'm asked "You're not from around here, are you?" I must be getting it right.
So if--regionally speaking--I'm not exactly a Cosmic Possum, what am I? In 1980 (the year I was born) the schoolchildren of Illinois voted to make the whitetailed deer the state animal. The whitetailed deer does seem appropriate--it's certainly the animal you're most likely to see tripping over the roads and through the cornfields of my native Cumberland County.
...Yeah, that'll do--I'm a Cosmic Whitetail.
Friday, September 11
Tuesday, September 1
The newly installed "touch statue", depicting the goddess Venus leaving the bath. It is a replica of a work by 19th century sculptor Antonio Canova.
Ever since the Villa reopened in 2006, the Education department has been working to develop a "touchables" program at the museum. The idea of touchables in art museums has been around for awhile, but it has gained real popularity in recent years. We have been incorporating touchables like paint brushes, sculpting tools, minerals, and so on in our daily teaching for some time now. This month we raised the touchables program to a whole new level with the installation of a "touch statue"--that is, a statue that visitors can touch. The "touch statue," of course, is not an artifact but a modern replica. Actually, if I want to be strictly accurate it is a replica of a replica of a replica. Did you get that? Yeah, me neither. When you say it out loud it sounds like you need a little flow chart to understand it. Let me attempt to clarify: The statue is a late 20th century CE replica of an 19th century CE copy of a 2nd century CE Roman copy of a 4th century BCE Greek sculpture of the goddess Aphrodite. In other words, we copied an 18th century sculpture that was a copy of an ancient Roman sculpture that was a copy of an ancient Greek sculpture.
I hope that makes sense. Anyhow, this touchable statue was recently installed in the West Belvedere at the end of the Outer Peristyle garden. Part of the fun of working in a museum is getting to see what goes on behind the scenes, so I thought I would share a little of it with you with a look at the installation of the new touch statue.
Through the Herb Garden.
As you can see from the pictures, the Villa site isn't exactly designed for easy installation of objects outside of the museum galleries. Venus' journey to the West Belvedere was cautious and slow. Part of the motivation of placing her so far from the museum itself is to make sure visitors view this location as totally separate from the museum space, where touching is most definitely taboo. Keeping it out of the museum galleries helps to ensure that there is no (potentially confusing) exception to the strict "do not touch" policy inside the museum. The idea we hope to communicate is that the this is a space outside the museum where touching is allowed.
Now, maybe you are less cynical than I and this thought has not occurred to you up to this point, but I have to say I was pretty amused that a statue of a nude woman was chosen as a "touchable" statue. I mean, is it just me or is inviting people--ahem, especially men--to touch a statue of a naked woman just inviting trouble? (One word: Breasts.) And the fact that Venus happens to be posed in such a way to suggest she's trying to cover herself from the viewer only adds to my opinion that the choice of this Venus as the touch statue is just all sorts of wrong. I would love to say I trusted visitors not to be lewd, but given the irresistible combination of being able to touch and take pictures, I know better.
I'm sure this won't be the last you hear of the Villa's touch statue. Once the programming around it gets going there will be stories to share--of that I have no doubt.