Letter from Paris
Cary Tennis visits the city of light -- and finds that art can make people come to blows.
A fight broke out at the “Mona Lisa.”
The crowd surging forward anxiously toward the small frame at the end of the room could have been any crowd around any spectacle — an auto accident, a game of three-card monte — except for the unusual gestures of obeisance they were making. Knotted thickly, numbering maybe 50 at a time as more joined and more left continually, they were holding their digital cameras aloft, rather like reporters in a hasty press conference (except with an intensity in their faces bordering on devotion), recording their encounter with the “Mona Lisa.” There was something startling about their behavior and it was necessary to stop and observe for a while, to pick up the repetitive pattern, as if it were some inscrutable behavior of fish or birds, minnows perhaps clustered quick and ravenous about a bit of balled-up bread, nibbling it into oblivion as it slowly sinks in lake water — except the bread, being real bread, is exhausted as it is eaten. The “Mona Lisa,” on the other hand, being inexhaustible light, a kind of magical host, does not disappear no matter how much of it is eaten, flash by flash, shutter by shutter.
It is mysterious to my wife and me why thousands would file through the world’s greatest collection of art, pointing their cameras at piece after piece and moving on, like tourists picking wildflowers to enjoy later in private. But we accept it to some degree, knowing as we do that different people have different ways of responding to art, and different reasons for seeking it out. Naturally those of us with keen practical or professional interest pay rather more detailed attention to individual works, and try to think about the art in ways we imagine are more in keeping with its maker’s intention, and so we look down on those whose relationship with a piece of art seems to grow out of mass hysteria, religious fervor or sheer conformism. But we want to understand it.
The passionate movement of crowds always contains a threat of violence, the danger of being trampled in a stampede or being eaten alive by a mob suddenly incited by a slight or a shove or an accidental insult against their god. With all those people from all those different lands holding all those cameras above their heads in the Louvre, that’s a lot of elbows in the air. Someone’s elbow knocked someone’s glasses off, or someone stepped on someone’s toe, or did not say Excuse me, or said it in the wrong language, or someone cursed someone and some shoving ensued. You know how that sort of thing can happen. So as I stood back, in awe as much at the crowd as at the painting, the fight broke out.
It was easy to see who were the combatants: two men in their 50s or 60s, one tall, Nordic and blond, the other darker, smaller, French or Italian perhaps, wearing glasses and a camel hair or tweed jacket. The smaller one tried to shrug off the shove and walk away but the blond one got a punch in — overhand, from behind, landing a glancing blow on the cheek and neck. A tall black security woman intervened. The crowd continued raising their cameras above their heads, trying to take in whatever it was about the “Mona Lisa” that captivated them so.
- – - – - – - – - – - -
Now, in trying to understand people and why they do things and what those things mean, I sometimes have to simply watch until a pattern emerges: What does this look like? What is it a pantomime of? It is necessary to put aside the obvious — that they are taking pictures — and ask instead what is the form of the gesture. What is the meaning of that frozen stance, camera held high above the head, that gesture in the face of the object? It looks like a kind of genuflection, a ritual stopping of the body and an opening of the eye, window of the soul, so that something divine may enter. In the flash is the instantaneous opening of an aperture into which the light pours.
As I write this I am sitting in the top floor of the Shakespeare Book Company, a window of which looks into the airshaft shared by the Hotel Esmeralda where I am staying (the window of our room, in turn, looks onto Notre Dame). Like all those tourists flocking around the “Mona Lisa,” I too have made a sort of pilgrimage to something whose true significance I do not consciously understand. Instead of taking pictures I am jotting in a notebook.
Not being a religious man, I can’t say if the rituals of the church are as opaque to those who practice them as the payoff of the camera ritual is to those pilgrims who flocked around the “Mona Lisa,” raising their cameras high above their heads. But I must believe that in the patterns we make in doing our rituals there is, if not meaning, at least a kind of beauty — the beauty of a flock of terns lifting suddenly in perfect accord. That is, in these things we do without knowing why is to be found, in some measure, who we are. I do not scorn the desire to have a touchstone, to get close to an object of importance or divinity or great worldwide significance. Indeed, as in many pursuits in life, when we think we are making something or getting something, often all we are doing is arranging ourselves in various attitudes of obeisance to various ideas of perfection.
And then always, inevitably, a fight breaks out.
My sister’s stalker
He accosted her on the street and forced her into his car. She went to the police and they did nothing
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
My younger sister is a 21-year-old college student who is “trapped” in an abusive relationship with her ex-boyfriend, who is 35 years old. She first met him when she was 19, fell in love with him and eventually moved in with him. After they started living together, she discovered that he was emotionally and verbally abusive, to the point that after six months, she had had enough, broke it off and moved out. The problem now is that for over a year, he refuses to accept that their relationship is over. Although he has not physically abused her, he has “forced” her into his car, screamed at her in public, in front of her professors and classmates, snatched her cellphone out of her hand to see if she has been talking to/texting other guys. He stalks her, physically, following her around town, staking out her apartment, and electronically, constantly checking her cellphone, email, Facebook, Amazon accounts, etc. (During the time that they were living together, he managed to get access to these accounts, and somehow manipulate the password access such that he continues to have access, despite my sister’s attempts to change passwords, etc.)
Continue Reading CloseStop the wedding!
She's wrong for him! She'll ruin his life! What can we do?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Cary,
My dear friend is about to marry the wrong person. He is a brilliant, outgoing man, always willing to put others first, and in this case to a fault. His fiancée has pursued him since high school. He avoided her romantic advances for years, knowing he could do better, but she is a very smart and manipulative person and succeeded in landing him as a boyfriend. In the early years, he occasionally expressed a desire to break up with her, but could not build the nerve to do so. Since then, almost a decade has passed, and they are still the only partners either has ever had. I know that if he could press a button and wake up tomorrow with her happy and living in another city, and him happy and single, he would do it. However, a number of factors have kept him from leaving her. Their best friends from childhood are very close-knit (for example, his older brother is best friends with her older brother), and their families are close friends as well. Understandably, he feels like to break up with her would shatter this group of people he cares so much about, not to mention the emotional impact it would have on her.
Continue Reading CloseMy friend calls Obama a monkey
What am I supposed to say to this dude? What's his problem?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I have a friend that cannot speak about the president of the United States without using the word “monkey” or “chimpanzee.”
There have been presidents I was not thrilled about, but certainly I would not stoop to this.
This individual is well-off, has a degree and is considerate about most other topics.
What the HELL is his problem?
Thanks Cary,
Bewildered
Continue Reading CloseMy secretly bisexual husband
He's been with four men he met on Craigslist. Do I stick with him for our teenage daughters?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
Recently my husband of 18 years has explored his sexuality with other men. He admitted having four sexual encounters with random men he solicited from Craigslist. After a week of hell, and many a shouting match, he begged me to take him back, claiming that his experimentation is not worth losing his family. As in a textbook scenario, he, somehow, convinced himself that I, being very liberal and supportive of gay community, would understand, and maybe even approve, his urges. Having two teenage daughters and being a stay-at-home mom, I have initially agreed to let him back into the family fold, after all his STD tests came back clean.
Continue Reading CloseWe were breast-fed really late
My mother continued to let us touch her for years after feeding stopped, and now it feels creepy and revolting
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I don’t know how to put this any way but bluntly, so here goes. My mom let me and my brother breast-feed really, really late– until we were 4 or 5. She let us touch and play with her breasts for years after that. She never told us what sex was, and later when I found out for myself, my body changing on its own, I felt revulsion at the all-too-recent memories of how I touched, and wanted to touch, my own mother. I hated that she hadn’t stopped me.
Continue Reading ClosePage 1 of 358 in Cary Tennis