Marquel, TPVs NYTimes Dirty Masses Section correspondent, was gulping down a pastrami sandwich when he read
Masterworks vs. the Masses. Visitors from all over are lining up at the Louvre, the Vatican and the Uffizi museums, posing problems for institutions trying to balance accessibility with art preservation.
Marquel has visited the Louvre, the Vatican, the Uffizi, and especially the Académie, to see Davide, many times. He has swooned over countless works and come away filled with life’s mysteries each time. He knew why people crowded into Europe’s museums, but not exactly why they seemed to go only at the most crowded times. Why did they do that. He’d seen crowds around the Mona Lisa so large that it was physically impossible to see anything but the crowd itself.
There was more to this story than the Times reported. Although the pictures told a better story than what the reporters wrote. It was clear from the crowd pictures that nobody saw anything but each other. Why were they there? Of what were they taking pictures?
First Marquel went down to MOMA and up to the Met. Crowds but not intolerably so. All the art was visible. People took pictures of the art until a guard walked up. Nothing Marquel hadn’t seen for the last few decades. Time to fly to CDG.
I went straight to the Louvre from the airport. I could hardly get in the crowds were so imposing. Once inside, I was jostled from one crowd to another. I know the Louvre well enough that behind one crowd I knew was la Joconde. It was invisible. I spoke to several people in my best French, which I’m told has a mysterious Norwegian accent to it. No-one replied. I tried my worst German. Nothing. A little NYC Dominican español. No response. I finally did what I never ever do in France. I spoke English, asking what they were taking pictures of.
“The Mona Lisa,” said one Texas sized tourist.
“But you can’t see it.” I said.
“It’s there,” he said, “believe me. The crowd doesn’t lie.”
I lost him in the crowd before I could ask any more. I asked another person who was shooting his smartphone like a machine gun. Most of the time he was pointing away from where I knew the painting was, and directly into the crowd.
“Have you ever seen such a crowd?” He asked in a Tennessee drawl.
“Maybe New year’s in New York,” I said.
“Exactly!” He said. “Wait till I show my cousins and tell them where I was.”
“Where were you?” I asked.
“At the Mona Lisa,” he said. “Can’t you tell by the crowd?”
“But you can’t see it,” I remarked.
“Yeah that’s too bad,” he said.
“If you wait here and keep edging forward in about an hour, you’ll find yourself within six feet of the painting itself.” I said.
“I’m sure,” he said, shooting more of the crowd, “but I haven’t all day. We’re going to follow the crowd to the Winged Victory of Samothrace.”
“Do you think you’ll see it?” I asked.
“Doubtful,” he said, “but I bet the crowd will be really impressive.”
I exited above, surrounded by thousands as we left the glass pyramid designed by I.M. Pei. I was forty meters away in seconds and people were still snapping each other.
“What are you shooting?” I asked one.
“The pyramid!” He exclaimed.
“But you’re shooting the crowd,” I noted.
“Crowds too big. That’s good enough,” he said.
I pointed over his head, “No it’s not. The pyramid is right behind you. You can see the top two thirds.”
“Wow,” he said, “think I should shoot it?”
“Geez,” I said, “that’s up to you Maybe its contrast would show the size of the crowd.”
He slapped me on the back, saying, “great idea!”
I took an intercity to Florence and went to the Academe to see Davide which always leaves me breathless. My Italian didn’t work. I’m told it has a German accent. Neither did anything but English. I’d never seen such crowds before at Davide, where you were always free to edge up to it if you dared being overcome by it’s unspeakable grandeur.
It was the same scene. English only. No-one was embarrassed to be shooting the crowd instead of the statue, even though the head was visible towering over the super sized crowd. I asked one what he was going to do with photos that only showed the crowd.
“Hell, ” he answered, “I’m having the biggest barbecue I’ve ever given and I’ll show everyone where I was.”
“With crowd pictures?” I asked.
“Well that’s where I was!” He exclaimed. “And when I tell them the crowd was at Michelangelo’s David, they’ll just die!”
“So I take it the point is to show where you were, not to actually see and enjoy the art?” I asked.
He shook his head and mumbled and I thought I saw, though I might have imagined, a trace of shame or regret.
I waited all afternoon in the shadows of the statue, in the middle of a hot sweaty crowd. Around five the guard started closing up. I begged him to give me two more minutes. The statue stood above me, the marble glistening as if it had sweated also, and my eyes caressed every inch. The guard had to call me three times before I noticed. “Bello,” I said.
“Bellisimo,” he answered.
“Più,” I said.
“Molto più,” he called to me.
I didn’t recover from Davide until morning. On the flight back I saw people exchanging looks at their crowd pictures. Davide, despite his transcendental beauty, had not shed enough wisdom on me to understand any of it.
***
BY MARQUEL: Artsy Masses of the World Unite!
perfect pitch
ditto
ditto2
loved this:
I spoke English, asking what they were taking pictures of.
“The Mona Lisa,” said one Texas sized tourist.
“But you can’t see it.” I said.
“It’s there,” he said, “believe me. The crowd doesn’t lie.”
You travel a lot Marquel, don’t you?
Do you really want to ogle the beefcake what’s wrong with a little Texas homegrown, especially hot and sweaty?
I’ve seen that David, though a reliable source told me it was a fake – he looks Jewish, Davy, nice Jewish name…
You’re coming off as anti-American, and we know better 🙂 Well done.