Public Art: Monumental?

I spent Tuesday night in North Platte, Nebraska.  I was wrecked, tired, and the Comfort Inn bed was deliciously inviting.  I slipped in to the crisp clean sheets and closed my eyes thinking about the drive. Slumber.  Wednesday seemed to be here well before I was ready.  I awoke, late.  I despise rushing, but I have a schedule.  Have to be in Boston by Saturday morning.  I jumped out of bed, grabbed my workout gear and dashed down to the exercise room.  Mumble, mumble, mumble, to myself.  "Going to have to cut bunches out of my day to stay on target."  After my workout, I stuffed some eggs down and showered, packed, wrote my blog and checked out.  Mumble, mumble, mumble.  My Nissan, Frontier reminded me of her insatiable desire for 89 octane and I drove out of the parking lot to find her fix.  What is it about looking for the best gas price, driving around trying to save a few pennies a gallon?  I filled her up...topped off and ready for another 650 miles on the road.  I headed to the I-80 East entrance, which was back next to the Comfort Inn I stayed at.  The light was red as I got to the freeway entrance and I happened to glance towards the hotel and literally right next door to the hotel was a 20th Century Veterans Memorial.  How the heck could I walk out and not see that!!!  Clean those glasses Robin.

For a brief second I thought, just go.  There will be others.  Really? I argued with myself.  Yes, no,Yes, no.  The light turned green--decision time.  I looked over my right shoulder, pulled out of the lane and headed towards the memorial.  I am so happy I did.  Okay, so let me jump ahead in the story almost six hours later. I now am in Iowa, I had seen a few spectacular art works off the freeway, but the few I saw came up so quickly that I wasn't able to stop as I passed the exit.  In Iowa, it seems, if you pass an exit you have miles to go before the next one to be able to turn around.  And as you all know, I was late and rushing and just couldn't afford the time.  I was again, mumbling to myself about what the heck was I going to write if I didn't see any art.  A short blog indeed.  Fate, acting hilariously, solved that almost immediately.  To my right, among the expansive fields and slow rolling hills standing at the crest was a cemetery.  It looked very old.  I have this fascination with old cemeteries.  My eleven year old daughter, Abigail, died on December 31, 1999.  We buried her in the Hixville Cemetery in Galt, CA.  It's a strange place.  One of the original California settlers burial grounds.  How do I know this?  Well, the dates on the headstones!  Almost half of the deceased were children.  Somehow that very fact was so soothing for us during such a difficult time.

I didn't miss the exit this time.  I quickly made my way up.  I drove into the cemetery, parked and walked up to the peak.  I took pictures.  I walked and looked at the headstones for the dead.  I embraced the sense there and look out across the expanse.  Beautiful Iowa farm lands. Monuments I thought.  The veterans memorial are monuments to the dead, for the living.  I think what I saw there was art?  Now as I looked down at the marker of Eliza Richart 1817-1887, my head was in turmoil.  Are all these headstones art?  Public art?  If sculpted monuments of brave men and women are seen as such, isn't a sculpted piece of granite, with beautiful images and perfect emotional words etched for eternity, art as well?  Help me here folks.  This questioned haunted me for the rest of the 650 miles.  I settled finally, 10:30 pm in Coralville, Iowa.  Another Comfort Inn.  I needed comfort.

It's morning, Thursday.  I got up on time.  Went down to work out.  NO weights...urgh!  Mumbling, I grabbed some eggs and went back to my room to blog.  Here's what I want you to think about.  History, pain, marking the moment, creating a communal experience, making it accessible to everyone--I am confident we all agree those are basic components to public art?

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