Cannibals and Missionaries (51 page)

The original of the journal was in Aileen’s briefcase. Sophie, on her “high,” had offered to donate it to the Lucy Skinner library, and Aileen had taken her up on it. A photostat was going home to Connecticut with Sophie’s parents. There was nothing intimate in it, Aileen said; she had seen that when she identified it for the police. It had looked like a mixture of scraps of overheard conversations and Sophie’s own thoughts. Many pages had been lost; others were too tattered and stained—with water and probably blood—to be legible to anyone but Sophie. Yet of course it could not fail to be interesting to those who had lived through the events. When the trays had been cleared off, Aileen got it out. “Now here’s some conversation.” They bent over the sheets.

E. You never miss a chance to make fun of us for being capitalists.

C. A missionary to the heathen, that is my role. My upbringing and tastes, you see, didn’t fit me for evangelizing the masses.

E. …made his first killing in pharmaceuticals. Squibb bought him out because he had a corner in one of those mycin drugs…money he borrowed from friends in local rackets…. They had a pool, and Harold was the brains. But if some baby was dying and couldn’t get the drug because Harold was pushing the price up?

C. My dear, it doesn’t do to dwell on the origin of a fortune…. Some are older than others so that the smell of the buried bodies isn’t so fresh. My own small holdings go back to the textile mills—horridly sweated immigrant labor, mostly Portuguese. One could even say that the newer money is somewhat cleaner.

E. (brightening) Do you really think so? But you have so much culture. It frightens me to hear you talk sometimes. I feel so ignorant and inferior. And I know that Chaddie and I can never catch up. It’s no use for him to own the Cézannes and me my poor Marie Laurencins—very unadventurous of me. I ought to branch out but I’m afraid to. Owning them doesn’t give us any real satisfaction except for Chaddie’s ego. What’s the use of owning them if you don’t know what to say about them when people come to see the collection. You feel you don’t own them at all. You just have them there for other people to look at. Chaddie doesn’t have the time of course, but I’ve been to art appreciation courses in our museum. It’s a woman’s job to understand art. Division of labor, he says. But I appreciated the pictures more before I took the courses. They only made me feel stupid. For instance, our teacher said that Cézanne was a bad draughtsman and tried to illustrate it with a pointer in that “Man with a Pipe.” I couldn’t see what he meant and when I went home and told Harold he was furious and said I could drop the course. I guess if I’d been able to tell him why Cézanne was a bad drawer he would have been even madder. When I do learn anything in the class he says I sound like a parrot.

C. Mmm.

E. …want Harold to turn over the Cézannes to them. They don’t care about my Laurencins. Do you think he should agree? No, I shouldn’t ask you. For you it’s not the same. When I listen to you talk, I have the feeling that you own art with your mind. It won’t make any difference to you if you have to turn over your collections. You’ll still own them in your head, the way you do masses of things that don’t belong to you, that you’ve just seen once, in a museum or somewhere. But Harold and I wouldn’t. If he lets them have the Cézannes, that’s it. He’ll have nothing to have any pride in any more. Though in a way it would be a relief. Let me tell you, he actually bragged to me because they wanted his Cézannes and not my things. He said it proved he had more taste.

C. In your Harold’s place…

“That’s all of that,” Aileen said. “I wonder when it was. Now here’s a different bit.”

Mrs. Tallboys (gracious). Are you related to the rose? A lovely old pink climber. You don’t find it any more in the catalogues. Dr. Van Fleet. Mother had it on a trellis outside the library door…. F-l-e-e-t.

“That was much earlier,” Aileen decided. “I’m surprised to see she was keeping the diary then. Well, you don’t need to read it. We all heard it anyway. What made Sophie write it down? She seems to have been fascinated by those people. But I wouldn’t think they’d make good copy, would you? But here’s something about you. ‘F. keeps wanting to have serious discussion of terrorism.’” But the rest of the page was gone.

“Let’s look at her own thoughts. We
know
pretty much what the rest of us said but we don’t know what she was thinking. I always wondered what was going on in that head.” “Should we?” “I told you, there’s nothing private. Not a word about her and Henk. And, after all, she
gave
me the journal. If it worries you, we can stop. There’s quite a long stretch here without any stains or torn parts. See, it starts with me.”

Aileen’s question: what can art “do” for you, can it make you a better person, etc.? To the second part, evidently not. Collectors, dealers, museum people, art experts worse class of person generically than dentists or plumbers, say. Was it always so? Probably. Isabella d’Este, Francois I
^er
, Medici popes. Leave reasons for this aside for the moment and consider first part of the question. Does art have
any
effect on person who lives with it? Yes, it may. “Rub-off” from constant exposure to beauty can develop taste, e.g., Lily. That is, teach the art of acquisition. The “connoisseur” merely a highly trained consumer. “Lily has an eye,” “Johnnie has an eye,” they say of each other. Eye an organ of appropriation: Charles. A sensitized eye may make up for slender means; tastefulness substitutes for money. But all this essentially a circular process—familiar association with beauty enables one to recognize, i.e., seize on, more of the same. Ownership of works of a. qualifies a set of well-to-do persons—at any rate in principle—to be “discriminating”; to that point, it’s educational.
Great
means not strictly necessary, may even be a handicap: millionaire’s eye can afford be “lazy,” relying on pack of seeing-eye dogs—Berenson, Duveen—to do work for it. But for collector
some
means or family history of them v. important. Art and wealth boon companions. Sad but so.

Returning to second half of A.’s question, isn’t that part of the reason that experts, dealers, curators, fall into same bag as collectors—like them, snobs, reactionaries, materialists? Even poor Warren has itch for spending names, pathetic triviality. His specialization means corrupting contact w. trustees, donors, etc., as on this journey. Lives “high” when w. his Croesuses, gets familiar, over-familiar, w. butlers, limousines, first-class travel, w’d surely have been presented to Shah & Madam Shah. At home a church mouse and must feel contempt for ignorance of most trustees, donors, he fated to accompany to view treasures. V. bad for character. “Servants of art” form obsequious priestly caste.

Yet perennial association of art and wealth not whole explanation of seeming evil effect of art on moral fiber of its devotees. Visual art (see above) excites cupidity, desire to possess, also touch, finger—my mother a trial on chateau tours; exclusive enjoyment everybody’s dream. Strange this should be so? Concerts and stage plays v. different. Communal. Who would want to be sole audience for symphony or stage play? If no one else in hall, w’d be sorry for actors and musicians. But no one wishes to share painting & statuary w. mob of strangers. My ideal: to be alone in Venice Accademia or w. chosen friend. Perhaps problem is that visual beauty always incorporated in an object (Rev. Frank deplores). How share an object between many in limited span of time? Judgment of Solomon. Books? Must be alone—or undisturbed anyway—to read a book. But a book, though an object, exists in the plural; no displeasure felt if others are reading it at identical moment.

Back to A.’s question, first part. Put it another way: can an aesthete ever be a good man? Strongly doubt it. Cf. Kierkegaard on inferiority of aesthetic to ethical. H. says pronounced Kerkegor.

Artist himself not aesthete. Workman, rather. Artists notorious for lacking taste. Able appreciate “hand” of fellow-craftsman or predecessor, but taste prerogative of amateur. Artist often unrefined, rough individual; unlike his product, out of place in collector’s salon.

Sophie! Are you saying art is good for nothing? In fact bad, like radium, for people regularly exposed to it? V. bright and clever, but you know better. True, if you judge art by human types attracted by its “aura,” you’re bound to condemn it. But forget collectors and other parasitic growths on the noble tree. What about works of art—the Parthenon—that have always belonged to general realm of onlookers, gods, supposedly, and men? Frescoes in churches and statues standing in public squares. Cathedrals. Skyscrapers. Whoever commissioned them—cardinals or Seagrams or the city fathers—by now they’re part of the social fabric. Surely they’re art as it was meant to be. Sacred artifacts owned by nobody and by everybody that passes by. A lot of them (Chartres) visible from a long way off. But they can be tucked away in a cloister (Moissac) or even in an oratory shown you by an old nun. The point is, they’ve become assimilated to whole family of natural objects—mountain ranges, harbors, stands of trees—that have settled down to live with us too. Of course they “do” something for human community; they’re pillars holding it up. But also living members. Come to be seen often as protectors, esp. in old cities. Like lares and penates of Roman house. Perhaps represent eternity, on account of remarkable endurance. Anyway they “concentrate the mind wonderfully,” as Dr. J. said of hanging. And there’s no question of taste, fine discrimination, involved. Everyone understands they’re wondrous without being told. Cf. the first rainbow a child sees. With them it doesn’t matter whether their “owners”—clerics or Union Carbide—notice they’re there or pass them by oblivious most of the time. Here “just part of the furniture” no sacrilege as no religion of art involved. Not there to be worshipped by idolatrous possessor but to be lived among by the many. In fact the term “art” may be out of place in this context. Art merely the medium, the element, by which the sacred, i.e., the extraordinary, is conveyed.

Written in another hand across the bottom of the page was “You romance.” She must have showed the journal to Henk. The next entry—probably some pages were missing—had no connection with art.

…These very different from guerrillas I’ve interviewed. Except Carlos. I almost feel I know him. Hussein & Yusuf wary, a bit like some of the Laos I visited in their cave “command post.” But more hostile. Of course circumstances different; in Laos I was treated as a “friendly.” Bolivia too. And my old friends in the mountains saw themselves as patriots bent on liberating their country—a limited objective.

A. keeps calling
“kapers”
fanatics. Yes, but what does it mean? 90% of the population is a fanatic: look at “Chaddie,” who’s less of a collector’s piece than I like to think. Frank is a fanatic on keeping an open mind. Wish we had a dictionary so I could see what word comes from. “She’s a fanatic for neatness”; same as French
maniaque.
Doctrinal fervor certainly implied, which gives a chill to others. Yet Jeroen not particularly insistent on strict observance except in vocabulary: “imperialists,” “people’s army,” “people’s court.” Vocabulary his hair shirt. Or monastic “habit.” Otherwise quite open to reason. Ahmed a doll. Fanaticism linked to abstinence. Abstention from alcohol, tobacco, sex, forbidden books, forbidden thoughts.
There’s
the distinction: H. and J. not madly tolerant but enjoy thinking, take pleasure in play of their minds. Jeroen’s hair-shirt vocabulary keeps his mind pure of thought. But he’s intelligent, H. says, so must have temptations. But I suspect he takes the urge out in planning; planning comes from his will, and his mind then gets a permit to exercise. True of any puritan; revolutionaries today as the last puritans. Do he and Greet have sex? H. and J. think not any more.

A gap followed; then she was writing about museums.

Problem of art for the masses. Museum = private collection opened to public at certain hours & under certain depressing conditions. Public there on sufferance, unwelcomed, continually watched and chided. Guards’ happiest hour ten minutes before closing time when they can start throwing people out. Note difference between this and usual attitude of sacristan or verger, eager to open and explain. Must distinguish between the many & the masses. Many good, masses n.g. Museum is crowd-drawer and conceives mission as such. Attendance figures plotted on rising graph. Growth statistics, cf. industry. Greater growth, less individual member of crowd can see what he came to look at. Most drawn by curiosity anyway; museum promotion, presence of guards, searches, no briefcases or umbrellas, locked cases & cabinets, restraining cords to hold public back all convey thought of museum as fantastic treasure trove. People flock to see treasure.

Since undemocratic restrict attendance to so-called qualified persons, solution would be to get art out of museums whenever possible. Malraux had right idea when he took “valuable” statues out of Louvre and set them up on the grass, where any bus-rider can look at them: traffic jams become boon. Evidently this not possible w. paintings. But lots c’d be returned to point of origin—churches, monasteries, town halls, shrines. Sh’d apply to other works too, e.g., Elgin Marbles. Interesting w’d be to “unmake” Barnard Cloisters, repatriating component parts. Such a reparations policy (aegis UNESCO?) w’d have same appeal as returning Maine to Indians. Suggest it to Senator as campaign plank for ’76: promising vote loser. But it w’d be just and bring about much needed redistribution of art works. Not only Europe; Asia & Africa w’d benefit. Could Jeroen add it to demands? All right, a whimsy, but
something
will have to be done soon, as w. pollution. Decentralization the watchword. As for educating schoolchildren, what was wrong with copies and casts?

The other hand had inserted a question: “The horses of San Marco?” And Sophie had put in her answer: “They can stay.”

Special problems w. modern art. Went from painter’s studio to dealer or straight to collector. Hard to find a “home” to return it to. Artists’ studios torn down. But statuary—Arp & Brancusi—sh’d be placed somewhere outdoors, where it can have air around it and breathe. Henry Moore “King and Queen” & other big pieces “naturalized” like daffodils in Hampshire landscape. Why not more “earth sculptures”? America big enough & empty enough to accommodate whole cities of sculpture, esp. in the desert. Great Salt Lake? Dakota badlands. Stonehenge c’d give hints.