Brain food? Or something even better?

Today my geeky husband, my geeky child, and I went to the entirely fabulous Art Gallery of New South Wales to see an exhibition about German art from the beginning of WWI to the rise of Nazism. It was intense: art that reflected profound distress and dislocation as entire centuries' habits of thought broke down — to be replaced by...what? Absurdity? Rigidity? Wild gushes of emotion? Moral and social license? It was a terrifying time, but also exhilarating: you were artistically free, for all intents and purposes. (Any wonder the Nazis came down on these people with such brutality?)

One of my favorite images in the exhibit was a photo by T. Lux Feininger, who (I was stunned to find out) only died this year, at age 101. He took the photo below; I'm not sure who has the copyright, so I'm risking posting it, hoping that Feininger's estate won't mind.


An untitled photograph by T. Lux Feininger

I love how the utterly sterile environment is transformed by the theatricality and energy of the people, and, of course, it's got a sword. Everything is better when someone is leaping around waving a sword. To me, this photograph is about joyous defiance against dehumanization. I absolutely love it.

The whole experience of going to this exhibit raises a question in my mind: why? Why go to museums? Is it to feed my brain with new images and ideas? Is it to provide me with background material for some future piece of writing? Is it to force-feed culture to my child? (Not that she needs it: she was as keen as Houston and I were to see the exhibit.) Or is it simply because it feels amazing to be in the presence of passion and skill and courage? Not to get anything out of it, not to achieve anything by it. Just to breathe it in. Just to honor it and cherish it. Just to cheer until you're hoarse for the people who were brave enough to stare horror and bewilderment and pain in the face, and make it mean something.