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Opus 40 in Saugerties, New York, is an ancestral work of landscape art. Sculptor Harvey Fite bought a played-out slate mine in 1938 and, shortly thereafter, began stacking slate to create a platform for his art. At some point, he realized that the platform was the art, and only one sculpture was placed upon it, as a focal point.
The result is a swooping and swirling topography of stone with narrow passages, pools of water, and short bridges, which you are allowed to walk upon. When was the last time you walked on a major work of art?
Wow.
The first time (of many) I visited Opus 40, I thought it was the best and only time I would ever get to walk on a world-class work of art.
And then I came to Venice.
I am by nature a creator. I use that term, rather than maker, because makers have physical skills I regretfully lack. But I share the common compulsion to make things. So, on my recent visit to Venice, I took dozens of photos and posted them on social media.
People praised me for the beauty of my photos.
No credit to me. Stand anywhere in Venice, close your eyes, point your phone in any direction, and click. Voila! A beautiful photograph.*
Because Venice, taken as a whole, is a physical work of art. I say that as someone who has wandered through many immersive works of art. For reasons of history and commerce and empire, the city of Venice is a coherent artwork. Start anywhere, wander wherever. You will be enchanted.
And if you take photos, they will all be beautiful.
And I have to add . . .
Ambling through obscure streets and sotoportegos, I was struck by how many people looked joyful. Couples taking selfies had unforced smiles. A woman reaching the top of the Rialto spontaneously broke into dance. Everywhere, one saw happy faces.
Of course, Marianne and I were there in January, where there are a minimum of tourists and all the usual reasons to be happy. But it was striking. And it made me happy in turn.
*I exaggerate. But only slightly.
*
2 comments:
Lucius said the off-season was the time to see Venice. Very glad to read you and Marianne had a splendid visit and have returned home safely.
I love this description!
I have a wonderful memory of Opus 40. I've never been there, but there is a documentary of sorts about Sonny Rollins that I love. In that film, he played a concert at (on, within) Opus 40. At one time he jumped down into the trench. and paused his solo. After a moment of pause, he continued, playing a beautiful, plaintive line on his sax for several minutes. Turns out he had misjudged the height and broken his ankle when he landed (that's not the part I love--OUCH!). He also is such a driven creator that he just used his discomfort to inspire his playing, and changed the tone of his solo to match. It'd have been a shame to stop, he explained.
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