Mr. Haas, the art teacher at our rural junior high school, brought us to the small auditorium attached to the library. My classmates and I filed in with spiral notebooks and pencils in hand, found a seat and played with the tabletops that could be swiveled up and around to use as a writing surface.He had set up a slide projector, fan whirring, white light shining on the screen at the front of the room. Flipping the lights off, Mr. Haas settled into a seat next to the projector so he could advance the slides.We were instructed to take notes as he told us the name of the piece, the artist, the date, techniques, relevant historical notes and other significant facts. Later he would give us a test, so we had to know it.He clicked the button, the carousel turned, and the first slide dropped in place.cha-chunkMonet’s water liliescha-chunkVan Gogh’s Starry Nightcha-chunkGauguin’s Tahitian womencha-chunk Degas’ dancerscha-chunkSeurat’s circuscha-chunk…Dots, movement and color swirled in my head. I scribbled notes as Mr. Haas lectured, eager to double-check dates and spell Impressionism and Pointillism correctly. After I captured the information on my lined notebook paper, I would look up and stare at the image. Mr. Haas couldn’t linger long on any one slide, so I only got glimpses. Yet I carried them with me long after the screen went white and the lights went on.I didn’t realize how deeply they had sunk into my soul until about a decade later, on my honeymoon, when I entered the Musee d’Orsay in Paris.Stumbling into the space, I found myself face-to-face with familiar friends:Monet. Van Gogh. Degas… Reunited unexpectedly with all those artists and paintings I’d memorized in junior high, I was giddy, pulling my new husband from one painting to the next.Manet, Seurat, Renoir, Pissarro…I tried to explain those lectures, Mr. Haas’s slides, and the place in my soul where I’d stored the paintings, the memories, all this time.Millet, Cezanne, Toulouse-Lautrec… So much was new to me on that trip—marriage, language, customs, even international travel itself—but there I was in the middle of Paris, standing in a room with old friends from junior high.Memories of my art class came streaming back to me after reading Zena’s story of her first-grade teacher leading the entire class on a hike. After about 20 minutes, they made it to the top of a hill. Zena recalls:
It felt exhilarating to stand on top of what back then seemed like a huge mountain, feeling the breath of the wind in your face, and overlooking the city that sprawled beneath us. Besides, it wasn’t every day that we actually could roam and play and climb hills outside during the class time.“Okay, kiddos, look straight.”We all did, waiting for what will come next.“See where the sky meets the earth?”“Yeah!”“This is called a horizon – the line where the sky and the earth seems to meet. They don’t meet in reality, of course, but it looks like it.”
Then Zena posed this question:Did you have lessons / classes like that the memory of which remained with you until this day? I’m responding here, with the story of Mr. Haas’s art class, when he introduced me to great art and the world seemed bigger and more beautiful than ever.I discovered Zena through Charity Singleton’s TheHighCalling.org community project, “There & Back Again.“
Go THERE: “What is a Horizon” then come back HERE again!Each Thursday, consider going “There and Back Again” yourself. It’s simple.Here are Charity’s steps:
- Choose another High Calling Blogger to visit. It can be someone you have “met” before, or do what I do, and work your way through the “Member Posts” section of thehighcalling.com to meet someone new.
- Visit his blog, digesting the message until it becomes something that you can write about.
- Go back to your blog and write about it, being sure to link to the post that gave you the idea so that your readers can visit, too.
- Add the button to your blog so your readers know you are participating in “There and Back Again.”
- Go back to the Network blog and leave a comment so your new friend can feel the link love!
- Complete the journey by returning here, to Wide Open Spaces, and enter your link so that we all can benefit from the new High Calling connection you have made.
I was surprised to realize that all the paintings that you’ve named were familiar to me – all due to my aunt who was a painter, I guess.
Monet’s Water Lilies sparkle another memory in my mind… Mom and I were taking a Hebrew class together (she needed it for her Seminary degree and I just decided to take that class ‘cuz I like languages)… Every day during the break time, the puzzle-lovers would gather around a table where a new puzzle awaited to be assembled. Usually, considering that there were about 5 of us, it would take us a day to complete. But then, we got Monet’s Water Lilies… 2,000 pieces of similar design 😀 It took us three days, but it was worth it – I love that painting…
And Van Gogh’s Starry Night… ahhhh… wow. I think I’d be able to stare at the painting for HOURS…
Thanks for sharing, Ann!
I’ll bet you “own” that Water Lilies painting after staring at those pieces and placing each one next to another.
And Starry Night…please see my note to Elizabeth below. I didn’t get to stare for hours, but I did linger for about 30 minutes. The guard eventually insisted I move along.
I love the pacing of your writing for the slide projector! hee hee. The sacrilege is that I have a print of Starry Night, in my bathroom. 🙂
The Art Institute of Chicago did a Van Gogh/Gauguin show several years ago, borrowing some of the most famous works from museums around the world. I got to see Starry Night up close with my own eyes. It was worth the drive (I made the trip from Indy to Chicago twice!) to see the texture of the paint swirls up close and in person.
And I find that any book, magazine or artwork placed in a bathroom is often pondered more thoroughly than if it were examined in a living room or den. Perhaps you’ve internalized the nuances of the artwork more profoundly due to its location? 🙂
Just bookmarked this so I can come back and follow your (and Charity’s) example. Am finding so much good stuff going on over at High Calling.
As soon as I started reading your piece, I was back at the Musee d’Orsay which I visited with my daughter last summer. I kept being blown away by the realization that I was allowed to stand right next to so many masterpieces, that I got to stand in such close proximity to greatness. I kept thinking of the hands that held the brushes that touched the canvases that were right there next to me. It was an amazing experience which I still haven’t been able to translate adequately into words.
Yes! Yes, I couldn’t believe that, either. I could have stood with my nose centimeters away (in fact, I might have done just that) without the guard even sniffing at me. If I’d touched it, that wouldn’t be good. But I loved how relaxed they were.
I, too, was picturing Monet outside working at his easel, a soft wind blowing, waiting for a certain angle of light to hit a cathedral or haystack…or Seurat painstakingly placing the perfect color-coded dots in just the right spot, the tip of his brush delicately, precisely leaving a hue that would help create the scene. I could walk up and zero in on one dot.
My husband didn’t appreciate it like I did, but he loved seeing me delight and gasp and even get teary-eyed as I practically danced through the galleries.
What a sweet tribute…teachers open so many doors and windows…
I often think about my past teachers, what they taught me both through their assignments and by their personalities. Most of the experiences were good and I don’t think I would change any of the bad ones.
Ann – This is great! I love the image if the projector and the lights turned down, and the wide-eyed wonder of all you children. What a gift Mr Haas gave to you all!
Thanks for going there and back again with me!