Here are two of my favorite paintings, from the permanent collection of the Met in NYC. I could sit in front of them for hours, and I have come close to doing that. They're representative of countless other landscape paintings that I love, like those of Millet, Corot, Church, and Pissarro.
What's so strange about that? Most of us relish the moments of meditation and pleasure we get from works of art. What I can't figure out is this — if I were actually standing in one of these landscapes, I'd be freaking out. So why do I love them?
In Cezanne's "Mont Sainte-Victoire and the Viaduct of the Arc River Valley" there's grass everywhere, plants all around. I'm allergic to grass and I don't like plants. Though I can't see them, I'll bet there are bugs everywhere, too. I doubt that there's a coffee shop or a bookstore, or even a gas station within cell phone range. I doubt that AAA would be able to find me in case of a problem, and the nearest hospital — who knows how far away that is? I'd be hyperventilating after one minute.
Bierstadt's "The Rocky Mountains, Lander's Peak" is even worse. The sun is strong. I don't like sun, in general. And there are animals. Eeek! I'm afraid of one half of the animal kingdom and allergic to the other half. Besides, they tend to add organic matter and odors to an open area like this meadow (valley? grassy knoll?), both of which I would find unpleasant if I were to stand at the focal point of this painting. I'm cringing at the thought of what would be on the soles of my shoes. And still no Starbucks or even a family-owned bistro. Nor a convenience store to buy bathroom tissue — oh, right, there's no bathroom.
My idea of roughing it on vacation: a couple of galleries at MOMA are closed, my theater seats are in the balcony, and late night room service takes more than fifteen minutes.
Thinking about this phenomenon — why I love paintings that depict scenes I'd go out of my way to avoid — it's a lot like my relationship with fiction.
I love reading and watching movies about crime — the ensemble heist, the perfect murder, the "lovable" serial killer, like Dexter — but I don't want it to touch me in real life.
There must be a name for this syndrome?
7 comments:
I agree with you that there must be a name for it, Camille, although I've recently started wondering about exactly what syndrome I'm getting. On Saturday night, my husband and I were walking along the sidewalk of the beach city where we live. A small fleet of police cars screamed into view and officers jumped out, announcing that they were looking for a "man who pulled a gun." Everyone else, sensibly, started walking away quickly. I, on the other stupid hand, turned right around and started staring at the crowd, searching for anyone who looked suspicious. Of course, if I had actually seen a gun, I'd have taken off too, lol!
You have a strong Alter Ego; continue to enjoy it, as I know you will. It's a very healthy happening. (And..quite safe...something we all want for our family, friends and mankind.)xoxoxoxox
Kathryn, you were almost in your own crime drama!
Does Alter Ego mean split personality??
I hope it doesn't mean split personality, lol!
Whatever it's called, I share the condition with you! I love reading about the 19th century ... but actually LIVE there?? No way! I'm *grateful* for modern medicine, hot-water-from-the-tap, and similarly wonderful things we take for granted in the early 21st century!
another good analogy ... thanks Ann!
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