Two hairs past a freckle

How quick people are to cut the arts! It’s always the first thing to go. No one ever dreams of ridding an institution of its sports programs. Sports, science, English, psychology, foreign languages, they all “benefit” the university more than it’s gigantically impressive collection of 20th century art. Over 6,000 individual pieces of art, the entirety of the museum, is to be auctioned off. It will be hacked to pieces and sold to the highest bidder, much akin to the black market practice of selling the organs of Siberian tiger for “medicinal” purposes. It’s a sick, sad, deplorable thing. As sad as it is, I feel that I somewhat understand the mindset of the board of trustees of Brandeis University.

They want money now. It’s apparent that the nation is in an economic crisis. Everyone is strapped for cash. But I feel there are other ways to combat this situation. The entire staff could take a pay cut. Tuition could be raised. Museum hours could decrease. There’s also fund raising. There are many things that could have been done to save the Rose Art Museum. It has numerous patrons with very deep pockets. The quality of art inside the museum is enough to draw a plethora of visitors, if only more people knew it was there.

The current president of Brandeis University, Jehuda Reinharz, was quoted by the Boston Globe newspaper saying, “The Rose is a jewel. But for the most part, it’s a hidden jewel. It does not have great foot traffic and most of the great works we have, we are just not able to exhibit. We felt that, at this point given the recession and the financial crisis, we had no choice.” There is always a choice, Mr. Reinharz. Advertise for the museum more. Actively encourage visitors. Do more to save what needs saving.

Now I fear that many works will be lost to the public. Private collectors will swoop in and snap up the choicest examples of Abstract Expressionism by Andy Warhol , Willem de Kooning, Jasper Johns, and many others. The fact that a collection of this magnitude is up for sale brings to mind a great fear: what if other museums start to close and sell their collections? The public will have no place to turn to for inspiration, consolation, culture, or arts education. Art could become the stuff of legend, something that is dreamed and spoken of in soft voices.

Here’s a link full of aspiration:  http://www.brandeis.edu/rose/aboutus/his…

Here’s a link that crushes those aspirations:  http://www.boston.com/ae/theater_arts/ar…

In thinking about this question, I was perplexed. Is there a moment when one knows what to do with the rest of their life? Thoughts raced through my head. A billion small moments I’d experienced throughout my college career came to mind. Was it my first art history class? The first time I noticed the small details in the background of a certain painting? I realized then that my desire to learn about art went further into the past then I had anticipated. I remembered a textbook that was assigned for my senior year English class. I remembered an illustration in that book. It was a simple painting of a young woman sitting quietly at a table, holding a cup in her right hand, staring down and out at nothing. I was captivated by her gaze. I found myself wondering about her thoughts, wondering about her solitude. The more I thought about the girl in the painting, the more I wanted to know. So quietly, in my spare minutes at home during my senior year of high school, I thought about that painting. I identified with her loneliness. I wanted to know who painted her and why. Using Google, I found that it was painted by Edward Hopper in 1927, near the end of the Roaring Twenties, and was titled Automat. Further research explained that an automat was an automated cafe, well stocked with machines to dispense hot beverages and quick snacks. Human interaction was not needed, and as indicated by the facial expression of Hopper’s subject, unwanted as well.

That moment, when I laid eyes on a small print contained within my English textbook, was when I knew that I wanted art to be a essential part of my adult life.