Dickinson College Humanities Program in Norwich

Skate Park

“It should not be hard for you to stop sometimes and look into the stains of walls, or ashes of a fire, or clouds, or mud or like places, in which… you may find really marvelous ideas.” (Leonardo da Vinci)

There are no stains at the National Gallery, no ashes left at St. Martins-in-the-Fields church, no mud at Westminster Abbey. The marvelous rooms at the Gallery were spotless, eye-catching, almost enormous in their own way. The paintings were the definition of time’s constant, pitiless motion. Ageless. St. Martin’s church was divine, the concert we were there to see provided me with a sense of tranquility. The 3000 graves of the Kings and Queens at the Westminster Abbey were serene, spotless and preserved. Protected, like a caring mother protects a child during the most crucial years of his or her life. I have always been a lover of the arts, a person who admires the individual talent of those who seek self expression, yet the stains that I saw at the places above represented a personal frustration with the lack of representation of the, what some may call, “dark history,” I am thirsty for a history I have yet to explore.

As I walked the art-filled rooms of the National Gallery my soul wondered with joy, I was amazed at the pieces of art that stood in front of me: Van Gogh, Da Vinci, Michelangelo!!! I had seen these popular paintings on TV and magazines but I never thought I would the opportunity to SEE them, I was in disbelieve! yet the little girl in me who struggles to promote diversity at a predominantly white institution of higher education couldn’t help but to wonder: “Are there any non-white pictures in this entire gallery?!” I guess this is part of the challenge.

When I applied to the program I expected to encounter a culture not so different from my own, but these differences appear to be overpowering the few commonalities I can find and in this way I am challenged. Some who read this blog post may think, what is she talking about? or she is clearly exaggerating, but I come from a place of predominantly diverse communities, a place where our family members, teachers and friends are the Kings and Queens of of our history and they don’t need a $2 million shrine to prove it. I am challenged by the historical representations of the paintings and yet I am intrigued by the walls of the graffiti-filled skate park walls. I question myself for being unable to feel the same type of joy for both, for choosing the walls of the skate park (under the Royal Festival Hall) over the majestic walls of the National Gallery.

I continue to move forward, hungry to explore the unrepresented history. Desiring to spend more time speaking to a protester outside of the National Gallery, an activist, fighting for what he believed to be remnants of “institutionalized racism.” In him I find some comfort.  Standing with him I felt inspired again. I was reminded that history, like art, evolves and is dependent on the author’s perspective. I must continue to appreciate what is in front of me, meanwhile assisting myself in the development of my own interpretations. I must not choose between graffiti and the precious work of Van Gogh but rather entertain my soul with both.

I think I may have found “really marvelous ideas.”