I was
constantly touched by the pathos of various sculptures that we stumbled upon.
On leaving Heroes’ Square we walked along a path through a park back to the
parking lot. And there, with no explanation, plague, or acknowledgment to any
artist I saw this lovely life-sized sculpture of a man carrying a baby on his
shoulders. I don’t know why, I can’t explain, but it brought me to tears. This
was an experience that we had continually throughout our trip to these European
countries – art, not on walls of museums or galleries but around hidden
corners, as you turned around a hedge on your meanderings, or plonked down on
the edge of a square of cobbled sidewalk. Art was so much a part of every-day
life, not special but special in its un-specialness. A walk of an afternoon
could bring you from smiles at the humour of a piece to tears at the sadness.
No comments:
Post a Comment