March 10, 2014 · 10:44 am

Take Up Your Cross and Suffer Through This Exhibition

If you happen to be traveling on the Tube, London’s subway network, during this season of Lent, you may come across some rather provocative billboard images of Jesus on the train platforms.  These posters are advertising an exhibition of the work of a number of contemporary artists called “Stations of the Cross”.  While the pieces are designed to grab the viewer’s attention, in the end one has to reject their premise, and question why a Christian church would host such an exhibition.

Marylebone is the home of the BBC’s Broadcasting House, Sherlock Holmes, and Madonna, among others; this scrivener lived there during graduate school.  It is an area consisting primarily of rather large Georgian and Regency-era terraced houses; among the churches in this former village, now very much a part of central London, the most prominent is the Anglican church of St. Marylebone, built between 1813-1817.  This is the venue for the “Stations of the Cross” show, and one wonders what former members of this church – Charles Wesley, for one – would have made of it.

In looking over the images chosen for the exhibition, some are well-executed, thought-provoking examples of contemporary artists considering the story of Christ’s Passion. There is a cleverly telling piece in which, instead of placing Christ before Pilate or the Sanhedrin, He is stood before a panel on a show like “American Idol”, to judge whether He lives or dies. It is not hard to imagine that He would be condemned by our 21st century pop culture just as He was by 1st century culture.  Similarly, there is a beautifully executed, geometric rendering of the Crown of Thorns that one could see being used as, for example, a stamping on the cover of a hymnal or prayer book.

The majority of the images however, are simply poorly-executed, head-scratchers, or just plain dumb. For example, several of the artists have chosen to make allusions to the practice of capital punishment, and as someone opposed to its use, I understand the point they are trying to make.  Yet putting Jesus in an electric chair denies the lengthy suffering that was crucifixion, which medically speaking is death brought about by asphyxiation. One wonders whether they would portray Jesus being aborted as a baby, or euthanized as an old man, but one can imagine why not.

Another artist has employed altered images of the famous Jacques-Louis David painting of the French revolutionary Marat, dead in his bathtub. Given that Marat was hardly a Christian, – and that’s putting it mildly – it makes no sense why his image would be the basis for this manipulation. Jesus was not put to death for whoring about while writing awful poetry. And then there is a photograph called “Phat Jesus”, which is simply tired old pornographic trash emanating from a diseased mind, the sort of thing that we’ve all seen before in supposedly edgy art magazines.

The apparent moral problem in criticizing this display is that the impetus for the event is a good one. The exhibition hopes to raise funds in the ongoing search for a man who has been missing for ten years, and to raise awareness of a group dedicated to helping find missing people.  Dare one criticize an event that hopes to achieve something good?

Unfortunately, yes, but it must be said, not really because of the artists themselves. The fact that moral relativist artists can create and put on such a show should not surprise anyone: blasphemy is a cliché that has been worked to death since the dawn of Modern Art, for the simple reason that Christians are an easy target, and tend not to fight back. The real issue is why a Christian church would agree to host this exhibition in the first place, particularly during Lent. I will leave that to the reader to decide.

The best that can be said for this exhibition, it seems to me, is that if you are in London and want to engage in a penitential act during this season of Lent, go along and see how much the world continues to hate Jesus. He told us this would happen of course (St. John 15:18), and in an age which is becoming increasingly hostile to Christians, it is perhaps not a bad thing to be reminded of that fact. Clearly this is something that the powers that be at St. Marylebone forgot.

"View of St. Marylebone Church" by Thomas Shepherd (1828)

“View of St. Marylebone Church” by Thomas Shepherd (1828)

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March 6, 2014 · 12:05 pm

Hope and Shoelaces

Have you ever stopped to think about how you learned to tie your shoes?  It’s a skill which is pretty close to a necessity, at least in Western culture.  For me, the experience was rather difficult, yet now I can look back and say that I learned about fear and hope, and how they motivate us.  Perceiving the difference between these two motivators is a much more valuable lesson than simply learning how to work with shoelaces.

When I started kindergarten, I was playing with action figures and watching Saturday morning cartoons, just as most 5-year-old American boys do.  Unlike my classmates however, I was already at a comprehension level somewhat more advanced than theirs.  I read adult-level books on subjects such as astronomy, Egyptology, and paleontology, for example, and enjoyed listening to Haydn and Beethoven symphonies.  In short, I was (and still am) a nerd. 

Yet whatever intellectual capabilities I may have had, there was one thing which I absolutely could not get down: tying my shoes. In fact, I was the very last person in my kindergarten class to learn how to tie my shoes properly.  Despite my interest in subjects like physics, I would sit there for hours trying to figure out how in the world to coordinate my fingers to pull the two ends of the shoelace into a bow.

As the school year wore on, I became more and more embarrassed by the fact that I seemed to be the only one who could not tie his shoes. Frequently, I had to go to my teacher for help, if my shoes became untied on the playground.  She would show me how to do it, but try as I might I simply could not replicate her movements.  And kids being kids, my classmates started to take note of my inability to learn this skill, and began mocking me for it.

At home, my parents did their best to try to help me learn how to tie my shoes, although with my being left-handed and naturally clumsy, no doubt I tried their patience no end. Despite hours of practice, I seemed to make no progress at all. I became deeply upset, and asked God why He couldn’t just show me how to tie my shoes.  Yet I was doing so not because I thought it was important that I learn, but rather so that the kids at school would stop making fun of me.  In other words, I was motivated by fear, rather than hope.

Then one day in late spring, as I was approaching my 6th birthday, I remember being in the coat closet – or “cloak room” as they were called in Catholic schools – and noticing that my left shoe was untied.  By this point, I had become so used to being mocked that I just accepted it and told no one about the regular taunts I received.  I still wanted to learn how to tie my shoes, but whereas before I wanted to do so in order to avoid humiliation, now I wanted to learn how to do it because I was really looking forward to moving up to first grade, and being in school all day long.  I knew there was a risk that I might not be able to go, unless I could tie my shoes.

So instead of asking for help one more time, I bent down to try to tie my shoe.  And for no apparent reason, everything finally fell into place.  Eureka!

I was so overjoyed that I ran out to tell my teacher the good news.  I can still remember the look of relief on her face when she found out I could do it.  No doubt she had not been looking forward to writing an end-of-year report on whether I was ready for 1st grade, explaining why I still could not tie my shoes.

Last evening I thought of this experience following a conversation with someone whose opinion I value highly.  Over the past few months I’ve been thinking about what I ought to be doing with my life, since I just keep ploughing away, doing what I do, but at the same time sensing that I ought to be moving in another direction.  To date, I have seen no lifelong instruction manual saying,  ”Here’s what you should do next.”  The response to my observation was, maybe He already has shown you what to do, but you just haven’t realized it yet.

And that comment brings me back to where this blog post began.  Because when it came to learning how to tie my shoes, I did not have a supernatural messenger appear beside me and guide my fingers, no matter how much I wanted someone else to just make things happen for me.  People showed me what to do, but my primary goal for a long time was not to improve myself, but rather to escape from something negative.  Fear, rather than hope, was my motivator.

Eventually, I stopped worrying and starting hoping.  I wanted to succeed and move up to 1st grade, so I could enjoy all of the knowledge I would be able to pick up there.  I wasn’t going to get there if I kept worrying.  Instead, I chose to keep trying, until eventually I was finally able to achieve what I needed to.

Sure, I would have liked the instant gratification and deliverance from self-doubt that a sudden answer to my prayers would have given me.  Instead, I had to learn – not for the first time – the virtue of holding on, and persisting in the face of the unknown, whatever the difficulties.  In other words, by having to wait so long, I had to learn how to hope.

And hope does not disappoint.

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March 5, 2014 · 10:24 am

That’s About the Size of It

Often we are told that in order to truly appreciate something, we need to physically go and look at it.  We understand a foreign culture better, or can marvel at the wonders of the natural world more readily, if we take these things in for ourselves.  Yet while oftentimes people think nothing of trekking off to an insalubrious part of the world to experience a completely foreign culture, I wonder how often they take the time to explore the genius of human creativity in their own culture, when given the opportunity to do so.

No doubt looking at the Himalayas in person tells us a great deal more about them than simply watching a documentary on television.  Yet so too in art, we learn far more from actually examining the historical treasures of Western civilization than we do from flipping through a book or clicking on images.  The benefit of going to see such things can truly change our perceptions of the subject matter, and increase our admiration for the level of skill and achievement which these artists were able to reach.

Seeing something in person fundamentally changes one’s perceptions, there can be no question.  I was at a Christmas party at a rather swank Washington hotel a couple of years ago, when two very well-known reporters from CNN showed up.  Both were of far, far shorter of stature than I had imagined them to be, which made them less imposing than I had imagined, and more approachable.  This is a common occurrence, for when we see someone on-screen or in print on a reasonably regular basis, we develop an idea in our heads as to their size, which sometimes bears no resemblance to reality.

The same holds true when it comes to works of art, for good reason. A book or a computer screen displaying a photograph of a famous painting is not necessarily displaying that painting at its true size. Rather, the image is blown up or shrunk down to accommodate the limitations of the display space. This is why although one can learn a great deal from books, in the end it is the experience of actually seeing the art that brings its full impact and increases our understanding.

Take for example the sculpture I chose yesterday for my Lenten Facebook wallpaper, before logging off. “The Merciful Christ” by Juan Martínez Montañés (1568-1649), a realistic portrayal of Jesus on the cross, probably completed sometime between 1603 and 1605. Someone dropping by my Facebook page may look at the photograph of the sculpture, and associate the image with the type of wall crucifix that one often sees in Catholic institutions, such as schools and hospitals.   In fact, “The Merciful Christ” is almost life-size, as one can see in the photograph accompanying this post.  This is not a wall crucifix for most people, unless you happen to have the acres of wall space necessary to be able to accommodate something this large hanging over your desk or bed.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, a lady or a gentleman’s education was not considered complete until they had made a tour of several countries in Europe.  Part of their education was to see famous paintings, sculptures, buildings, gardens, and so on.  The value of this practice was viewed primarily as being educational: they or their families thought that it was important to get a sense of Western heritage, of taste, of history, and shared values, which they would be able to employ in order to help lead their communities back home.

Visiting great works of art does not necessarily have to involve trans-oceanic travel, of course.  There are many fine museums in the United States where one can go and understand better why we are fortunate to live in our present society, whatever its myriad of faults.  And the objects contained in the galleries of these places are physical expressions of why we have the ideals, values, and freedoms we do have in the Western tradition.

A great painting or sculpture is something made by human hands, however many centuries ago.  Someone individually crafted an expression of their own human experiences – faith, love, sorrow, joy, hope, loss, etc. – which chances are you yourself have experienced and thought about.  The artist expresses that which they value, by using the creative talents they were given by their Creator.  So by going along to see their work, and hopefully recognizing that mutual bond you share, you will realize how much good and beauty our civilization has achieved and is still capable of achieving, as well as how much we need to remember and celebrate those good things we have managed to create, as much as we do natural wonders or exotic cultures.

Franciscan friar admiring the "Christ of Mercy" at an exhibition in London

Franciscan friar admiring the “Merciful Christ” at an exhibition in London

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March 4, 2014 · 10:59 am

A Lenten Facebook Fast

Tomorrow being the beginning of the liturgical season of Lent, for the next six weeks or so many Christians around the world prepare themselves spiritually for the sacrifice that Christ made on Good Friday, when we believe He died for our sins, rising from the dead on Easter Sunday.  In keeping with the penitential and sacrificial nature of these weeks, many will give up things they enjoy for this period.  They will do so to try to find a way to suffer a bit, and reflect better on Christ’s own suffering, even if only in a small way.

This year I’ve decided to give up Facebook for Lent, something I’ve not done before, but have seen others do over the years. I am sure the withdrawal symptoms will be difficult, although the only real practical issue, i.e. blog publication across my social media platforms, is handled through the WordPress app. Thus, even though I won’t be “on” Facebook, posts will continue to appear each weekday.

I’ve also decided to take a slightly moderated view of the old “no reprieve” versus “Sundays don’t count” debate.  There is an age-old argument among my fellow Catholics as to whether one can return to one’s “give-ups” on Sundays during Lent.  The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops answers the question for us thusly:

Q. So does that mean that when we give something up for Lent, such as candy, we can have it on Sundays?

A. Apart from the prescribed days of fast and abstinence on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, and the days of abstinence every Friday of Lent, Catholics have traditionally chosen additional penitential practices for the whole Time of Lent. These practices are disciplinary in nature and often more effective if they are continuous, i.e., kept on Sundays as well. That being said, such practices are not regulated by the Church, but by individual conscience.

Sounds a bit like they’re dodging the question, doesn’t it? In truth, there’s good reason for such careful language, as we shall see.

Those of you giving up a food you like for Lent know how difficult that can be. One Lent I gave up coffee, which was pretty brutal, though perhaps the worst food give-up for me was when I gave up potatoes. I went so far as to check the labels of foods I bought to make sure there was no potato starch or the like in them.  Turns out we use potatoes in prepared foods in this country almost as much as we use corn-derived products, by the way.

However the danger withsuch practices is getting to the point with our Lenten give-ups that we risk creating a compulsion out of what is supposed to be a pious act.  In their answer to the question about Sundays in Lent, the bishops suggest that we have to make our own decisions, with respect to whatever practice we take on during this season.  There is no requirement that one even have a “give-up”, after all, even if it is encouraged.  The rules on these are not imposed from without, but rather from within: this is a time for personal growth, not a contest to see who can suffer the most.

Even when giving rules for practices which are in fact required during Lent, the Church does not impose a draconian standard.  For example, although fasting for adults is mandated for Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, that rule does not apply to the seriously ill, pregnant, or those with a medical condition requiring them to eat at certain times (e.g. diabetics.)  Manual laborers are also exempt under certain circumstances, since no one wants an ironworker on the 49th floor of a construction site to become light-headed from not eating.  Consideration is even given to those who are required to attend a social or business function, who cannot get out of said event without causing serious offense or negative repercussions.

When it comes to Facebook, which I use  a lot – and not only for fun, either – it will be hard for me to adjust to daily life without it.  It is certainly not my only outlet for connecting with a wider world, but it is an important way for me to keep up with what is going on with my family, close friends, and local contacts.  It has also introduced me to, or allowed me to assist, many people I might not otherwise know or have stayed in touch with.

As a result, I’ve decided to go with a good piece of advice from a fellow Papist on the Sunday question, which is to take a half an hour before going to Mass on Sundays during Lent to check in on Facebook.  Not to goof around, chat, or make new Bitstrips cartoons – more’s the pity – but to see whether anyone needs some help or encouragement.  The hard-core Catholics among my readers will no doubt think this is a sign of weakness on my part, while the more laid-back Catholics will think this is too formulaic.

Yet such attitudes prove the point as to why the bishops are careful when it comes to the ins and outs of proscribing how to make Lenten sacrifices.  We are each called to sacrifice in our own way, not to prove what a good Christian we are, but to try to be more like Christ.  After all, even in His pain and suffering on His way to Calvary, and while hanging on the Cross, Christ took the time to try to comfort and give support to other people, whether it was the women of Jerusalem, St. Dismas (the “Good Thief”), or His Mother and St. John.

Truthfully, I can’t come anywhere near that level of sacrifice or help to others. My “give-up” is absolutely nothing but an insignificant little drop of rain in the ocean.  Yet I do it because I love, and because I want to love better, as He did.  Hopefully, that will be the end result of this Lenten experience.

Facebookfast

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March 3, 2014 · 12:09 pm

The Man Who Captured President Taft

When you can paint a picture of U.S. President William Howard Taft that gives the sense of a powerful man without drawing undue attention to his enormous girth, clearly you know what you are doing.  Today he may not be a household name to many, but Swedish artist Anders Zorn (1860-1920) was a major painter at the turn of the previous century.  He produced stunning portraits of kings and presidents, heiresses and robber barons, and famous figures of the Gilded Age both in America and in Europe, so that his waiting list of potential clients read like a who’s who of society around 1900.

Now in a major retrospective of his work at the National Academy in Manhattan, contemporary audiences will have the chance to explore the work of this great portraitist, as well as his lush landscapes, images of everyday people engaged in daily activities, and fetching nudes of beautiful women.  Although he loved his native Sweden and returned to it again and again for inspiration, Zorn was a truly international painter, in an age when travel had become comparatively easier, but still involved major time commitments.  Nevertheless, he managed to set up his easel in New York, Istanbul, Paris, or Madrid with as much work waiting for him in those cities as he would have had at home in Stockholm.

One of my favorite gifts this past Christmas, as it happens, was a catalogue of Zorn’s work.  Page after page of reproductions shows how much he loved and returned to certain themes throughout his life as an artist.  He enjoyed trying to capture the inner drive of powerful men in an appealing way, even if the subjects themselves were never going to win any beauty prizes.  He appreciated the female body, and did not try to over-idealize his nudes, but he also showed how drapery can enhance a woman’s appearance, rather than concealing it.  And his paintings of his wife, children, and self-portraits show a man who as time went on, became increasingly confident with his technique, establishing moods and expressions, lights and shadows, with a rapidity that hovered somewhere between Old Masters of the 17th century and the Impressionists.

Zorn’s wife Emma was, in many ways, the impetus for her husband’s success.  The two met one evening in 1881 when Emma was babysitting one of her nephews, whose portrait Zorn had been commissioned to paint.  They both later claimed that they knew that evening that this was “it”, but they had to wait several years for Zorn to convince Emma’s parents that he would be a stable provider for their daughter.  Emma came from a wealthy Jewish merchant family in Stockholm, and once they married she introduced the illegitimate farm boy from rural Sweden to the glamour of international travel, literature, and the arts in such a way that he took to the world of cafe society like a fish to water.  At the same time, he encouraged her philanthropic efforts to help the poor and uneducated back in their native Sweden.

Beyond his beautiful portrait and figural work however, Zorn is an artist worth discovering for his love of the natural world: particularly water, forests, and the presence of human effort to try to tame or at least make better access to the landscape.  He was particularly adept at evoking that sense of cool stillness one associates even with modern Swedish art and design, which is never frigid but never overheated, either. There is the sense of an intellect at work in his painting, be the scenery in Italy, Spain, or North Africa, along with that deep connection to nature that one associates with the Swedish temprament.

“Anders Zorn: Sweden’s Master Painter” is at the National Academy in New York from February 27th through May 18th, and features an accompanying exhibit of some of Zorn’s American contemporaries and rivals, including John Singer Sargent, Augustus St. Gaudens, and others.

"Self-Portrait" by Anders Zorn (c. 1889) The Athenaeum, Boston

“Self-Portrait” by Anders Zorn (c. 1889)
The Athenaeum, Boston

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February 28, 2014 · 10:21 am

Coffee: The Basis of Western Civilization

Every morning during the work week, I drop in at a French pâtisserie chain on my way to the office.  Being a creature of habit, when the staff see me coming in, they simply turn and start making my drink without even having to ask what I will have.  We exchange pleasantries, money is exchanged for good and service, and then I leave.  By the time I get to work, the coffee is finished, and I am ready to begin my day.

This is a scenario familiar to most of us.  What we often do not stop to think about however, is how this ritual is a far, far lesser version of what the ritual of drinking coffee used to be.  Neither, I suspect, do we stop to think about how much our modern civilization owes to the habit of coffee drinking. Let’s consider just two examples.

In the Western world, coffee developed its own set of rules and paraphernalia, in much the same way that similar expensive, imported beverages like tea or hot chocolate did.  Grand coffee service sets were manufactured by the great porcelain manufacturers in places like Limoges and Dresden, so that the well-to-do could enjoy the expensive beverage in style.  If you were well-off, or aspired to be, you wanted a coffee service, and there were plenty of businesses more than happy to provide you with that product, at whatever price point you could afford.

The notion of drinking coffee in a paper cup with a plastic lid would have been anathema to the people who treated it with respect, for coffee was viewed as something special.  It was savored for its unique flavor, rather than simply gulped down as a commonplace thing.  Serving coffee was a way for families and friends to spend time together in conversation, without suffering from the intoxicating effects of alcohol.  Then as now, the caffeine jolt put people in a better, more chatty mood, and the connections made over the coffee ritual kept polite society going.

Those who could not enjoy coffee at home were able to experience the emergence of coffee houses in Vienna, Paris, Rome, and elsewhere, in imitation of those found in places like Istanbul.  These cafes had a powerful effect on the development of Western economics, politics, and culture, which many of us may not think about when we pop into one of them for a pick-me-up.  They served as locations where people gathered to discuss and share ideas, debate the news of the day, and conduct business, again without risk of becoming intoxicated.  And because there was no distinction made between rich and poor, aristocrat and peasant, they allowed people from different strata of society to meet and get to know one another, in ways which they normally would not and could not.

For example, the modern stock market, as we understand it today, came about through the drinking of coffee.  London stockbrokers in the 17th and 18th centuries were considered too ungentlemanly to engage in business transactions inside the Royal Exchange, the Elizabethan-era market hall for manufacturers and merchants.  Barred from getting involved in trading on the Exchange themselves, these middlemen would gather in the coffeehouses around the building, to make deals with each other on behalf of their clients.

Gradually, these early caffeine fiends began buying and selling shares, commodities, and securities on a larger and larger scale.  Eventually they took over what had been the functions of the Royal Exchange, and created the London Stock Exchange, from which all modern stock markets (arguably) descend.  The principles adopted through trial, error, and debate in coffeehouse culture came to define how a large segment of the financial world operated.  Thus, the practical applications of capitalism in the marketplace, and the wide variety of consumer goods those of us in the West enjoy today are due, in no small part. to coffee.

So the next time you ask for your Americano with an extra shot to go, and slip on that cardboard drink sleeve, take a moment to think about what the ritual of coffee drinking once was, and what it brought about.  That bitter beverage played a tremendous role in the development of the civilization in which you happen to live.  While perhaps we cannot go back, on a practical level, to the days of treating coffee with the finesse which our forefathers did, we can at least remember to appreciate it just a bit more, every now and then.

Detail of a Meissen coffee pot (c. 1730-1735) Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Detail of a Meissen coffee pot (c. 1730-1735)
Victoria and Albert Museum, London

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February 27, 2014 · 10:54 am

An Ancient Bronze Headache for The Getty

If like most people you enjoy collecting things – baseball cards, stamps, snow globes of the world, etc. – chances are you built your collection in a law-abiding way.  You received these items as gifts, or you bought them from a shop, market, garage sale, etc.  At the time, you probably didn’t stop to think about where the person selling you the item picked it up; if you did, chances are you dismissed the question from your mind fairly quickly.

Yet when it comes to extremely expensive objects, such as items from ancient cultures, international law is often not willing to dismiss that question so easily.  Countries know that antiquities are part of their cultural heritage, and as crass as it may seem to observe the fact, cultural heritage can translate into tax revenue.  Having magnificent, ancient objects to put on display in state-run museums will attract more visitors, and therefore more income, in the form of admissions fees, taxes, and externalities to local businesses such as hotels and restaurants, who themselves will then be taxed as well.  An example of this which is very much in the international legal and art news right now involves a bronze statue that has been on display at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles for decades, but which has been in the midst of a sort of custody dispute with the Italian government, at the instigation of a local museum group, for the past five years.

In 1964, Italian fishermen working on the Adriatic Sea discovered a well-preserved Ancient Greek bronze of a young man, presumed to be the figure of an athlete, since he is crowning himself with a laurel wreath as the victors in the original Olympic games used to do.  Commonly referred to as “The Victorious Youth” or “The Athlete of Fano”, after the nearest town to where he was found, it was probably cast sometime between the 1st and 2nd centuries B.C.  So few Greek bronzes from the ancient world have survived, that this was a truly remarkable find.

The fishermen in question sold the statue to a local art and antiques dealer, maintaining that they had found it in international waters; the piece eventually left the country and passed into the international art market.  A few years later, the men who had sold on the statue were charged with theft by the Italian government, since any ancient object discovered in Italian territory is rightfully the property of the state, not only under Italian law but in fact in many other countries around the world as well.  Although the men were initially convicted, those convictions were later overturned.  An appeals court found that the prosecution had failed to establish the most critical element of their case: i.e., that the statue had been found within Italian territory, and was therefore Italian state property.  Without that proof, there could be no presumption of culpability of theft from the Italian government on the part of the sellers.

Several owners later, the Getty purchased the bronze in London for $3.95 million in 1977.  They did so even though a few years earlier, the museum’s founder J. Paul Getty had passed up the chance to buy the statue when he smelled something fishy about the question of legal ownership.  After Getty’s death, the curators ignored his caution and went ahead and bought the piece anyway.  The statue made its way to Los Angeles, and became one of the greatest prizes of the museum’s collection.

Now we fast-forward to 2006, and an effort by the Italian government to crack down on activities like looting, grave robbery, and the illegal export of antiquities.  Italy contacted the Getty and alleged that a number of items in the museum’s collection had been illegally exported from Italy, and demanded the return of these objects; one of the objects on the list was “The Victorious Youth”.  While the museum complied with most of the requests, it refused to return the bronze, saying that the issue had been decided back when the appellate court quashed the convictions of the men who originally sold the piece into the stream of commerce.  Since then, the statue has been the subject of ongoing litigation between the Getty and the Italian government.

Most recently, on Monday of this week the parties were expecting to argue before the Italian Supreme Court in Rome, after a lower court judge issued a ruling ordering that the statue be returned to Italy – a ruling which the Getty appealed.  Unfortunately, though perhaps not surprisingly given the pace of the Italian justice system, the panel charged with hearing the case decided to boot the matter to another department, meaning that the litigation will go on for the an unknown additional length of time.  To date, then, the ultimate fate of the “Victorious Youth” remains in question.

As interesting as the legal side of this case is, including the philosophical and public policy questions it raises about our right to own objects, from a practical if not a jurisprudential point of view, I suspect the Getty will eventually be compelled to send the bronze back.  Even were the court to find that the previous judicial precedent regarding the statue’s aquatic origins was correct, that alone would be no guarantee that thereafter things would be smooth sailing. After all, the Italian authorities could begin to make life very difficult for the Getty, such as if the Getty wanted to borrow a work for a joint exhibition with one of the Italian museums.  Perhaps that is a cynical view, but again, it is a foreseeable result in this case. Regardless of the decision, it will be fascinating to read when it finally comes down.

"The Victorious Youth" by Unknown Sculptor (c. 300-100 B.C.) The Getty Museum, Los Angeles

“The Victorious Youth” by Unknown Greek Sculptor (c. 300-100 B.C.)
The Getty Museum, Los Angeles

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