| The Inspiration for The Artist's Path |
In the fall of 1980 I was studying theater at the University of Texas in Austin. One day when I had a bit of time I wandered into the
art building. In the center of a spacious, starkly white room was a quite large plaster copy of an ancient roman sculpture which
is itself a copy in marble of an early Hellenistic piece from 220-230 B.C. thought to be done in bronze and lost in time and
space. Of course I did not know all this then. At first I thought it was simply a smooth, white, plaster, nude of a man reclining; but
I found myself drawn to it.
It was early afternoon and I was quite alone in this vast space. About 15’ from the piece was a bench. Sitting I studied the
figure. Here was a man, a warrior mortally wounded, his sword dropped at his side as he struggles to rise against the pain of
the fatal wound in his side. I sat motionless taking in every detail until a moment came when I imagined that I could see
movement—the right hand pressing down for support, the left leg drawing up to gain a footing on the shield on which he has
collapsed, his face a mask of concentration and refusal to give in to the pain, the knowledge of imminent death.
The illusion was so real I rose from the bench feeling a strange desire to reach out and help him. Tears slipped down my face
and more so when I finally saw the title of the piece, A Dying Gaul. He would never rise. But the artist had caught him forever on
the razor edge countless soldiers over eons have found themselves—between death and the urge to heed the call of duty and
honor; to protect his band of brothers.
Never again would I listen to a report of bombs exploding and statistics of the wounded and the dead as if such events were not
a part of my world. They may wear Kevlar and desert fatigues, drive humvees instead of walk or ride horses, but they are the
Dying Gaul who in his nudity seems to stand for every man who has walked a battlefield, whether in ancient Greece, on the
steppes of the vast plains of Russia, the frozen forests of Europe, the rolling depths of oceans and the vastness of the skies,
the jungles of Vietnam or the desolate wastes and urban horrors of Iraq and Afghanistan.
He is my husband, my son, my brother, my father, my friend and now my sister. I must rise and give succor and seek ways to
ensure not only that he comes home to me, but that I build a world in which she never has to leave. Such was the force of this
piece of art, ancient but immutable in its power to move the spectator, to move me.
Composer Leonard Bernstein wrote, “It is the artists of the world, the feelers and the thinkers, who will ultimately save us; who
can articulate, educate, defy, insist, sing and shout the big dreams.” I’ve come to agree with Mr. Bernstein. So let us grapple
with some questions. What do you believe is the role of the artist in society? Do you believe the artist has the capacity to create
change? Have you been changed by the creation of an artist? In your community have you seen change that you believe can be
traced back to a given artist, his or her work, or simply to the presence of artists and art? A new arts initiative, The Artist’s Path,
will explore those questions and more. Visit www.theartistspath.org ; then send your own experiences walking The Artist’s Path
whether as an artist or spectator to gailm@theartistspath.org . Next month we will travel abroad and look at how art
communicates across cultures. Perhaps some of your own experiences will find their way into the piece.
Gail Mangham, Founder, The Artist’s Path, Inc.
Don’t miss the Launch of The Artist’s Path, January 17, 2010, 2:30 PM, Sunday at the Prescott Public Library, Founders Suite.
Come help us celebrate artists and their role in our lives.
art building. In the center of a spacious, starkly white room was a quite large plaster copy of an ancient roman sculpture which
is itself a copy in marble of an early Hellenistic piece from 220-230 B.C. thought to be done in bronze and lost in time and
space. Of course I did not know all this then. At first I thought it was simply a smooth, white, plaster, nude of a man reclining; but
I found myself drawn to it.
It was early afternoon and I was quite alone in this vast space. About 15’ from the piece was a bench. Sitting I studied the
figure. Here was a man, a warrior mortally wounded, his sword dropped at his side as he struggles to rise against the pain of
the fatal wound in his side. I sat motionless taking in every detail until a moment came when I imagined that I could see
movement—the right hand pressing down for support, the left leg drawing up to gain a footing on the shield on which he has
collapsed, his face a mask of concentration and refusal to give in to the pain, the knowledge of imminent death.
The illusion was so real I rose from the bench feeling a strange desire to reach out and help him. Tears slipped down my face
and more so when I finally saw the title of the piece, A Dying Gaul. He would never rise. But the artist had caught him forever on
the razor edge countless soldiers over eons have found themselves—between death and the urge to heed the call of duty and
honor; to protect his band of brothers.
Never again would I listen to a report of bombs exploding and statistics of the wounded and the dead as if such events were not
a part of my world. They may wear Kevlar and desert fatigues, drive humvees instead of walk or ride horses, but they are the
Dying Gaul who in his nudity seems to stand for every man who has walked a battlefield, whether in ancient Greece, on the
steppes of the vast plains of Russia, the frozen forests of Europe, the rolling depths of oceans and the vastness of the skies,
the jungles of Vietnam or the desolate wastes and urban horrors of Iraq and Afghanistan.
He is my husband, my son, my brother, my father, my friend and now my sister. I must rise and give succor and seek ways to
ensure not only that he comes home to me, but that I build a world in which she never has to leave. Such was the force of this
piece of art, ancient but immutable in its power to move the spectator, to move me.
Composer Leonard Bernstein wrote, “It is the artists of the world, the feelers and the thinkers, who will ultimately save us; who
can articulate, educate, defy, insist, sing and shout the big dreams.” I’ve come to agree with Mr. Bernstein. So let us grapple
with some questions. What do you believe is the role of the artist in society? Do you believe the artist has the capacity to create
change? Have you been changed by the creation of an artist? In your community have you seen change that you believe can be
traced back to a given artist, his or her work, or simply to the presence of artists and art? A new arts initiative, The Artist’s Path,
will explore those questions and more. Visit www.theartistspath.org ; then send your own experiences walking The Artist’s Path
whether as an artist or spectator to gailm@theartistspath.org . Next month we will travel abroad and look at how art
communicates across cultures. Perhaps some of your own experiences will find their way into the piece.
Gail Mangham, Founder, The Artist’s Path, Inc.
Don’t miss the Launch of The Artist’s Path, January 17, 2010, 2:30 PM, Sunday at the Prescott Public Library, Founders Suite.
Come help us celebrate artists and their role in our lives.