From the Editor

The museum sat elegantly upon the hill, with magnificent vistas on those days that the weather cooperated, and when it did it was hard to imagine a more perfect place for the meeting of art and nature. It was still early, but many people had already arrived to meet for either the first time or to renew acquaintances with art that lived here.

Walking past the Gauguin and the van Gogh is like meeting old lost relatives, someone whom you have only met in photographs found in old photo albums. Finally we meet, standing face to face, and suddenly I am in the South of France and warm summer nights in Arles. My mind wanders through the halls of my memories, recollecting when I first noticed and saw this painting, and then how and where it was painted.

Arles

oil on canvas, 72.5 × 92 cm

There is a comfort in this recognition; perhaps the earlier photographs have dulled the senses, leaving me with the feeling that I have lived with this painting for years.

I slowly move away from the rooms containing “the Masters”; their magnetic draw pulling in the crowds so much so that following them will take you to your destination if you were lost. But sometimes it is important to be lost so as to find something you would not have even considered looking for. Walking through buildings and rooms of art, the weight of the works take their toll on one's capacity to stay open and fresh, a saturation point is reached and much is walked past that probably deserved a more lingering encounter. The walking at this point is more of a meandering, and I find myself moving against the flow of the human tide, toward the solitary standing building containing the antiquities.

This wing of the museum contains its oldest artifacts, most of them dating back to 500 BC or earlier. The contents are of various civilizations, history depicted out of context, but somehow sheltered and saved as if it were an adopted child that has now been offered some “better” life. The history