By Dawn Raffel
On my way out to the west coast for a work trip, I decided to stop for a day in Chicago. Specifically, I wanted to see a temporary installation at the Art Institute, where Swami Vivekananda’s words are written in lights on the risers of the grand staircase.
As a child, I had spent many hours in the Art Institute. My parents were both raised in Chicago, and although I grew up in Wisconsin, we frequently visited. My mother had studied there as a young woman and my aunt worked in the gift shop--but I hadn't a clue about the spiritual significance of this beautiful building until a few years ago. Now I wanted to see it anew, especially while the installation was up.
On entering, I figured I'd need to ask where to find it, but it was right in front of me, just steps from the main entry, and steps from where Swami Vivekananda had once stood. The words of his famous speech, beginning with "Sisters and brothers of America," run up the risers, so you can read them as you ascend. The staircase has two points of entry, east and west, with a landing in the middle. From there, it splits into four prongs, as Swami Vivekananda’s words continue to multiply and rise.
First shown in 2010, the installation is the work of an artist named Jitish Kallat. It was meant to juxtapose the speech, presented on September 11, 1893, with the tragic events of September 11, 2001; the words are lit up in the colors used by the U.S. government to indicate terrorism threat levels. By the time the installation returned for a second showing, starting in 2024, the color-system had become obsolete, with the colors serving mainly to make the enduring words more vivid. As I watched, a few people paused, some took photographs, and others walked right past.
Elsewhere in the museum, I saw a 100-foot autobiographical mural by Raqib Shaw--born in Calcutta, raised in Kashmir, relocated to London. Combining influences from multiple cultures, along with Hindu and Christian symbolism, he chronicles a journey through displacement, doubt, and ambition toward the death of ego and humble reverence. Of his masterpiece, he writes: "I feel less like its author and more like its instrument. It no longer feels entirely mine. It feels as though I was simply the medium through which it came into being, guided by forces I did not fully understand at the time and I'm not really sure that I understand now."
I believe this is how all art, music, and literature is created. Throughout the Art Institute are thousands of paintings, drawings, and sculptures. I like to imagine them in conversation with one another, across generations, cultures, borders, and religious divides, reckoning with life's essence, under and above our daily chatter.
The staircase installation will close on September 14. No matter (pun intended). Swami Vivekananda's words will always be there, and here, and everywhere, ineffably.
No comments:
Post a Comment