The Supreme Insensibility Of Objects - Vienna

 "I envy the supreme insensibility of object, their extreme indifference."

Mihail Sebastian, from his novel, For Two Thousand Years

What I like about statuary is that until I read the plaque, I often don't know either the artist or the indidvidual depicted. Yet I accept the statue as an object and a work of art, and as I circle, study and admire it, I decide whether I like it or not. 

 Vienna is full of such statuary, though in this post I will focus on the depictions of figures of all sorts, some of them from history and mythology, that I didn't know when I first met them. 

In a later blog, I'll look at Vienna's widely known musicians and the like. Though some famous Viennese are here too.

I ask this. What is the issue with a statue of an individual from the past whose politics or legacy isn't to one's liking? 

Why an emotional reaction -- calling or funding to have it torn down -- over an object? 

Are you really so offended by history? 

 

Am I wrong in suggesting that in the image above that the statuary complements the orange flowers and vice versa? A synchronicity at work in a public space. Initially, I knew nothing about the individual in stone. I'd still would rather not know, accepting her lines, the sculpture's material, its proportions and how the whole adds to the creation of such an inviting space.

It's as if they are watching us watch them. As if they are the living ones because they know their prudence, their purpose, their beauty. 

This is from the Opera House. As is the one below. They wait for the opera lovers to arrive, hoping to be changed. Meanwhile, they don't change at all. 

Or do they?

So much of what I see depends on how quickly I'm moving while I look. How solidly I'm standing still. The angle of whatever view I happen to take. The mood I'm in. The weather. My emotional climate, as it were. 

None of this is of interest to the figure in stone.

 

Do you see it? The motion? It's there. You brought it with you and as you look, as you see, a confluence occurs. Your eye moves to your left. As does the figurine's, moving to her left. Until your eyes meet.

An otherwise banal public moment becomes an inspired, unspoken of communion. 

Lines diverge or else they peel away or else they cross in an infinite radiational burst of vectors and angels and diversions and collisions. 

Now we are one. Part of the cityscape. 

Which one the dog? Which the lion? Which the king and which the horse's ass?

Winged, valiant depictions meant to inspire or to intimidate? After all, you cannot be this large, this proud, this majesterial in any city. Not unless you were carved from bronze or stone.

Which of these objects lights the way? Which one races through your nightmares?

Who among us is more than the stories we tell about each other?

I once read a dime novel titled, Strip Jack Naked. I see this staue pictured above and I think of that book. I think column of earth, column called a man. Stone does not decide. It is. Therefore, it's free. 

I love to think that day by day residents of Vienna pass these statues on their way to and from work, soaked in the marinades of their miserable lives. Worried about such ephemeral concerns such as security, money, love, the advent of death. Never really seeing how many millions of interconnected spatial arrangements form the landscape around them. Sadly, perhaps taking it all for granted. Bitching about the tourists, their rent, their politics. 

Enrobed, highlighted in gold, bearing her spear. Does she take pity?

I've yet to enter a museum. I'm merely walking the streets of Vienna with my camera. I don't know what I'm looking at. I think if I knew, the wonder might be spoiled. How is the leg of a horse not beautiful?

So you go to work each day and this is the entranceway you pass under on the way to your office. How often do you pause? Often, I hope, for your sake.

Is it so wrong to honor founders? Of for them to honor themselves?

Or is it a blatant act of hubris and vanity?

Harmony. Dust. Dystopia. Heaven.

Empire can be a heavy burden sometimes.

I'm still merely walking around, my head on a swivel, my eyes darting about. Two-headed, perhaps. Eagle-eyed, indeed.

Are they not sketched into the walls as if illustrations? A window simply just can't be a window.

Are they not drawn against the sky? No door can exist merely as a portal, can it? You must pass between the lions to enter the lion's mouth.

I know him. We all do.

As we know him, as well. He's one of us. Perpetually waking up and a little stunned by what he sees.

And let us not forget the animal spirits.

 

And those places in a city where were we need to stop and reflect. 

Seeing how everything, if rendered with care, fits together.

And can be not only beautiful but functional.

I keep walking and dreaming and resting and walking some more. Until I cross paths with some figures I actually recognize, happily so, immediately.

Johann Strauss II (born October 25, 1825, Vienna, Austria -- died June 3, 1899, Vienna) was known as “the Waltz King,” a composer famous for his Viennese waltzes and operettas. Strauss was the eldest son of the composer Johann Strauss I. 

Johannes Gensfleisch zur Laden zum Gutenberg (c. 1393–1406 – 3 February 1468), German inventor and craftsman who invented the movable-type printing press.

Marcus Antonius, known more commonly as Marc Anthony was a Roman general under Julius Caesar and later triumvir who, with Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, was defeated by Octavian (the future emperor Augustus) in the last of the civil wars that destroyed the Roman Republic.

Maria Theresia Walburga Amalia Christina, sovereign of Austria, Hungary, Croatia, Bohemia, Transylvania, Slavonia, Mantua, Milan, Moravia, Galicia and Lodomeria, Dalmatia, Austrian Netherlands, Carinthia, Carniola, Gorizia and Gradisca, Austrian Silesia, Tyrol, Styria, and Parma. By marriage, she was Duchess of Lorraine, Grand Duchess of Tuscany, and Holy Roman Empress.