Just A Pot Of Basil Essay Research

Just A Pot Of Basil Essay, Research Paper

Just a Pot of Basil

At the age of eight one of my favorite things to do was dream about living in a time where gigantic beasts loomed over the earth. Form the gigantasaurus to the brontosaurus I enjoyed anything from the Precambrian period. I grew to appreciate the monstrous creatures even more after I took my first trip to the Carnegie Museum of Pittsburgh. I had never seen such elaborate displays of marvelous full-scale dinosaurs, since I was accustomed to seeing them no larger than the height of a book or television screen. I recall roaming through the many displays pretending that I was one of them. Usually, I pretended to be the Troodon, a species that is thought to have the largest brain in proportion to the rest of its body. Even though I was smaller than the rest of the dinosaurs, I always knew that I could outsmart them if I was a clever Troodon. Of course I would forget that they had been extinct for millions of years, as the plaques in front of the enormous exhibits reminded those who were tall enough to read them. But I carried on in my world of dinosaurs while I was in the museum, free to dream as I cared to. The distance and time between the real dinosaurs and I disappeared when I was in the museum, in my little world.

Therein lies the significant difference between seeing and imagining, and being told or influenced, that is, being mystified. Mystification, as the art critic John Berger in Ways of Seeing explains, is the process of explaining away what might otherwise be evident (Berger 112). I was instantly captivated from the moment I saw the tied-together skeletons stretching as high as my own house; should I have cared about the petty details that would have distracted me from my own imagination.

Original paintings are silent and still in a sense that information never is (Berger 125). The skeletal remains of ancient beasts strung up give only a portion of what such creatures really were millions of years ago. The color of their skin, the texture of their bodies, or even the size of their internal organs are just a few of the endless questions that remain unanswered, lost over time. But museums give something more than any book could ever tell, and that is the real life experience of seeing what could never be perceived otherwise. When life breathed through the dinosaurs they were never frozen into a perfect stance like they are portrayed in museums. Our imagination allows us to fathom what it really may have been like, but the past remains where it is, and can only at its best be relived in movies or museums or our imagination.

Museums have never made me feel awkward or uneasy, they come as second nature to me. I enjoy being enveloped by a different emotion each time I look at the skeleton of a dinosaur, or see a mummified pharaoh, or even a beautiful painting of a landscape. I have always been able to let everything go, and be consumed by a striking or stunning image. The wonderful thing about museums is that every few feet there lies an artist waiting to draw you into their world. Artists and their works contained within a single building span over centuries and continents. All contain different points of view and expresses it to the best of their abilities. Today we see the art of the past as nobody saw it before. We actually perceive it in a different way (Berger 112). History meets in a museum, and constantly forms new accounts through time. Each day that passes we have gained something which may add to our overall perception of the world around us. This is why Berger claims that we see things differently and therefore there exists no definitive account of exactly the way things were at any specific moment in time. It is lost forever, and at best, can only be saved in an altered form.

There is something magical about the power of the atmosphere of a museum. The silence is filled with a sea of thoughts running through viewers minds . When I first saw John White Alexander s painting Isabella and the Pot of Basil I was immediately captivated. Even my first glance told me that there was something more to the large pot in the painting than meets the eye. In a painting all its elements are there to be seen simultaneously (Berger 121). What the eye can perceive in an instant may take pages to explain. There lies the beauty of art. One glance at Alexander s work captivated me instantly.

There lives some hidden secret inside the woman s soul that lay next to the pot. And sure enough, the small plaque beside the painting described a story that told me that my assumptions were correct. The painting was written as a reflection of a poem written by John Keats. Here, briefly, is the story of Isabella and the Pot of Basil.

Isabella had two brothers that expected her to marry a well-endowed man so they could collect a significant dowry from her marriage. But Isabella never married, and fell in love with a carpenter named Lorenzo, who was working for brothers. The two were madly in love, and visited each other frequently whenever they were certain that no one could find them together. Soon though, a brother learned of their secret, and the two brothers took Lorenzo into the woods, killed him, and buried him in a shallow grave. One night while Isabella was wailing in bed over the mysterious disappearance of her supposed runaway love, Lorenzo’s ghost came to her and des