The above quote is engraved on the bench of the impressive bronze statue of Scientist and Nobel Prize winner Albert Einstein. He is twenty-one feet high resting amongst elm trees outside the National Academy of Sciencesns in Washington DC since April 22, 1979. Sculptor Robert Perks based his work on a bust of Einstein he sculpted from life in 1953.

Einstein was elected a foreign associate of the Academy in 1922 and a member in 1942 two years after becoming a US citizen.

Einstein holds a paper in his left hand with mathematical equations summarizing three of his most important scientific contributions: the photoelectric effect, the theory of general relativity and the equivalence of energy and matter.

Albert Einstein was born to secular Jewish parents in Germany March 14,1879. He attended  a Catholic school and received private tutoring in Judaism. Einstein rebelled at age 12 and questioned the truth of Biblical Stories and the religious teachings of the church and declared himself against the closed system of thought. He believed the children were stunted in their search for answers and truth and later became agnostic.

“The consequence was a positively fanatic [orgy of] free-thinking coupled with the impression that youth is being deceived by the state through lies; it was a crushing impression,” Einstein later wrote.

Knowing this I was shocked mid December to witness the iconic Sculpture of Einstein sporting a gigantic customized crimson red santa hat with a white fur ball on Constitution Avenue in front of the National Academy of Science.

As an agnostic scientist, Einstein definitely would not have approved of wearing a hat symbolizing the myth of santa flying around the world in one day delivering presents to “Good Christian children.” He did not believe in lying to children.

The criticism about this deception is not that it is a simple lie, but a complicated series of large lies to make children believe in Santa Claus. The objections are that it is unethical for parents, teachers, and religious figures to lie to children and that it discourages healthy skepticism in children.

Writer Austin Cline posed the question:

“Is it not possible that kids would find at least as much pleasure in knowing that parents are responsible for Christmas, not a supernatural stranger?”

On January 3, 1954 Einstein wrote to the philosopher Eric Gutkind:

“The word God is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weaknesses, the bible a collection of honourable, but still primitive legends which are nevertheless pretty childish. No interpretation no matter how subtle can (for me) change this.”

So why decorate the noble prize winning scientist’s statue with a Santa hat?

This man’s image is dedicated to the search for truth and the scientific wonder of the universe.  Isn’t that extraordinary enough?

Written by Gail Pean 12/20/11

Rainbow-colored leaves danced at my ankles, as I wandered through the Kahlil Gibran Memorial.

Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931) was a Lebanese-American artist, poet, writer and philosopher best known for his masterpiece, The Prophet. Gibran’s philosophies on peace, meditation, understanding, and rational debate are powerful and timeless. He is the third best-selling poet of all time, after Shakespeare and Lao Tzu.

In 1991, Gibran was honored with this outdoor sculpture garden on Massachusetts Avenue across from the British Embassy.

At the entrance, Gibran’s bronze bust grows out from an organic weaving of branches, foliage and doves.  Two pathways lead up to a circular arrangement of classical benches. The benches surround a fountain shaped as an eight-point star – symbolizing balance, harmony and cosmic order.

The space exudes tranquility.  Gibran quotes adorn the benches and surrounding areas –  including my favorite: “We live only to discover beauty, all else is a form of waiting.”

With the change of seasons literary nipping at my heals, I thought of a passage from The Prophet:

Seasons change.  Oceans ebb and flow.  We are constantly evolving, shifting and growing.  Falling is a part of life too – and sometimes it’s not so graceful as rainbow-colored leaves dancing in the breeze.  Gibran reminds us not to measure ourselves by our failures and weaknesses alone.

It is fitting that nature’s shifting is so forcefully present in these photos, as I strive to embrace Gibran’s message of steadiness and patience despite change.

Accepting the fall. Smiling through winter, knowing spring will come again. This is my Gibran-inspired motto.

The D.C. War Memorial is a secret garden on the National Mall.  Steps from the Lincoln, World War II and Martin Luther King Jr. Memorials, it stands secluded from the pomp and circumstance (and tourists) of the surrounding spaces.

Visiting this circular domed temple, you will feel as if you stepped into Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.  Any second now, Mr. Darcy will emerge from the foggy hallow to profess his undying love for… Sorry, back to reality.

This Memorial pays honor to the District’s World War I veterans.  Intended as a bandstand, it was dedicated by Herbert Hoover on November 11, 1931.  Today, November 10, 2011, the Memorial will be re-dedicated after a much-needed restoration and cleaning.

This exciting re-opening is laced with controversy.  Currently, the Mall lacks a national World War I memorial (hard to believe, but it’s true).  Amongst national memorials to Vietnam, Korea and World War II – some would like to rededicate this  space to honor all of our nation’s World War I veterans.

However, the D.C. War Memorial is the only local memorial on the Mall, making it a point of pride for the District.  D.C. voting rights advocates believe the proposed change is disrespectful to District sovereignty. Read more about the controversy here.

What I love about this debate is that people are talking about (and fighting over) our public art.  At times, our nation seems indifferent to, or even against, supporting the arts.

Yet, works of art continue to hold important symbolic significance in our hearts and minds.  We may disagree –  I’m just delighted we care.

I am reminded of a quote from Rape of Europa, a phenomenal documentary about the displacement and loss of art during World War II: “Art belongs to humanity. Without it we are savages – we fight, we eat, we sleep. Art is what makes us human.”

I look forward to visiting the now sparkling D.C. War Memorial. My secret garden isn’t so secret anymore!

Last Friday, FotoWeek DC kicked off with two exciting launch parties. The festivities began at 5pm at FotoWeek CENTRAL headquarters at 18th & L street NW.

The large trendy space was bustling with people and bumping with music. My good friend and amazing artist, Gail accompanied me for the evening. We wandered through the many interesting exhibits, enjoyed drinks and food and eventually made our way to the FotoWeek DC International Awards Exhibition.

It was surreal to see my own photograph amongst the winners! Also, I enjoyed viewing the other photographs and meeting some of the other winning photographers.

One of the judges who chose the winners for my category was in attendance. This NYC agent for professional photographers explained why he was so drawn to my photo. He worked with a National Geographic photographer to choose the winners for the category. I was speechless!

The party moved on to the Corcoran Gallery of Art around 8:30pm – growing in size and spirit.

The DC FotoBooth was in full-effect at the Corcoran – allowing everyone to be photographed for the big screens.

While waiting in line for the open bar, the FotoWeek DC Competition Winners’ photographs began projecting on the big screen.  I nervously wondered if mine would be shown…

Around 10pm, standing amongst hundreds of people – my photograph was displayed on two large projection screens in the Corcoran’s grand halls. As a photographer, this was the honor of the lifetime.

Wearing a badge distinguishing that I was a competition winner, strangers congratulated me throughout the evening!  I felt like the belle of the ball; it was a night I’ll cherish forever.

If you are in the area, FotoWeek DC runs through Saturday Nov. 12th 2011. Check the website for exciting exhibits and events!

I’m thrilled to announce that a team of International Awards Judges awarded my photograph, “MLK’s Spirit Walking,” First Place in the 2011 FotoWeek DC‘s International Awards Competition for the “Mobile Phone Spirit of DC” category.

The FotoWeek DC’s Mobile Phone Spirit of Washington category:  ”With one image, capture the spirit and essence of Washington DC. Find that visual expression of what makes this city, our nation’s capital, unique among American cities.”

During FotoWeek DC (from Nov. 5 – 12, 2011),  my photograph will be displayed at FotoWeek CENTRAL alongside the other International Award Winners. FotoWeek CENTRAL is located at 1800 L Street NW (18th St. & L St. NW – the former Borders Bookstore) in the heart of downtown DC.

If you’re in the area, please visit  the FotoWeekDC Schedule of Events for exciting events and opportunities. All Exhibitions are Free and Open to the public. 

Thank you for following District of Sculpture. This blog inspired me to visit the MLK memorial and take this photo. I look forward to exploring more of DC together!

I first saw King’s likeness this spring, bathing in buttery morning sunlight along the Tidal Basin. The sculpture took my breath away – shinning through a thicket of scaffolding and cherry blossoms. I eagerly anticipated the monument’s completion and unveiling.

After two decades of planning, fundraising, and construction, the Martin Luther King Jr. National Memorial opened to visitors this past Monday August 22, 2011. The memorial is located at 1964 Independence Ave, SW – the “1964” chosen in honor of the 1964 Civil Rights Act.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was a clergyman, advocate for social justice and martyr to peace, equality, and justice. He was a prominent leader of the African American Civil Rights Movement, and also fought against poverty and the Vietnam War. He was assassinated on April 4, 1968 in Memphis, TN.

King is the first African-American and fourth non-President to be honored with a memorial in the National Mall area.  The prominent location was selected for it’s direct “line of leadership” between the Jefferson and Lincoln memorials.

The  central theme of King’s memorial is derived from a line of his “I Have A Dream” speech: “Out of a mountain of despair, a stone of hope.”  Visitors pass between two imposing granite mountains, representing the “Mountain of Despair,” to reach the centerpiece sculpture of King, carved from the “Stone of Hope.”

Like all important works of art, this one has had it’s fair share of controversy. The memorial was designed by ROMA Design Group of San Francisco and the “Stone of Hope” was sculpted by Lei Yixin of China. This choice was controversial for multiple reasons. Some believe an African American sculptor should have been chosen. Others objected on human rights grounds, since Lei had sculpted Mao Zedong. However, the president of the memorial foundation, Harry E. Johnson, defended the decision, stating that the final selection was made by a mostly African American design team and was based solely on artistic skill.

Unfortunately, the weekend’s official ceremonies, including performances by Aretha Franklin and Stevie Wonder, were postponed indefinitely, due to threats of Hurricane Irene. The area also suffered damage from a historic earthquake on Tuesday.

I visited the memorial on Friday evening, hoping to sneak in a few photos before the hurricane. Much to my surprise, the weather was gorgeous and the memorial was bustling. People of all ages and ethnicities had traveled from across the country to stand here in front of King.

The crowd was as joyful and radiant as the skies. There was a camaraderie of spirit; an open recognition of sharing in something historic.

“One of the greatest things any black man can ever see. It’s getting dark, but I don’t wanna leave,” described one man on his cell phone.

“He marched for a long long time,” a mother explained to her two young children.

“A historic day…” an older man said under his breath.

“Is he alive, Mama?” a young boy asked his mother.

“No baby, he passed away,” she explained calmly, “Well actually, he was murdered.”

Once I tore myself away from King’s likeness, I wandered up and down the 450-foot Inscription Wall featuring quotes from King’s sermons and speeches.

I read each quote multiple times, with tears welling in my eyes. King’s words resonated deeply in my spirit.

During a time when everything seems in flux – from our economy to our weather, King’s Memorial stands tall as a reminder that adversity is apart of life – and something we can and will overcome. This space embodies hope and strength.

It is also a testament to the positive impact any one person can have upon the world. Martin Luther King, Jr. was never President, yet here he stands proudly amongst them.  His leadership inspires me to continue fighting for what I believe in.

Ironically, Hurricane Irene passed through the District last night, clearing way for sunny blue skies today.  Although the official ceremonies were postponed, there’s no doubt the world will celebrate King’s memory and message today. Even after the darkest of day – there is light.

Jose de Rivera’s Infinity is like a cloud, an 800-pound stainless steel cloud, floating above the national mall.

After receiving my first “Request-A-Sculpture” submission from a reader, I located the artwork in front of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History. At first glance, it wasn’t my cup of tea.

In 1967, Infinity was the first abstract sculpture commissioned by the U.S. government. The commission was part of the Art-In-Architecture program to promote collaboration between public building projects and the fine arts.  In the 60’s, this sculpture was a huge departure from the Roman gods and Civil War heroes in the area.

De Rivera had to rent a studio on Long Island to build the sculpture, as it was too large for his own studio.  At 16 ft long, 13 ½ ft tall and 8 ft wide - Infinity was the largest artwork this Louisiana-born sculptor ever made.

De Rivera and assistants used hammers and torches to extrude and weld the steel rod into one continuous three-sided object.  The painstaking process to achieve the mirror-like polished finish took 14 months.

The twisted form was inspired by the “morbius strip” – a continuous surface spiraling without beginning or end (popularly represented by M.C. Escher).

Once completed, the gigantic metal sculpture was placed atop a 16 foot black granite pedestal. The pedestal is motorized to allow the sculpture to slowly spin – fully rotating in 6 minutes.

Funny, I hadn’t noticed it moving on my first visit.  I returned a few more times, increasingly attracted to Infinity.  Photographing it became an obsession, with infinite possibilities in motion, vantage point, weather and light.

The sculpture’s name Infinity, doesn’t have any grand ”inside” meaning. De Rivera explained, “When I make an abstract sculpture, I give it an abstract name. Then they can discuss it all they want.”

He was shocked when the public demanded a greater explanation. “What I make represents nothing but itself,” he declared.

This sort of smug abstractionist talk has always annoyed me. What’s wrong with good old-fashioned objects and figures?!

Yet, as I sorted through my Infinity photographs, I discovered countless forms and figures – a heart, a bird, a pin wheel, a figure eight, faces, and cursive letters.

In other pictures, I fell in love with a strong curve or reflection  - without caring “what it looked like” in representational language.  If made of music, Infinity would be Jazz.

The sculpture isn’t married to a particular message or story. Instead, it turns quietly – inviting imagination and interaction, waiting for a kid to look up with eyes of wonder.

See what you will.  It’s only promise is change.

A dusty trail led down a slopping green hill.  Unsure how I would find what I was looking for, I began wandering aimless.

I noticed a few people gathered by a grave in the distance.  A car passed slowly by; I kept my head down, hoping to go unnoticed.  These other visitors reminded me that I was here for the wrong reasons. I hadn’t come to mourn the dead.

Eventually,  I saw a cluster of tall bushes– odd landscaping in the middle of a cemetery, but I decided to check it out.

 Climbing a few stairs into the shrubs, a bench appeared. And then, the greenish-grey stone of the figure’s knee. In reaction, my own knees weakened with surprise.

There were no words anywhere on the statue or it’s surroundings. No artist’s name. No indication of the two people buried underneath. No nothing. Just silence. I sat down to observe.

The mysterious monument by Augustus Saint-Gaudens was commissioned by Henry Adams after the suicide of his wife, Marian “Clover” Hooper Adams in 1885.

Henry was a prominent historian and the direct descendant of both President John Adams and President John Quincy Adams.  His wife, Marian “Clover” was a talented amateur photographer, but after her father passed away in 1885, she entered a deep depression and committed suicide by drinking potassium cyanide (a chemical used in developing her photography).

To commemorate his wife’s death, Adams enlisted pre-eminent Saint-Gaudens to create a figure representing “the acceptance, intellectually, of the inevitable.” Adams, assisted by painter friend John LeFarge, provided photos of Buddhist figures and works by Michelangelo to inspire the sculptor.

Saint-Gaudens took extreme care developing and creating the monument. He worked with Stanford White, who designed the granite bench and surrounding setting.

Six years after Marian “Clover” died, the monument was finished and installed in Rock Creek Cemetery in 1891. Adams was out of the country (in Fiji) when the sculpture was installed, but John Hay wrote to Adams, describing the sculpture:

“The work is indescribably noble and imposing. It is… full of poetry and suggestion.  Infinite wisdom; a past without beginning and a future without end; a repose, after limitless experience; a peace, to which nothing matters – all embodied in this austere and beautiful face and form.”

Returning home, Adams approved of the sculpture. He adamantly insisted it remain nameless and sexless. He wanted anonymity and neutrality to allow each viewer to read his or her own meaning into it.

For Adams,  the figure represented  “The Peace of God.” Mark Twain visited the memorial in 1906 and famously referred to it as “Grief.”  In 1908, President Theodore Roosevelt described his admiration for the “the shrouded seated woman.”  Adams wrote the president to clarify that Saint-Gaudens’ creation was “a little higher than sex can give.”

By 1913, the Adams Memorial was considered one of the nation’s best sculptures. After Adams’ death in 1918, he was buried beside his wife under the memorial.

A hundred years later, I visited on a whim. Of all the monuments and buildings built for giants along the mall, none compare to this one. A small space never felt so expansive. Everything else melted away – I forgot I was in cemetery, I let go of my worries and stressors.  I returned home a little lighter, knowing “it” was there whenever I needed it.

And what was “it?” For me, it was a higher peace and strength, beyond the noise and clutter of my daily life.  Adams would say that this is the meaning I bring to it, a mirror looking back at me.  And he’d be right, as I crave peace and strength in my life.

Interestingly, I wasn’t the first to find solace here.  After researching, I discovered that I walked in big footsteps.

Eleanor Roosevelt became very distraught after discovering Franklin was having an affair early in their marriage.  During this difficult time, “Several times each week Eleanor drove herself to Rock Creek Cemetery on the outskirts of Washington to sit along and contemplate the remarkable statue… Eleanor found solace communing with the shrouded figure of grief and in later years would usually visit the cemetery whenever in Washington.” (1)

The day before FDR’s inauguration in 1933, “Eleanor asked her friend Lorena Hickok to meet her at the Mayflower Hotel, where she and the president-elect were staying.   Mrs. Roosevelt instructed the cab driver to take them to Rock Creek Cemetery so that she might gaze upon the statue once again.  ‘In the old days when we lived here,’ said Eleanor, ‘I was much younger and not so very wise. Sometimes I’d be very unhappy and sorry for myself. When I was feeling that way, if I could manage, I’d come here alone, and sit and look at that woman. And I’d always come away feeling better. And stronger. I’ve been here many, many times.” (2)

I’m a big fan of Eleanor Roosevelt. She once said: “We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face… we must do that which we think we cannot.”

Now, I know where Eleanor nurtured her fearless spirit. Strange that she and I found solace in a graveyard. Yet here “it” was.

Sources: (1) Jean Edward Smith, “FDR” (New York: Random House, 2007) pg. 165-166.(2) Lorena A. Hickok, “Eleanor Roosevelt: Reluctant First Lady” (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1980) pg. 92. 

Imagine you’re on a sinking ship. What would you do?

Charlotte Pye freaked out (understandably). She grabbed her baby and ran to the deck, where she observed “women shouting and screaming and praying to be saved.”

“Don’t cry. It’s quite all right,” a man told her.

“No, it isn’t,” Charlotte replied.

The man promised to find her a life jacket, but unable to find one, he removed his own to give her. As he tied it around her, she realized this was the same man who’d given her five dollars the night before for a charity concert. This same man, the American millionaire sportsman named Alfred Vanderbilt, helped Charlotte and her child to a lifeboat.

Another woman on the ship, a nurse named Alice witnessed Alfred Vanderbilt saying to his valet, “Find all the kiddies you can, boy.” The valet rushed off to collect the children and brought them to Vanderbilt who “dashed to the boats with two little ones in his arms at a time.”

The ship’s barber, Lott Gadd saw Alfred Vanderbilt “trying to put life jackets on women and children. The ship was going down fast. When the sea reached them, they were washed away. I never saw Vanderbilt after that. All I saw in the water was children everywhere.”

The year was 1915. The ship was the Lusitania, hit and sunk by a German torpedo just off the coast of Ireland. Over 1,200 of the 1,962 passengers died, including Alfred Vanderbilt.

Unfortunately, this devastating tragedy was not one of a kind. Three years earlier, in 1912, the Titanic hit an iceberg and sunk. Equipped with life-vessels for half the number of passengers, over 1,500 people died. Men gave their lives to save women and children. ¼ of the ship’s children died, ½ of the women and ¾ of all men on board.

Soon thereafter, a committee of women in DC began raising funds to build a memorial in honor of the brave men who gave their lives for others on the Titanic. Eight professional artists submitted designs into a competition. In 1914, the committee chose the winning design, by Mrs. Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney.

Gertrude must have been thrilled to win the competition. The committee chose Gertrude’s design because it “showed the figure of Heroism, a man of noble proportions, fifteen feet high, the face, arms, and whole posture of the body exemplifying a willing sacrifice, a smiling welcome to death.”

Mrs. Whitney fell in love with art on a trip to Paris in 1901. She studied sculpture in New York and Paris and opened a studio in Greenwich Village where she worked on her sculpture and became a patron to other artists. As an heiress to the Vanderbilt railroad and shipping fortune and married into the Standard Oil wealth of the Whitney family, she had more than enough money to pursue her artistic passions.

One biographer described Gertrude as “existing in two worlds. In one, she was the perfect, icy formal uptown matron… in the other she was a passionate bohemian who took lover after lover; a lady bountiful to impoverished American artists with who she shared a riotous life in Greenwich Village.”

Titanic Memorial Bust

And in 1915, the year she began bronze studies for the Titanic memorial, her brother, Alfred, boarded another ship called the Lusitania. The rest is history.

I can’t imagine what went through Gertrude’s mind as she worked on a memorial to commemorate the bravery of men giving their lives to save others on a sinking ship. People say the sculpture’s face closely resembles her brother.  In 1912, the project was important. In 1915, it became personal.

John Harrigan Sculpting Titanic Memorial

John Harrigan in Quincy, MA sculpted the final 13 foot figure from one piece of red granite. The Titanic Memorial was unveiled in a prominent location on the banks of the Potomac in Rock Creek Park in 1931.

That same year, Gertrude founded the Whitney Museum of Art in New York. Originally, she’d offered her American modern art collection to the Met. When the Met refused, the Whitney was born.  Gertrude is best remembered as a patron to the arts. Her own artistry has been forgotten.

In 1966, the Titanic Memorial was removed to make room for the John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Art. The memorial remained in storage for two years before being re-located to it’s current location in 1968.

I saw a black and white photograph of the Women’s Titanic Memorial and was hypnotized. It festered in me a few days until one evening, after yoga class, I decided to go for it.

The southwest waterfront is far off the typical DC tourist’s march. Unfamiliar with the area, I wasn’t sure it would be easy to find. Daylight faded quickly and exploring after dark wouldn’t be safe.

Once nearby, I saw the sculpture in the distance, swimming in pink clouds. I grabbed my camera and started running towards it. A few men cast fishing poles into the Potomac. A woman leaned against the sculpture’s marble base. I snapped photos frantically. No one seemed to notice me or the 13-foot half-naked man bearing his soul on the water’s edge. I returned home, more intrigued than ever.

I have no personal connection to the Titanic. Of course I adored the movie and saw it in the theater three times (an all-time record for me). The sculpture’s similarity to the ”I’m flying” scene is striking, but it isn’t Kate and Leo tugging at my heart.

Why do I love the sculpture so much? This  question agitated me while out on a run recently. For fun, I assumed the figure’s pose – opening my arms, closing my eyes and tilting my head towards the sky.

I thought this may feel morbid, like a crucifixion, but it was actually quite the opposite. Instead of a surrender to death, for me – it was a surrender to life. My heart lifted and stress melted away. I was more present and alive than ever.

The magic’s in the pose. It was there all along, right before my eyes, yet I’d overlooked it.

Try it yourself: Open your arms. Close your eyes.  Tilt your head back.  In a way, we’re all on a sinking ship. Let go; give in; surrender.

———————-

If it seems as if he’s judging you, don’t worry – he is.  This bronze sculpture of Dante Alighieri by Ettore Ximenes stands 11 and ½ feet tall amongst thick oak trees in Meridian Hill Park. Set back from the park’s grand 13-teir fountain, Dante hides in his own alcove.  If you happen upon him, you will probably be one-on-one, in which case, you will quickly get the feeling that he’s mad and it’s your fault.

Dante has always made my palms sweat. Long before encountering his likeness in Meridian Hill Park, I studied his “Divine Comedy” sophomore year in high school – an intimidating and inaccessible experience.  The language was archaic and his message far removed from my interests and understanding of the world at age 14.  Who cared what a 700 year old man thought anyway? I was more concerned with what the cute boy behind me in English class was thinking.

As an awkward teenager, Dante was Medieval… literally.  He lived before the Renaissance, the original one. Before Lincoln, Washington, and Columbus. He lived before “Italy” and the “United States of America“ were on the map.

Dante Unveiling on Dec. 1, 1921

Yet, in 1921, Dante served as a symbol of mutual respect between America and Italy, donated by a famous Italian American newspaper editor, Carlo Barsotti. A large group of people, including President Warren G. Harding, gathered on Dec. 1, 1921 to watch the American and Italian flags part ways to reveal the large statue of Dante, wearing a victor’s laurels and holding his “Commedia” close to his body.  Newspaper accounts described the event as an “international love feast.”

In the 1930’s, the park’s Italian-style fountain was completed.  A native of Florence, Dante fit nicely with the Italian scheme. In the 40’s, Dante heard the new music of Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong light up the air just a few blocks away on U Street. He also watched patiently as our nation was at odds with Italy’s fascist leadership in World War II.

Dante had a front-row seat for the anti-war and civil rights rallies and protests that took place in Meridian Hill Park in the 60’s and 70’s (during which time the park was nicknamed “Malcolm X Park”).

Now, Dante stands quietly as an ideal backdrop for yuppies sunbathing and playing fetch with their dogs on nearby grassy slopes. However, he would’ve felt most at home here in times of social and political unrest.

What I missed in high school is that Dante was a political activist himself.  His writing was a potent commentary about the worldly temptations of power and ego and the slippery slope of moral corruption.

He believed in a separation of church and state and spoke out, eventually leading to his ex-communication from Florence when his political party was out of power. Invited back under disagreeable terms, Dante refused and was estranged from home for life.

For Dante, banishment was form of death, which he described in the Divine Comedy:

Dante died in exile at age 56, but if he were alive today, he’d still be upset, as the same backward corruption he wrote about 700 years ago exists in our world today.

I am reminded of China’s artist Ai Weiwei, who wrote on his blog a few years ago: “What can they do to me? Nothing more than banish, kidnap, or imprison me. Perhaps they could fabricate my disappearance into thin air, but they don’t have any creativity or imagination, and they lack both joy and the ability to fly.”

Ai Weiwei Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn

Although out of prison today, some believe he’s not really free.  “You can say that Ai Weiwei was transferred from a small prison to the prison outside,” Gao Wenqian recently told Newsweek, “It’s like there’s a sword over his neck and if he continues to criticize the Chinese government, that sword will come down.”

Artists hold a mirror up to society, but often we don’t like the reflection.
Ai’s physical fate rests in the hands of a government that doesn’t want to look in the mirror.  Yet, like Dante, Ai’s spirit speaks louder than intimidation, imprisonment, and even death and he will continue to challenge us and hopefully, incite change.

As Dante described,“The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in time of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.”  If this doesn’t spark a fire under us, we might as well be made of bronze.