When I first saw this, it gave me goosebumps for some reason…I love it love it love it…a very strong and thought-provoking image to my heart and spirit.
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I see why….it’s an innovative piece of art. It inspires a past that me your feel present….
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I have real mixed feelings on Rushmore. As a tree hugger, a part of me bristles at the arrogance of transforming a perfectly good mountain into a monument to man, and yet I recognize the massive accomplishment of art on a grand, historic scale–dare I compare to the great works of the ancients? I think I do. The cultural issue–a wall o’ white men in what was by tradition and treaty sacred ground–is more troubling. All of that said, when I first visited Rushmore, expecting to be underwhelmed, I was shocked by my transfixed, almost reverent reaction. I found it magnificent, despite my preconceptions. I’m taking my children there this summer–wedged between stops at Wounded Knee and Little Bighorn. I’m sure I’ll address this issue again in late August, but maybe the best thing at this point is to accept the triumphs, mistakes, and travesties of history in the context of what is unquestionably a brilliant but flawed accomplishment.
Your post reminds me of the Exene Cervenka poem, “Gravel”
It’s not colored water they’re drinking
Tomorrow morning anvils will be falling on their heads.
They are celebrating, they are hiding high in the mountains,
just in case.
They’ve been scared to death by the faces on Mt. Rushmore.
They are two Americans, a woman and a man.
Smallpox, and justice, and General Phil Sheridan
are the responsible parties.
They are two Americans, a woman and a man,
who don’t wear Black Hills gold,
and they disagree with history.
Today they were talking behind George Washington’s back;
They found a perfect spot for lunch and explosives.
Under the stars, they hear good news: the heads are gravel.
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Wow, that is a beautiful poem…
thanks for your ever-insightful input, you are a very wise man. ❤
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