the removal of confederate monuments --
John Hunt Morgan's statue has to go. Ride off into the sunset patina-green knight, because you can’t stay here. He was erected, not so much as representative of a criminal rogue regime, but as local cultural icon, poster boy for bluegrass landed-gentry, dashing and feckless. Around here he’s most famous for riding through the front door of the family mansion with yankees close behind, and out the back, presumedly without dismounting. Big house. Colorful but not a great military victory, not even gallant, a comic opera diversion from a brutal bloody carnage.
I suppose I’ve never taken John seriously, more like the uniformed prince-charming from a local fairytale, so erect and noble on his transitioned horse, sort of a joke. As art his monument is something like a Jeff Koons three dimensional, and a swell lawn ornament for a refurbished courthouse tourist center, but it’s not to be. He’ll become a symbol of a tidal wave of historical correctness booting his revisionist ass right out of the park, by not being there. That’s right. He’ll wind up becoming more significant in his absence than he was when he was here, and you can’t get more zen than that.
Doesn’t it remind the student of art of the famous ‘erased drawing’, a blank piece of paper? Seems Rauschenberg convinces deKooning to give him a drawing he can erase. At first deKooning says of course not and has to be convinced, for dramatic effect don’t you see, but finally finds a genius sketch for Bob to deconstruct. Some rich guy owns it now in a little frame, so precious. I always thought that was sort of a joke, but now I see, there’s power in being gone. John Hunt will soon be gone. Where he stood will be scoured and disinfected, and considering what a mess his being here could cause, can’t be too soon.
I say save him not too far out of town, because someday, when current points have been made, when immediate social issues have been settled, or at least evolved, maybe he can come back, the nostalgic conceit of a past that never was, only an all-weather, politically neutral, wonderfully well-made piece of yard art.
John Hunt Morgan's statue has to go. Ride off into the sunset patina-green knight, because you can’t stay here. He was erected, not so much as representative of a criminal rogue regime, but as local cultural icon, poster boy for bluegrass landed-gentry, dashing and feckless. Around here he’s most famous for riding through the front door of the family mansion with yankees close behind, and out the back, presumedly without dismounting. Big house. Colorful but not a great military victory, not even gallant, a comic opera diversion from a brutal bloody carnage.
I suppose I’ve never taken John seriously, more like the uniformed prince-charming from a local fairytale, so erect and noble on his transitioned horse, sort of a joke. As art his monument is something like a Jeff Koons three dimensional, and a swell lawn ornament for a refurbished courthouse tourist center, but it’s not to be. He’ll become a symbol of a tidal wave of historical correctness booting his revisionist ass right out of the park, by not being there. That’s right. He’ll wind up becoming more significant in his absence than he was when he was here, and you can’t get more zen than that.
Doesn’t it remind the student of art of the famous ‘erased drawing’, a blank piece of paper? Seems Rauschenberg convinces deKooning to give him a drawing he can erase. At first deKooning says of course not and has to be convinced, for dramatic effect don’t you see, but finally finds a genius sketch for Bob to deconstruct. Some rich guy owns it now in a little frame, so precious. I always thought that was sort of a joke, but now I see, there’s power in being gone. John Hunt will soon be gone. Where he stood will be scoured and disinfected, and considering what a mess his being here could cause, can’t be too soon.
I say save him not too far out of town, because someday, when current points have been made, when immediate social issues have been settled, or at least evolved, maybe he can come back, the nostalgic conceit of a past that never was, only an all-weather, politically neutral, wonderfully well-made piece of yard art.
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