Just a pot of Basil
Just a pot of BasilJust 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...
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