More Ghosts

I should have known that coming to all these Olde World cities was going to result in paranormal activity. But after a full day of tromping around Berlin, there’s no escaping our collective past. And in Berlin, that past is even more present than it was in Prague.

From the Nazi atrocities to the communist oppression that followed, Berlin is chock full of heinous pasts. And as nice and modern as so much of this city is now, the reminders are everywhere. Memorials to Jewish victims, remnants of the Berlin Wall, the martial imagery leveraged by the Nazis at the Olympic Stadium and the image of Jesse Owens winning four gold medals…Berlin is haunted more than any city I’ve ever visited. Yes, the locals are cleaning it up in that oh-so-efficient German style, but there are some stains that will never come off.

I was wondering today, while I walked around parts of Berlin that were off-limits to me the last time I was here, 22 years ago: is it better to have experienced that thankfully-now-gone world? Or is it better to be like the kids and 20-somethings I saw goofing off all over town and have zero first-hand knowledge of that kind of oppression? To those kids, the Potsdamer Platz is a stylish, happenin’ square with cool buildings and a lot going on; to me, it’s a place that was ground zero for Cold War tensions for 50 years. Is it better to be blissfully ignorant? Or is it better to have those memories and know what human beings are capable of?

And maybe it’s because I’m an American and I take pride in the impact that a countryman made during the 1936 Olympics here in Berlin, but the way the Nazis used the architecture of those Games really pissed me off. I actually got angry at various points as I toured the grounds because I knew what would follow a couple of years after the Games were over. But then I had to realize: we’ve done the same thing. In fact, the Los Angeles Coliseum was touted as a model for the Berlin Olympic Stadium. And as imposing as the Reichstag is, is it any different from our Capital Building in Washington, D.C.?

I might lose some people here but I’m gonna throw something out there: What event in modern times parallels the Reichstag fire? What event prompted a diminution of freedoms in the name of security? The only thing I could come up with is the 9/11 terrorist attacks. The Reichstag Fire Decree or the Patriot Act: is there really a difference?

And there’s a similarity between the Nazi inner circle and those in power in 2001 that occurred to me: the Germans touted this genetic ideal — an ideal that none of them even remotely resembled. Along similar lines, the hawks in power in 2001 touted patriotism and a military response to threats — even though they all ducked service in the ’60s when it was their time. In both cases, a small group of power-hungry assholes held up an ideal that all citizens had to adhere to — except they themselves in their little clique, of course. No, we haven’t engulfed the world in war as a result, but hey, our troops are still on the ground in Afghanistan 10 years later.

Perhaps Santayana was right: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” If that’s true, the heavy history of the 20th century, particularly here in Berlin, hopefully continues to educate. And as carefree as those kids cavorting on the subway might seem, those ghosts have to be unavoidable to someone who grows up here. I only hope our isolation far away across the ocean doesn’t insulate us and keep those ghosts from haunting us as a society.

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Dateline: Prague

In addition to being a beautiful city, Prague has an atmosphere about it that is so palpable you can taste it. And if you don’t believe me, consider the works of one who grew up there: Franz Kafka.

I hit the Kafka Museum while in Prague and really the only way to describe is “Kafkaesque.” You learn about the writer’s history, what shaped his singular view of the world, in a pretty straightforward manner that you would expect in a museum. But thrown in for good measure are several audiovisual displays — slide shows, videos and so forth — that either leave you scratching your head or giving you more insight to a mindset that I’m pretty sure most of us can’t quite get our heads around (not and stay sane, that is). It was actually pretty cool and I did come away feeling like I’d gained a bit more of an ability to understand Kafka, which is not something I could lay claim to beforehand.

But I think a lot of that might have had to do with my wanderings around the city. Prague’s cobblestone streets and twisty, turny alleys and soft nighttime lighting and prodigious religious statuary — just its aura — give it a vibe that here be dragons. Ghosts, if you will. The only place I’ve ever felt an aura like Prague’s is New Orleans, but there it’s a bit more sinister, more voodoo. In Prague it’s not necessarily sinister though the city’s history could make it seem so. Rather, it’s like a fog, a cloud of history and time — LONG time — that hangs over the city, in every dark corner and around every turn. It’s there; you feel it.

And if you were an impressionable young Jewish kid in a place with Prague’s history and some serious daddy issues thrown in for good measure, it’s not difficult to see how you might wind up penning some kinda-out-there literary works.

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Further Ruminations on Art

Full disclosure: I had zero interest in going to the Louvre while I was in Paris. Being swarmed by 50,000 tourists all clamoring to get a Chevy Chase-like glimpse of the Mona Lisa was not my idea of a good time.

But I did catch the Musee d’Orsay and the Musee Rodin. And in both places I took up an internal discussion I’ve had going for some time. It’s nothing new; in fact, the discussion is one that billions of people have been having since time immemorial. It’s a question of art: what is it? What constitutes quality in art? And why does it matter?

As I looked at various pieces of art in the two museums, some of them really moved me and others didn’t. Some that were especially powerful had me contemplating time and the meaning of life and death, and what the subjects of the painting (or sculpture) must have thought they felt the artist was capturing.

For instance: the prevalence of classic themes such as angels and morality made me wonder about whether such themes even matter. I mean: if we’re really all about biology (remember Snowden’s secret in “Catch-22”), does striving to lead a good but simple life as a farmer in ancient times really matter? Why should it matter that that two lovers embracing are married to other people given the all-consuming passion they’re obviously feeling? And what does the subject of that statue feel when he realizes that those viewing this monument to his all-too-short life won’t really be able to tell who it is without being told by the artist?

But not all great art deals with the big questions. Or does it and I am just too simple to make the leap? The various still lifes done by great artists aren’t really about anything but a moment in time, right? But maybe they’re really about that moment and its relation to the continuum of time?

ARGH! I don’t know and it makes my head hurt to consider such things…but in a good way. Art makes you think and feel, and if it doesn’t, check your pulse because you may already be dead.

But then there’s the question of quality: what makes one piece better than an other? I know nothing of technique, nothing of the methods artists use to create emotion in a piece of work. But does that even matter? If a piece evokes strong emotion does it matter that it’s not technically “good?” Do Monet’s brush strokes make his paintings better than Gauguin’s or is it the subject matter that’s most important?

When I first came to jazz I asked a buddy of mine who had seen Miles Davis and John Coltrane play live what made certain pieces of jazz good (I’m looking at you here, Five-O Jay). As was his style, my friend evaded the question, but he did turn me on to some of the greats and for that I’m grateful.

I don’t know what makes Miles so great but I do know that when I hear “Kind of Blue” I feel better — about me, about people in general, about the world, if only for a little while. Similarly, I don’t know why seeing certain paintings makes me ponder and analyze and contemplate, but they do — before I run back to the comfort of a non-analytical life.

This debate about the nature and meaning of art is a good thing. It makes me feel more alive, makes my brain (and heart and soul) feel more engaged and vibrant, then I do when I’m not so prompted. That might be what I like most about Paris: the constant evocation of such feelings the emphasis on art provokes.

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