Nike Anew
No, this is not the Louvre. Not even close. It’s not Paris, France nor Paris, Ohio nor even Athens, Ohio. It’s Columbus, Ohio. So why on earth is there a life-size replica of the 2nd century BC Greek Winged Nike (or Vicotry) of Samothrace in a New World state that pronounces Versailles – Ver-sales? Well, evidently around the turn of the 20th century classic statuary replicas were all the rage in American architecture. And that’s when this lovely plaster beauty first graced this very hall – the East Reading Room of the Oxley Thompson Memorial Library at The Ohio State University. The crumbling original replica was removed in 1959 and the Reading Room was tragically divided and plundered shortly there after. When rightfully restored to it’s natural splendor in 2009 a new plaster Nike was there to oversee the studious once again. Though she has little personal significance to the library the soaring statue is a wonderful addition to an already wonderful building.
Grand American Terminal
Although America has a rich locomotive history our current car culture has all but completely steamrolled passenger train travel prominence. When globe trotting the world, beautiful symbols of train travel pepper history’s greatest 19th century industrial nations. They stand as awe-inspiring welcoming mats – Hello, come on in and oh by the way, this terminal contains more steel than your country consumed in the last ten years. One hundred and fifty year old arcaded structures are still imposing stunning first impressions on millions of backpackers throughout Europe. Even those countries that have seen tremendous falls from grace at the beginning of the 20th century like Budapest continue to serve any who care in opulent cafes on white table clothed tables and red velvet chairs by white gloved waiters in a tradition almost as antique to modern folk as the castle museum relics.
But in America, we too did have some Beau Arts beauties to brag upon. Unfortunately, for the sake of progression and revitalization, function always trumps form in the America and we tore nearly all of them down. The list of those that fell victim reads like war casualty list – tragic and irreplaceable. Here in Columbus, only a solitary arch remains as a reminder of the elegant Union Station – a bit of trivia that only a fraction of a percent of those who pass it daily are privy too. And the demolition of New York’s Pennsylvania Station in 1963 may be the most egregious act of defamation ever conducted in America and one of the most tragic architectural losses of the 20th century. Where we tore our gems down European cities who have a much longer history to protect and have gotten creative when a station was no longer useful or sustainable. Paris saved their Gare d’Orsay from the wrecking ball and converted the masterpiece into a museum, the Musee d’Orsay, with the structure itself being one its greatest showpieces.
Thankfully, misguided New York city planners never got their grubby paws on Grand Central Terminal. And let’s hope we’ve learned from past transgressions and no one ever does.
MY WE'VE COME A LONG WAY
Left: Paris in 2001, Right: Columbus in 2008
In the process of developing a new online photo album I’ve found myself doing much reflection. Since I started taking photos I’ve always kept an album of shots that have stood out above the rest. In recent times they have been more experimental, HDR and higher quality shots. But while digging deeper in that album I encountered exotic travel locations, old friends, interesting characters and horrifying image quality. As I desperately tried to heal the imperfections in Photoshop my heart sank at the pixilated edges, grainy gradients and blurry faces. At one moment I thought that my old photos must have somehow aged when I wasn’t looking at them. I needed to fix them and fast.
But my Photoshoping efforts were in vain and I entered the acceptance phase of my grief. I must have contemplated moving them to a folder labeled “OBSOLETE” half a dozen times. Then it dawned on me. The poor quality of those images was as much of a visual time stamp as the grainy subjects they marred. The Europe album alone marks a time when digital became accessible to the masses. We began shoving our film canisters into dark draws and started talking about memory and mega pixels. Most of that album was shot in 2000-2001 with an Olympus that was almost as compact as its 35mm ancestors. But it had a real glass lens and 1 whole mega pixel! I was on cloud nine. I wandered Europe proudly, snapping away because I knew I could view the photo instantly and delete and re-shoot it if I wasn’t satisfied. Those were the days. Those photos mark our transition to the digital 21st century. So I’ve accepted it and actually embraced it to some extent. Don’t get me wrong, I wish they were 12 mega pixel, 10 GB giants. But since they aren’t then I’ll have to appreciate them for what they mean, not how they look.
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