Deeply Affected at the Frist

(Not a standard post...)

I went to the Frist Center for the Arts between church and more church yesterday. The featured exhibit was photography from the Eastman House Collection. For the most part I found the pictures to be interesting, but not deeply moving. Many were well known prints, seen in coffee table books across America. I have never been one to think that a picture is necessarily better as a print behind glass than in a book. I am showing my ignorance to those that have studied the art of photography. With sculpture, (or my personal favorite) stained glass, or even with paintings, there is a texture that can be appreciated in a live format that is just non-existent in the coffee table book (or even a print on the wall)... All this to say, I am a texture person. I love the 3D element. Perhaps this is why my artistic outlets are extremely tactile in nature... When working with stained glass, a lot of thought goes into the texture of the glass, the feel of the surface, the refractions of light. Or considering my lesser pursuits of quilting, I prefer the textural look and feel of a hand stitched quilt to that done on a machine. Or cross stitch, I rarely choose a pattern that doesn't have bead work with it.

So, that is my disclaimer. I have completely down played the photography exhibit. But there were pictures that caught my eye. There were photos that brought laughter, or pulled at my emotions in some way. All this to tell you about one photo that I could hardly take my eye off of I realize now that I want to write about it, I didn't even read the caption so I can only assume the subject matter, but I really have no idea. It was in the War room, I know this. My emotions were already extremely close to the surface, having seen some of the war pictures. And there it was, in the corner as you were about the exit the room. I was stuck and even now I can't get my mind to forget the image. I think it was in Vietnam, but again, I don't know this. They were children. The anguish and pain on their faces was so apparent, so raw. I am not even sure that I can attempt a commentary or even separate the thoughts that are jumbled inside my brain. The only thought that kept repeating and still repeats... This is war. The innocence torn. The hope extinguished. This is war.