Italy's Little Memphis, Venice in the Age of

The old forest hike was a very nice walk. The wind was brisk, the air clean and cool. I think the smell of the forest air was my favorite part, a smell I have missed since my childhood. I played catch up for the first quarter of a mile or so, but once I got caught up the hike was slow and informative, a nice pace for a trek through Memphis history. I saw my grandmother. I chatted with friends. We made dirty jokes and watched our teacher hug a tree. But the names of the plants were forgotten the second we walked into the Brooks Museum of Art. Lunch was extravagant, the crepe was delicious, the French beverage I drank was grotesque, and yet it somehow complimented my brunch. The camaraderie added a nice overtone to an already pleasant day, but the real magic was when we stepped into the exhibit. The paintings were very Memphian. They portrayed a dirty, lived-in city in the prime of its degradation. You could easily see that some of the paintings were done for money while some were done for artistic expression. My favorite was the painting of the centaurs. There was an extravagant beauty to the painting when witnessed from afar, but a closer examination revealed its truer nature. The centaurs raped and pillaged the grotto scene as the men fought tooth and nail, literally biting and scratching, to fend them off. I spent as much time examining this painting as I did most of the others combined. I saw my home. I saw myself. I saw my life. It moved me in the way that only art can, and I am very glad I got the chance to experience it.