Closer than ever

My favorite museum in New York is the Frick Collection, and it has been my favorite since I initially visited over a year ago. Because it was originally home to the collector and his family, and since the building has been preserved so well, the paintings and sculptures felt more alive than do those held in large buildings built to hold art, like the Met. And so I was naturally excited to visit the Morgan Library. However, I have never understood the attraction to original manuscripts and apparently arbitrary letters written by/for artists and writers. I know, it's an attitude that many would regard as ignorant -- and that may not be far from the truth.

I tossed my cigarette somewhere to my left and stuffed my croissant in my bag. Walking toward the Madison Avenue entrance to the Morgan, I put away my iPod and approached the doorman. After attempting to find the staff entrance twice, despite the fact that the doorman gave me directions before each attempt, I finally made it in the building with Dr. Smith-Howard's guidance. As Dr. Declan Kiely led the group through the labyrinthine underground of the Morgan, we passed what appeared to be a fully-staffed kitchen, and I remembered the event being held upstairs in the Dining Room. 'Is this place really catering an event?' It was a bit disappointing to realize the presence of business in a private collection. Then again, I doubt Mr. Morgan would object.

The artifacts Dr. Kiely presented, although fewer than I had hoped for, were different from what I expected. The Edgar Allen Poe scroll was particularly surprising primarily because I couldn't (and still can't) understand why he would choose to use it. Dr. Kiely explained that writers often connected multiple pages top-to-bottom to allow for continuous and undisturbed writing, which means Poe thought it more beneficial than bothersome to assemble parchment in such a way, which is something I just don't have the patience for. Granted, I'm using my laptop to type this and poor Poe used parchment and quills. His handwriting though, was disturbingly legible. I haven't read much of his work, but considering the content of what I have read and his reputation of being toward the darker side of sanity, I expected his handwriting to be of his own twisted shorthand, littered with marks and hiccups. But it was beautiful.

After browsing through one of Henry James' manuscripts, I began to understand what it was all about: the artist. Seeing the way his hand moved over his draft as he sought out the imperfections inspired a closeness to the artist that I hadn't felt before -- not even at the Frick. I wandered into the Morgan sure that I considered the presence of the collector the most interesting aspect a personal art collection could foster. But I headed to my next class wondering, 'How the hell did this guy get original manuscripts?'