Guillotine Blues

I went to the Hamilton Art Gallery this weekend. I must admit to not loving art galleries but they are worthwhile to support. Sometimes they can be a bit pretentious with people looking at various pieces of art and pretending to be experts. I usually pass by portraits of old white people from the 19th century because they are just that--pictures of dead people. It's like walking past a cemetery. Desperate people want to be remembered when they die so they have themselves immortalized on granite or canvas.

There were a few interesting exhibits. One was a combination of contemporary Sami and Inuit art. Two pieces were most interesting. The first was clearly by a young person in Canada's north. It was a picture of his or her living room. Two children were playing Super Nintendo. What, you were expecting caribou? The second trio were from a Sami photographer. The photos showed a woman in a business suit with skirt and high heels walking across a tundra. The photographer had also taken a snap of a road scene full of street signs and lights. Funnily, the signs all had snowball impact marks on them; so they do that their too.

One of the strangest pieces was a giant Volkswagen van carrying signs of our modern universal culture. There were many branded toys all over the car. Smaller hotwheels-sized cars and trucks and trains tracked around the van. A skeleton was in the driver's seat. Towers near the rear of the van towered above it like skyscrapers; King Kong lived on one. A trip to the back of the van revealed a hidden reality. They looked like many towers of garbage. Other trucks and trains fed their constant growth. I wonder if the other visitors saw the garbage towers amidst all the splendor.

The most captivating piece for me was part of the Tannenbaum Collection of European "treasures". It was this amazing scene that I doubt I'll forget quickly. The large picture dominated the wall it hung on; I sat for a long while observing. In the bottom right hand corner a condemned man is being led to his death on the guillotine in what looks like a nineteenth century city centre. A priest attends to his soul. Outside in the street crowds gather to watch the brutal act. They are everywhere, on building tops and up and down streets going off in many directions from the device. The guards look toward him blankly. I wonder what he had done? Perhaps he was the French Paul Bernardo. But really I instantly thought of Zacarias Moussaoui and what will soon happen to him.

Fact of the day: the Guillotine was still being used in France in 1977!