On Monday, my last full day in Greece, my toe was still hurting. And if I were to rent a bike, whether from Athens by Bike or anyone else, I'd have to worry about returning it before closing time. (Athens doesn't have a bike-sharing program, and dockless services like Lime and Ofo don't seem to be available in Athens. So I decided, reluctantly, to skip cycling.
All was not lost, though. I figured that in a few days, I'll feel better and start riding again, on my own bikes. Also, exploring Athens for one more day would be fun, however I did it.
So, from my apartment (Funny, how I started to think of it that way), I crossed the street to the path to Filopappou Hill and the Hills of the Nymphs, just to look at the views and imagine. Then I descended to the Odeon of Herodes Attiicus
and sauntered along a stone path to the cafe-lined streets of Thissio, near the Agora, where I stopped for some coffee and yogurt. Then I took the Metro to the Cycladic Art Museum to--look at more of the statues and pottery I saw on Milos!
Actually, I am glad to have come to the museum when I did, just as I was glad to visit the Acropolis Museum after spending time in the Acropolis itself. For one thing, those museums contain artifacts that can't be left on the sites where they were found. Also, the museums, in the ways they exhibit their collections, help to contextualize what you see in the Acropolis or archaeological sites on the islands.
Yesterday, I mentioned that some images in the Byzantine and Christian Art Museum made me think of early photography. Well, in looking at some of the very early female figures from the Cycladic islands (which include Milos and Santorini), I found myself thinking of Pablo Picasso and artists who were influenced by him (OK, who wasn't between 1910 and 1950?) like Joan Miro.
Even some of the pottery made me think of those early 20th Century sculptors and painters. Seeing those almost-geometric representations of female bodies made me re-think something I'd always been told (or had read) about Picasso: He is seen as a "visionary," or a "trailblazer." Now I can't help but to wonder whether he was trying to "get back to basics." After all, some of what you see in those female representations could also be seen, more or less, in the African masks Picasso collected.
Now, as a woman, and especially as a trans woman, I have problems with objectifying or abstracting a female body. Then again, such work was being done by male artists and artisans. Would female artists see male bodies in terms of their elemental forms? (For all I or anybody knows, some of those sculptures may have been done by women.)
And, really, how different is any of that from the way I experienced my body in the sea at Milos? I felt myself as waves; my arms and legs were no longer the taut, straight lines I had always assumed they were. And, if that's all we were--sinews and flesh in straight lines--we would be nothing more than machines pumping other machines (e.g., our bicycles). We pedal (or swim or walk) our best when our bodies are flowing, when we are in a state of grace, which is to say in balance with our essential selves.
Now, I have a confession: After spending time in the museum and learning all of those wonderful lessons, however inelegantly I have expressed them, I headed to the flea market. Please don't hold that against me!
All was not lost, though. I figured that in a few days, I'll feel better and start riding again, on my own bikes. Also, exploring Athens for one more day would be fun, however I did it.
So, from my apartment (Funny, how I started to think of it that way), I crossed the street to the path to Filopappou Hill and the Hills of the Nymphs, just to look at the views and imagine. Then I descended to the Odeon of Herodes Attiicus
and sauntered along a stone path to the cafe-lined streets of Thissio, near the Agora, where I stopped for some coffee and yogurt. Then I took the Metro to the Cycladic Art Museum to--look at more of the statues and pottery I saw on Milos!
Actually, I am glad to have come to the museum when I did, just as I was glad to visit the Acropolis Museum after spending time in the Acropolis itself. For one thing, those museums contain artifacts that can't be left on the sites where they were found. Also, the museums, in the ways they exhibit their collections, help to contextualize what you see in the Acropolis or archaeological sites on the islands.
Yesterday, I mentioned that some images in the Byzantine and Christian Art Museum made me think of early photography. Well, in looking at some of the very early female figures from the Cycladic islands (which include Milos and Santorini), I found myself thinking of Pablo Picasso and artists who were influenced by him (OK, who wasn't between 1910 and 1950?) like Joan Miro.
Even some of the pottery made me think of those early 20th Century sculptors and painters. Seeing those almost-geometric representations of female bodies made me re-think something I'd always been told (or had read) about Picasso: He is seen as a "visionary," or a "trailblazer." Now I can't help but to wonder whether he was trying to "get back to basics." After all, some of what you see in those female representations could also be seen, more or less, in the African masks Picasso collected.
Now, as a woman, and especially as a trans woman, I have problems with objectifying or abstracting a female body. Then again, such work was being done by male artists and artisans. Would female artists see male bodies in terms of their elemental forms? (For all I or anybody knows, some of those sculptures may have been done by women.)
And, really, how different is any of that from the way I experienced my body in the sea at Milos? I felt myself as waves; my arms and legs were no longer the taut, straight lines I had always assumed they were. And, if that's all we were--sinews and flesh in straight lines--we would be nothing more than machines pumping other machines (e.g., our bicycles). We pedal (or swim or walk) our best when our bodies are flowing, when we are in a state of grace, which is to say in balance with our essential selves.
Now, I have a confession: After spending time in the museum and learning all of those wonderful lessons, however inelegantly I have expressed them, I headed to the flea market. Please don't hold that against me!
