It is simultaneously a delight and a detriment to one's health to reside in a city such as Washington, where constantly exists an ebb and flow of various friends and acquaintances. On the happier side, one's social calendar is manifestly enlivened, and excuses are made in order to spend the entire afternoon masquerading as the most maligned DC denizen - the tourist. On the painful side, one's feet tend to ache after a weekend of such traipsing.
The Friday 7:15pm train brought our good friend Nick down from old Baltimore, wherein he is engaged in the architectural profession on a semester internship with a firm of some repute. With him came our friend Taylor who also works in that venerable city, but resides in the capital with his wife, Heidi, who graduated with me and Nick from Ball State. Having met the pair at Union Station, the sole boast of America's train network, we strolled through Capitol Hill to Taylor and Heidi's home, where dinner awaited. Conversation naturally focused on things architectural, and we had a good laugh about the many war stories we've each collected since we all last conversed. In an intriguing twist of fate, my studio professor this semester is Heidi's current boss and happens to live two doors down from her and Taylor. Sometimes I think DC has just as many overlapping connections as some of the small towns that people come to DC to escape from.
In any event, studio will be an interesting endeavor. The project centers on a new interpretive gallery and visitor's facilities at the Congressional Cemetery - an oft overlooked burial ground on the southeastern edge of Capitol Hill, along the Anacostia River. The cemetery's heyday was during the Antebellum period, when all congressmen who died while in office were buried there. Notable graves from more modern eras include those of John Philip Sousa and J. Edgar Hoover. Elbridge Gerry, Vice President under James Madison, is also interred there - the only signer of the Declaration of Independence to be buried in Washington.
Nick and I, unlike the faithful departed at the Congressional Cemetery, were up bright and early Saturday morning to do a bit of sightseeing. The first stop was the ever-glorious Basilica of the National Shrine. Nick is a rather devoted Protestant, but he was very curious to learn about the Basilica and the various layers of symbolism therein contained. The evangelistic opportunities of architecture are seldom exploited in our bland era of beige, carpeted Catholicism - to our eternal detriment.
The always untrustworthy Metro, which is perpetually being rebuilt, conveyed us in an untimely fashion to Judiciary Square, from which we began the circumambulation of the various sites typical to my tours of the city. After a brief and disappointing foray into the National Building Museum (I should know by now that they're always setting up for events on Saturdays), we made our way to the National Portrait Gallery. In my opinion, it is the best museum in Washington. In addition to portraiture, there is a fantastic collection of American art, both contemporary and not, including a good bit of fine 19th Century landscape painting (the likes of Thomas Cole, Thomas Moran, and Albert Bierstadt are well represented).
The National Gallery of Art, my other place of continual pilgrimage, was the next stop. The rather uninspiring East Building, designed by triangle enthusiast I.M. Pei, is undergoing extensive renovation, so the modern collection is entirely in storage. This is no great loss in my view, apart from the room of Calder
mobiles. The John Russell Pope designed West Building was fully functional, however, and could boast an excellent exhibit of Byzantine art and iconography (thronged, as it were, by Notre Dame priests in town early for the March for Life). In addition, the splendor of the rotunda was heightened by the presence of the Dying Gaul, one of the most famous Roman sculptures in existence. On loan from the Capitoline Museum, the Gaul is here until March - the first time it has left its home in at least two centuries. As is typical of most classical art, it was haunting in its realism:
So, there's two photos of death for you. The remainder of the day was fairly nonchalant, and Nick left us around 5:30. I was home and on the couch with my legs up for about five minutes before I received word that a whole company of studiomates were convening just up the road 'round Ft Totten. Alas, my aching feet would have to wait. Eric brought the chariot around and we went over to Ft Totten to have some drinks and poke some fun at the girls who take to long to get ready and never know where they want to go (these, in addition to death & taxes, are among the universe's eternal truths). At length, we ended up on the green line bound for U Street. Mercifully, the original plan to head toward Adams Morgan was abandoned. From what I understand, the place is at least three whole streets composed of the worst sort of bars full of the worst sort of people (at least, that's how it was explained). No, U Street is far better.
Up bright and early for mass at the Basilica. The afternoon, as it was a pleasant one, included a walk around the neighborhood over toward Rock Creek Church and its cemetery. My neighborhood is one of the highest in elevation in DC, which is made all the more apparent in the wintertime, now that the trees are denuded of their leaves and unexpected vistas open up as you walk along. After a bit of a circuitous route, I ended up at the cemetery, and wandered over toward the Clover Adams memorial, which features a fine sculpture by Saint-Gaudens. Though the sculpture was originally titled "The Mystery of the Hereafter and the Peace of God that Passeth Understanding", it has been commonly referred to with the less unwieldy title of "Grief" since its completion. This renaming apparently upset Henry Adams (the deceased's husband, and famed man of letters) deeply. I can't say I blame him. "Grief" certainly does not capture the full panorama of meaning found in the original title, and indeed, does not accurately the sculpture itself, which appears more peaceful than grieving:
Goodness, that makes three photos of death. I swear, I'm not attempting morbidity on purpose, but, my goodness, when your studio project is in a cemetery, I suppose things just go that way. Sunday ended with a good dinner of spaghetti, which, quite frankly, is about as fancy as I get with my cookery these days.
Today, due to the holiday, was a day off of classes. I naively assumed that I'd be able to sleep in and not have to walk to the four corners of the city for the third day in a row. Alas, the best laid plans of mice and man often go awry. I was awakened around 8 by a text informing me that the contingent of March for Lifers from my high school were to be arriving at the Basilica for a tour at 9:45. Having been a three year participant in the March for Life trip, I of course wanted to meet up with the trip leader and others. So, I hiked down to the Shrine and caught up with the group. Then, after having a chat with Mr Nugent and the others, I was shanghaied into accompanying them to Georgetown this afternoon.
It has been the plot of every group of girls that comes on the West Catholic March for Life trip to convince Mr Nugent to let them go to Georgetown Cupcakes. Every year, they giggle and plot and plead and whine, and every year he has held steadfast in his denial of their requests. Apparently he had a weak moment this year - perhaps due in part to the unseasonably warm weather here today - and he announced to me that "they've finally convinced me to go to that infernal cupcakery, or whatever it is!"
And so all fifty of us descended on Georgetown and made our way to the infernal cupcakery for an afternoon bit of sugar. By all accounts, it was a perfect day for a stroll in the most desirable neighborhood in the capital. I wandered over to the C&O Canal to see some of the older parts of the area.
So, in any event, my feet are sore and I'm looking forward to a slower weekend next. Of course, with the National March for Life and the first studio deadline of the semester intervening, I'm sure I'll be busy til then.
