A few days ago, Dad took Kathy, Matthew, Emily, Annie, and me down to the Dallas Museum of Art to view King Tutankamun and the Golden Age of Pharaohs. It was a splendid exhibit and I really enjoyed seeing all those things I had only read about. I’ve never been a big fan of Egyptian history like some of my sisters, but whem Mom discovered that the treasures from King Tut’s tomb were making a tour of America…well… what history lover could pass up an opportunity like that? It was a long wait of months, but it was so, so worth it. However, there was just one problem. Photography wasn’t allowed. Talk about a crushing disappointment! The only thing I could do was carry back mental images and bits of trivia to write down later. And not write down in the form of a blog entry. Whenever I go to something like this, there’s only one thing I want to do afterwards: write down the whole thing for my best friend, Elisha Wahlquist.
For a long time now, she and I have been sharing what we find beautiful in our lives. My family takes a vacation in Arkasas, and my next letter is full of descriptions of the pristine rivers, beautiful mountains and wildlife. Elisha travels to California to visit her grandmother, and her next letter is filled with word pictures of the seaside, the scent of the ocean, the crashing of waves, and the crying of seagulls. I take a walk in early morning, and then stay up late at night describing the colors and shapes of the clouds I observed. Elisha goes with her family to the land they’re developing, and her next letter tells me about the expansive beauty of the prairie, the amazing depth of the sky, the beautiful greens of the trees and the yellow of the grasses. Favorite passages from books,poems, funny stories about our siblings, and Bible verses that mean something to us… these are things we write about to each other. Over the years, she and I have developed a rappot with each other’s minds, and we often write to each other exactly as though we were sitting face to face having a real conversation. That’s really what it is. Coversations on paper. And it’s the most wonderful thing in the world to me.
So, here below, is an except from the e-mail I sent to Elisha that night. I didn’t origionally write it with the intent of posting it; that thought occured to me only this morning because I didn’t think I could rewrite it any better than it was. So, with her permission, I’m posting it.
…I know you haven’t written back to me yet, but I must tell you everything while it is still fresh in my mind. I wish you could’ve been at the exhibit with me, but you weren’t, so the best I could do was imagine myself relating every detail to you in person as I observed it.
The exhibit actually spanned at least four generations going all the way back to Thutmosis IV and his parents (whose names I can remember but not the Roman numerals after them). We had to walk several rooms before we reached the treasures from King Tut’s tomb. These other things were included, I think, to give a sense of context to the viewers. Of course, I already had a great deal of context, but not everyone is a history buff. Sometimes, I really wish the Egyptians hadn’t falsified so much of their history, because then I could have solidly known what was going on in the world during the times I was viewing. It really bothers me. I like knowing the big picture. I like knowing that while Europe was plunging into the dark ages, the Mayans were plotting the course of Venus, or that while the Incas were building their civilization, the Vikings had discovered America, or that while the Greeks were coming out of their dark age, Solomon was building his temple. You know what I mean.
The first glass case held a beautiful granite statue of King Tut himself. It was about 4 feet high. I was amazed by how unique the face of the statue was. It really looked like a 10-year-old boy. Smooth round cheeks, full mouth, bright, sparkling eyes. I guess after reading so many books I had the impression that faces in Egyptian artwork were all alike, but standing face to face with a real statue made me realize just how wrong such an assumption was. Sure, there are stylistic techniques that identify the culture of the art, but I could, through the eyes of my imagination, see quite well what the boy might’ve looked like had we met face to face.
One statue in the second room really intrigued me. It had been made during the reign of the great Thutmosis III, and showed a picture of that pharaoh with two deities. During the reign of Ahkenaten, this statue had been destroyed. During Tutankhamen’s reign, he rebuilt the statue, substituting himself for Thutmosis. Interesting. Did you know that the color blue is considered sacred to the ancient Egyptians? This color blue. Or a little darker, anyway. Much of the little statuettes of various deities found in the tombs had faces and hands this color. Some statuettes were supposed to be guardians, and they were supposed to intercede or plead for the Pharaoh before the gods, or something like that. I felt sad that they didn’t know who the real Interceder is. That poor boy king is dead, and I’ve a pretty good idea where he is. Looking at history through a Christian lens gives one an incredible over-arcing perspective, doesn’t it?
In the last room before King Tut, they had treasures found in his grandparents’ tomb, which prior to Howard Carter’s amazing discover, was the archaeological find of the century. I can’t recall the name of his grandfather, but the grandmother was Tjuya. They had her coffin and mummy mask on display. I was surprised by how small the mummy mask was. Either the Egyptians were small as a race, or she was an unusually small person, or mummifying the body really shrank it. The mask looked like a feminine version of King Tut’s. The coffin was splendid with a full mask and ornate carvings on the side.
Some of the objects on display were those I’ve previously seen in books. Like the chair Tutankhamen used as a child. Or the crook and flail he held as symbols of power. One interesting concept I had never considered before was the the Pharaoh was considered the shepherd of his people, and in royal functions apparently held a special shepherd’s crook for this purpose. I’m not sure what the flail symbolized. One fascinating item that Emily really liked was a beautiful necklace in the shape of a falcon with wide wings made of gold. You’ve probably seen this in books, like I have. What you don’t get from the pictures is how amazingly delicate this necklace is. It looked as thin and fragile as tin foil.
Now, here’s something really fascinating. The picture below wasn’t taken by me - I found it on the internet. See the green-gold scarab in the middle of this necklace? It was originally thought to be a semi precious gemstone, but recently scientists discovered that the scarab is actually made of glass, glass that was never fashioned by human hands. Instead, it occurs naturally in rare deposits in the Sahara desert. There seems to be a lot of debate as to how this glass was formed. Glass, you know, is formed by melting sand and it takes a lot of heat to melt sand. Since there is no crater impact evident anywhere in the Sahara, scientists think that maybe a comet or hot meteor burned up/exploded right before impact…30 million years ago. Well, except for the 30 million years part, that sounds plausible, but I think more likely that the flood or post flood events would’ve caused it. And I’ve read that creation scientists believe the Sahara was a lush, tropical paradise during the early ice age, so that needs to be factored in as well. I’d love to know what a creation scientist would think about the origins of this mysterious scarab.
This picture I also pulled from the web. Its a coffinette. Sounds cute? Not really. This thing held King Tut’s pickled liver. The coffinette was less that 24 inches high, and it was perfect down to the last detail. It gleamed. It glittered. It glowed. There were more people around this little beauty than anything else in that particular room.
Kathy has long had an interest in what is termed “Pharaohs of the Sun.” This would include Tutankhamen and Ahkenaten. You shoud’ve seen her face when we walked into one room and came face to face with a bust of Ahkenaton himself. Art from the Armana period is pretty distinctive, even to me, who sees Egyptian art as being irritatingly monochrome. The chin, nose and mouth were elongated, almost grotesquely so. There was a sort of half smile on the face, and those blank eyes…ooh! I wouldn’t want to be walking around that thing in the middle of the night! The tiny bust of Nefertiti, on the other hand, was exquisite and probably made before the major shift in Egyptian artwork had begun. It was so real and lifelike - even the stone looked smooth and soft as skin. Her cheek bones were appropriately high, her eyebrows perfectly arched, the lips beautifully formed… if she really looked like that in real life, she must’ve been something else. Why Ahkenaten felt compelled to marry other women after seeing her is beyond me!
So, was it worth going to? Absolutely. The artwork is beautiful and I’m happy I was able to view it. I suppose, had I been a character in a book, I would be one of those liberal minded people that is always going on about improving culture and one’s mind by exposure to art and good music and stuff like that. At least, that’s what I would like to be. I really enjoyed going and I wish you could’ve been there with me.
We also went through the Dallas Muesem of Art while we were waiting to go through the King Tut exhibit. Nothing noteworthy because I’m not fond of art by the Greeks or Romans nor do I enjoy staring at conglomerations by Picasso and, even though there are things about the Impressionist period that I like, I’m really picky about it. There were only two things I liked. First was all the Eastern art from China, Japan and India. Second was a huge painting done in the Renaissance titled “Storm.” Picture this. Rocky, wind-swept mountains with a few trees tenaciously clinging to life on the edge. Narrow, fertile valleys. A raging cold river, teaming with trout. A beautiful town bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun just glimpsed through the boulders on the riverbed and the tall trees. Fishermen pulling their nets in from the swirling waters. A mother with an infant walking along the water’s edge. Blue light in the sky above on one side, and a raging storm blowing down from the mountains on the other, touched here and there by pinks and golds from the sun, grading down to dark, ominous clouds. That’s what the picture looked like with all the sense of depth and light and color as though I was really standing there. I could almost taste the rain on the wind, almost hear the distant boom of thunder. Poetic ramble, anyone…?
Thank you, Elisha, for the many years of correspondence! I am eagerly awaiting your next letter!
