Art is . . . by Bev Jackson-Cotter

I did not plan to do this column on mansions. However, before I started writing, I decided to catch up on some computer correspondence that had been waiting since last week.

One of the emails sent by a good friend was called “mansions.” Since I love architecture and had just finished reading an Architectural Digest magazine, my mind, of course, went to an elegant home on a residential area on the Atlantic coastline. Boy, was I wrong!

And I am humbled by my lack of understanding.

The video was a tribute to our American military heroes and their families. I’m sure its focus was Memorial Day, but it is a subject that will always be a significant part of our lives — pictures of cemeteries around the world where our young people are buried, of tens of thousands of white crosses and white grave stones with flowers, of angels, of uniformed men carrying flag draped coffins, of mothers and fathers and wives and children weeping, of helicopters and body bags.

We read of the “Art of War,” but my mind cannot put it in the same category as the art of oil painting, the art of listening, the art of sculpture or the value of creativity in our lives.

I admire the design of a military uniform, the practicality of a camouflage fabric, the elegance of a special award for heroism, the brilliance of the engineers who design the armaments and ships and planes, and the commanders who create tactical plans for battle grounds and all of the people who for a short time or for a lifetime career make these a part of their lives. I’ve somehow never connected these ideas to the “Art of War.”

While the George Washington approaching Betsy Ross story is a lovely American myth, the design of our U.S. flag was actually created by a congressman from New Jersey named Francis Hopkinson. He was a lawyer, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, a poet and an artist, and he was appointed to the Continental Navy Board in November 1776. During this time he designed our flag, I’m certain never dreaming that someday it would billow in the wind over U.S. military cemeteries throughout the world.

A few years ago my granddaughter and I were traveling in Italy, fascinated by the art, the history, the friendly people, the canals of Venice, the music, the wine and the wonders of Roman architecture dating back hundreds — even thousands — of years. One day, our bus made an unexpected stop at a piece of ground that was given to America as the final resting place of our World War II soldiers. Row upon row of crosses marched across the grassy field, beautiful in its pristine setting. When Tasha noticed my tears, I said, “I don’t understand why killing young people is the way to settle our differences.”

I’ve had many family members who have served in the military, some of them during times of war, some during times of peace. They were my uncles, brothers-in-law, nephews, sons and now grandsons. I thank God for the safety of those who have come home and for the lives of those who did not.

As I watched that video this morning, I believe its intended focus was on the bravery and dignity of those who, thanks to their love of our country, are now in the mansions in the sky. I believe also that the rows upon rows of white gravestones and white crosses and U.S. flags on fields of green grass are truly beautiful mansions here on earth.

 

Bev Jackson Cotter is a member of the Albert Lea Art Center where the exhibition On A Summer Day will be on display through July 11.