A Noble Action

Professor Peter Ash stood near the projector screen at the front of his art history classroom. Behind him, an image of multiple horses and warrior-riders tangled in the throes of ferocious battle drew the class’s attention. In the mass of violent chaos, one could make out that the riders in the mural were fighting over a banner.

“This work of art is the product of an artist named Peter Paul Rubens of the Flemish Baroque school, a man who worked extensively during the early 17th century as part of the Northern Renaissance.” Ash looked out over the dim-lit classroom to see a few of his students scribble down some notes on this lecture. Despite his professorship credentials, Ash had taken a low-paying, low-stress job at the Parkersburg Community College teaching art history to students who might, but most likely would not, go on to study art in earnest at West Virginia University or another of the East Coast schools that offered full art history programs. Many of these students would not even finish their community college studies, and fewer still would attend a four-year university, but Ash was still content with his position at the school. He was the only teacher in the art history department, and as such he had a lot of autonomy in how he taught his courses. This leeway had been a big part of what brought him to little Parkersburg where there was no such thing as tenure or funding for research. Ash loved art, and he loved teaching students about the things he loved about art. He also loved lectures like this one, lectures that got past the Mona Lisa and the Sistine Chapel, and were able instead to explore some of the trivia that made the Renaissance so fascinating. This precise lesson was also personally important to Ash, which always made the teaching of it quite rewarding.

“Although this particular work you are looking upon was done by Rubens,” Ash continued, “this is not a Rubens original. This was a work of art copied from a copy of the original, which was produced 100 years before the work presented here. The title of this work is The Battle of Anghiari, although it is commonly referred to by a more enigmatic title. Does anyone know who the original artist is, or what that more common handle might be?”

Ash didn’t expect any of these students to know the answer to his question. If any of them could make an educated guess based on the time clues he dropped, that in itself would be impressive. Still, he gave the class a moment to consider before moving along.

“As you know,” he continued, now explicitly sharing the hint he had pieced out before, “100 years before the early 17th century puts us in the early 16th century. That moves the Renaissance out of the Spanish Netherlands where this work was reproduced, and back to its birthplace in Italy. And as you further know, a couple of very prominent artists were working the turn-of-the-century art scene in places like Florence, Italy, where the original that inspired this work of art was created and may indeed still exist in some form today.”

Ash said the last line with a suggestion of enigma, similar to the mysterious way Rod Serling used to say “The Twilight Zone” at the end of each of that show’s episodes decades before. Ash was a fan of that type of “ancient” art too. Also, Ash knew only too well that getting students to interact with a work and its creator in its own time and place was the best way to help pupils truly gain an appreciation for a piece of art. Wrapping that interaction with art and history in a puzzle was what helped Dan Brown become one of the most popular authors extant. When Ash could do it effectively, it was also what made him one of the most popular instructors at Parkersburg Community College.

Hands began popping up around the classroom as students moved into territory where they felt more comfortable venturing a guess. Florence still had several possible candidates when it came to artists who could create a great work in the early 1500s, but Ash suspected that when called upon the first four answers may sound strikingly similar to the names of a quartet of green ninja reptile crimefighters that were popular in his youth. Rather than venturing down that road, he decided to deepen his puzzle with another question.

“Arguably the two most prominent of all Renaissance artists, and maybe of all of the artists of all-time, would be Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni...or just Michelangelo as we commonly refer to him.” His pronunciation of the Italian name was impeccable. The students looked about at each other, impressed. Few knew he was fluent in Italian. “Both produced a prolific amount of art, sculpture, and invention in their time, posthumously earning them the prestigious titles of Renaissance Men. Independently each has almost more artistic accomplishments than we can even list, as you well know because we have spent the past couple of weeks examining a great sample of them.” Some groans of agreement rose from the audience. Ash allowed this bit of mocking fun and then continued. “But did you know that there was a brief period when the two men were commissioned on different aspects of the same project?”

This bit of trivia usually excited his students some, and this class was no exception. To think that the two greatest artists of all time were working on the same thing at the same time was an incredible idea! Could it be that the artwork they were looking at now, with the horses and men twisted and bent like they were caught in the middle of a tornado rather than in the midst of a battle...was this artwork some great lost collaboration between the two? Did such a masterwork exist, or ever exist?!

Ash let the class down delicately from this false conclusion. “Alas, the two never worked together on one particular work of art, but in 1504 both were asked to create artwork on opposite walls of the Hall of Five Hundred. You can just imagine the immense pressure both must have felt, knowing they were creating a mural just across from the best artist time had ever known, this being a true statement regardless of which point of view you are examining it from.” He continued, now in a narrative storytelling way. “In the end, the pressure may have been too great, for neither man ever completed their great battle scenes. Michelangelo never finished his Battle of Cascina, but preparatory work and initial drawings still exist, and of course, copies of both works have been made and produced into great pieces of art. The one you see before you is most commonly known as The Lost Leonardo.”

Pencils scribbled in notebooks as the students made note of the fun facts they had just learned, and as Ash scanned the class he debated mentally with himself whether or not he should share the real conclusion to this lesson. He had done so before and found that his audiences were not ready to accept the truth or gravity of it. And while he guessed that this group of handsome young coeds would probably give his word the same reception as classes of the past, he still decided that the final bit needed to be shared. Truth be told, this last point was the reason he was still an art teacher, the real reason he ever became an art teacher. It was, when all was boiled down, the one real aspect of art that mattered.

The class must have noticed the change in his countenance because the little side conversations all quickly stopped and silence descended upon the room. Ash cleared his throat, and in an even-tempered tone that he had to work at forcibly to control the emotion behind, he shared the wisdom he had been positioned in that place and time to impart.

“You need to know, students, that each one of you, each one of us, has a work of art that speaks especially to us. Each one of us has a work of art that was created for us, and everything about it, from its history to its style to its color, and of course its content, is symbolic of our lives in some way, and perhaps in every way. This work, The Lost Leonardo, this is my work of art. It was crafted by a master hand under his greatest conditions of pressure, but done so carelessly enough to fade in comparison to others around it. On the surface, there is violence and chaos, but upon examination, there is determination and...love. In the end, it will be forgotten by most, but those who have taken the time to learn it may never forget it.” He ended there, looking out over his silent audience, knowing that they would never fully understand how much of himself he had just shared with them. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and in an effort to fight them down he quickly changed course.

“So my challenge to each of you, present and future art lovers, is to find your work. Don’t be hasty, and enjoy the quest. You never know what you might discover and learn about art, and yourselves. The experience, in my opinion, can be quite transformative.”

After the classroom cleared out, Ash sat in silent reflection on the lesson he had just taught and the message shared. He thought of Brandon, the son he had lost to disease despite a brave, prolonged battle, Brandon being the standard Ash had held to so tightly only to lose in the end. He thought of his wife, Dara, and the second phase of the battle that continued after Brandon’s death, the fight to save their marriage and maintain their love for each other despite their grief and emptiness. This skirmish was ongoing, but the trajectory was positive. Ash glanced back toward the board where he had The Battle of Anghiari still displayed on the screen. All was a tangle of bodies and violence, rippling muscle and determined countenance. But hope was present as well because it was impossible to tell which side was winning in the image. The fight was still ongoing, as it is for us all.

Then Professor Ash considered the other battle that had taken place this day. On one side he found himself, working hard to convince a group of students of the truth of his words and the power of his message. He didn’t just want students to appreciate art. He wanted them to explore it, interact with it, and even connect with it on the deepest of emotional levels. He wanted art to change his students’ lives. This battle was probably a losing one, but at least it was a noble one.

Finally, Ash gave consideration to the greater war, playing out on similar battlefields all over the country and throughout the world. Teachers, good and bad, benevolent and execrable, were espousing their deepest beliefs to their students, using knowledge and opinion to make students believe what the teachers themselves believed. Some used eloquence and passion, as Ash had attempted to do. Others used fear and narrowmindedness. Some hoped that students would leave their classrooms and search for greater truth, knowledge, and beauty. The aims of others, unfortunately, would lead some students only down paths of intolerance and ignorance.

Like he did each day, Ash said a brief prayer as he turned off the lights and locked up his classroom. He whispered his wish, a desire that what he contributed to the world would create a positive and lasting change, that others’ lives would be better for him having been a part of them.