Day 9: November 18, 2016, #723
Drink Deep
A Palladian-inspired facade announced the American Wing across a sculpture court. I wondered if the department had thought it needed some masonry oomph to match its ancient peers. Weeks later I learned from a placard that this elegant and ordered limestone exterior first fronted the early United States Branch Bank on Wall Street. The Met owned a slice of the New York Fed. I entered through the front door again. Certain routes were becoming paths. I had drawn the gallery immediately on the other side. Staged as a dining room in the Federal Period, an assortment of mahogany furniture lined the walls on four sides. Punch bowls sat atop two sideboards as if a party was about to start.
By far the most magnificent of the two had been commissioned by a Brigadier General and given to New York City on July 4, 1812. An elegant inscription on the bowl read: “Drink deep. You will preserve the City and encourage canals.” An example of Chinese export ware, the bowl had been produced in the city of Canton. Roughly two feet across, rim to rim, the interior pictured a winsome view of New York harbor from across the East River in Brooklyn. The balmy scene gave me a buzz. I stepped back and craned my head for another look. On the pastoral Brooklyn side, a white horse feeds not far from a gnarled tree that might have moseyed over from a Chinese screen. This panorama pleased me. When a city is revealed end to end as it touches the sky, a bit of infinity, a higher power aspect, is served. I had to look again. And the buzzer went off again. To the museum’s credit, this stupendous bowl was not behind glass. But that did not make it easy. Trying to get a decent look was like steering close to shore. I offered the guard my half-hearted sorry face.
On the far harbor side, masts and rooftops poke the sky above Manhattan. Several small boats ply the river in between. Schooners take to sea. Why would anyone sink such a delectable day? “Drink deep,” yes, but of what? Punch, the scene, the promise of New York or the future of canals? The loose edict allowed all of the above. The bowl looked so fine I suspected it may never have been used, but if it was, it shared a certain irony with canals: filled, the beautiful effort is submerged.
In addition to the sideboards, there were mahogany case clocks, a writing desk, a secretary, and a dining room table at the center of the room. This Federal style, inspired by Neoclassicism, put a premium on gentle balance and perfect posture. Straight lines and precise geometries– the oval had its heyday– animated surfaces that were veneered and studiously polished. Thin bands of inlay, some no wider than a pencil, bordered shapes with alternating dark and light pieces that zipped with optical current. The details looked effortless in the way that only well-executed, difficult things can.
In the final minutes of my hour, a professor in her 50s cruised through the gallery. Her students were hustling to keep up with her and she with them in her tightly fitted jeans and a cropped, spikey haircut. Her vibe was both innocent and aggressive like a youthful fling. Walking at a clip, she turned to the young woman beside her. “A tip from an old lady,” she said, “if you just stay on estrogen, you can skip menopause.” For a moment, I felt as if I had just walked into the ladies room by mistake. I would grow accustomed to the private thought shared above the decibels of a confidence. The museum had a way of turning things public. Drink Deep. I wondered what about the room or the museum had prompted her declaration. The mahogany looked pretty good for its age and the skyline never better.
