Triumphs and Laments of 2020

Walk the 500 meter-long frieze here.

Along the River Tiber sprawls an enormous mural - 3300 feet long by 32 feet tall. 

An organic work sandblasted onto the stone wall using a reverse graffiti method to make beauty out of layered-on grime and manmade pollution. 

A caravan of 80 figures, this frieze tells an asynchronous history of Rome in quirky deconstructed snapshots that feel both familiar and wildly uncomfortable the longer you sit with them. 

Entitled ‘Triumphs and Laments’, this piece was created by South African artist William Kentridge as both a love note to the Eternal City and a study in metamorphosis and duality. On this wall you see a triumphant Marcus Aurelius on his horse—that much-loved equestrian statuary mainstay—and watch as his steed is deconstructed to a decaying shell that collapses to the earth, a pile of useless rubble. On this wall you see the she-wolf who suckled the mythical Romulus and Remus twins, only to waste away to skin and bones a few feet later. On this wall, too, the sorrow of 21st century refugees landing soaked and scared on a nearby island is etched.  

But no true history can be all about death, fear and decay. On this wall, too, are Fellini’s stars re-creating the famous La Dolce Vita fountain scene - in a bathtub of all places. The ecstasy of St. Theresa is there. Vespas and moka coffee pots too. 

This jumbled history on wheels shares a clear message - in the passage of time, what was mighty does not stand eternally. What was once small and insignificant is now worthy of re-examination and appreciation.

I find this to be a fair assessment of my own life in this pandemic experience - a play of opposites, a parade of unexpected degradations and surprising moments of elevation. Important figures lose their status and what is stripped down bare becomes more clearly intrinsic to my future. The timeline of my life jumbles together and I experience that curious sensation of wall-bound immobility paired with a life of constant motion and sometimes stressful momentum. 

There is a particular part of this frieze that connects with me very deeply - it’s so simple, almost like a tragic mistake: a black box in the center of the parading metahistory with the words: “Quello che non ricordo”.

“What I can't remember.”

A black box to safely hold that which cannot be recalled - those moments and experiences that cannot be grandly memorialized because we have lost them. Perhaps because of their perceived banality or perhaps because we were too afraid to pay close attention in the moment. 

In the midst of conquerors and towering historical figures, we are reminded that our world is moved forward by things that history does not memorialize. This caravan of the unremembered isn’t just a footnote in history, it’s MOST of history. Those days you spend frustrated at home missing your family. Those hours you spend debating on whether it’s worth the risk to mask up and go out. The enormous frustrations, the tiny annoyances of life during COVID-19. The fear you have that this year won’t count or that you’ve fallen behind in some cosmic schedule and are unsure of how to pull yourself back up. That’s part of our shared story, part of the grand parade. They matter, you matter - and life keeps rolling along.

As the title of Kentridge’s work suggests, life is full of triumphs and laments. Perhaps we feel this more than ever in 2020. After a challenging general election, we feel keenly that every win means someone else’s loss. After facing the challenges of remote work and personal disconnection, we understand deeply how every golden moment is built by a thousand moments in the lonely shade. 

But we are called to acknowledge and celebrate how our lives, our love, our joys and our sorrows are intertwined together no matter the physical proximity - and to honor the parade of triumphs, laments and forgotten shadow moments alike.