Panorama of anticipation
The struggle was real.
The meta-metaphorical implications were as bountiful as the great crowds that showed up to experience the unveiling of Kehinde Wiley’s massive “Rumors of War” sculpture at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts Tuesday evening.
The silvery tarp that went on for the celebration and was supposed to flutter off after the political and contextual speechifying (and an eloquent, and apparently extemporaneous, introduction by the artist) instead experienced an unveiling malfunction. The freefall didn’t happen, but, for the sake of drama and implications of art history, the necessary effort to remove the drape to reveal the figure’s head reinforced the moment.
Mayor Levar Stoney and VMFA Director Alex Nyerges were among the speakers at the event.
From my perspective, the choreography of the removal proved more exciting than if the exercise had gone off without a hitch. The Richmond All-City Marching Band, tubas flashing and flag corps semaphoring, went through its repertoire several times.
Under dishwater skies, thousands of spectators spread across the lawns of the VMFA and the adjacent United Daughters of the Confederacy headquarters. Some bystanders were shooed by police off the grass there and collected instead on the steps. The ceasing at event time of a cold drizzle moved Virginia Museum of Fine Arts Director Alex Nyerges to joke, “We control the weather.”
The low, throbbing hum of generators powering event lights added tension to the occasion’s dynamics. Statues can’t speak for themselves, giving license to dignitaries and professionals to share their views and thank benefactors, in this case Bill and Pam Royall.
Lt. Gov. Justin Fairfax and Kehinde Wiley confronted by cameras
Wiley freely adapts and repurposes the themes of art history as exhibited by a series of paintings he titled “Rumors of War.” During a 2016 visit to Richmond the vigor and frozen movement of the J.E.B. Stuart monument intrigued him.
The Isle of Guernsey-born, New York City-dwelling artist Frederick Moynihan, who made a career of commemorating figures from both sides of the Civil War, created the J.E.B. Stuart statue. Moynihan apprenticed with British artist John Foley, who had fulfilled an earlier commission to honor British political general Sir James Outram in Calcutta, India (later removed to the grounds of a museum).
Moynihan's interpretation of Stuart was criticized at the time as a "secondhand design." Thus Wiley transformed a statue honoring a British imperialist oppressor later repurposed to glorify a dead Confederate general into — what all these statues are — representations of the time in which they are created. (Compare Outram to Stuart).
High-flung words vanish. The work remains.
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At times, the final removal of the drape resembled performance and hearkened to art history.
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At various times the tarp-pulling operation resembled performance art. A yellow ladder with a red bandana tied around its right strut — to prevent scratching the pedestal — went up. A worker attempting to push the drape off received cheers, as sometimes happens for roadies and microphone checkers prior to rock concerts. The long staff used reminded me of the pole I use to flip my gutters. Without a hook or prong end, though, despite furtive tugging above and below, the material, dampened by the day’s rain, remained stuck on the knotted dreads of the figure’s head.
The drape resembled, according to its position, a religious head covering; a do-rag; then, with the ladder, ropes and tree nearby, something more unfortunate and historically resonant; or a bridal veil and train; or, with the bright yellow ladder and the rigging lines and flowing drape, a surrealist reinterpretation by Magritte or Dalí.
Nyerges’ urging for spectators to go inside didn’t sway the many who preferred to savor each molecule of anticipation. The assortment of people matched the varying hues and designs of umbrellas they raised and lowered, raised and lowered as the proceedings unfurled in the intermittent rainfall.
I became intrigued by a festive pink balloon attached by bright yellow tape to the back rack of a bicycle serving as a temporary and transporting seat for one young woman attendee. I asked its meaning, “Oh,” she responded, “it was for a Critical Mass ride, and I kept it on.” The “Critical Mass” she cited is a direct action movement advocating for cyclists' rights.
Of protest, I experienced subtle reflection. A woman passed out handbills for a rally to support legislative action to allow localities control over Confederate monuments. In another quadrant of the occasion before the speaking dais, I received reports of a person with a bullhorn set to a static or noisemaker setting to blanket out the remarks of Virginia Gov. Ralph Northam. What she might’ve been annoyed by wasn’t immediately clear to those near her who wanted to hear the speech. There are plenty things in our time to raise expressions of displeasure. This didn’t seem to be one, at least not yesterday evening.
You might now ask: How many firefighters does it take to undrape a statue in Richmond, Virginia?
One, it turns out.
Revealed, “Rumors of War” peers to the east, sunrise and the future.
The audience roared as though their favorite entertainer had at last taken the stage. But instead, this concluded the show. “Rumors of War” stands to provide a selfie backdrop for the unscrolling years.
The onlookers dispersed, but the lights remained trained. Behind a silvery scrim of rainfall, “Rumors of War” stood proud, the figure in arrested motion, eyes peering east as though attempting to discern what the future holds.
