We decide to walk it. Last night's foray into downtown Cairo has done a lot to allay my fears of this huge city. It's really not all that far, and the directions are rather simple. Down the street, over the bridge crossing the Nile, down the riverside Corniche and left after passing the burned out government building! See, easy!
Our first visit to the Egyptian Museum was over two weeks ago with Medhat, Dr. Kemp and the rest of the tour group. That visit was a great introduction, but limited in time. Now I want to splurge.
Upon entering we immediately turn right and go up the stairs. I want to go directly to the Tutankhamun section and spend all the time necessary to see all I want. Sort of getting it out of my system. I can't remember how many artifacts Howard Carter retrieved from that tiny tomb in the Valley of the Kings. I know it is thousands. Most of them are here at the museum.
I'm going to have myself a time, as our dear friend Lang would say.
The late eighteen dynasty was a high-water mark in the applied arts. The inlaid boxes and chests, stools, chairs and beds show consummate craftsmanship and artistry. Every day objects rendered beautiful beyond the necessities of function.
I work my way slowly. There's a crowd ahead, clustered around the famed golden throne. A Japanese television crew is swarming around the all-too-familiar figure of Dr. Zahi Hawass, who is mugging it for the camera, probably claiming to have discovered it all himself single-handledly...
I eventually get my own private face-to-face time with the self-same throne. There are very good reasons why it is famous. The richness of the decoration and the uniqueness of the scene on its back rest are just mind-boggling. Two additional large chairs displayed nearby are no less sumptuous to my eyes. Working my way down the large gallery I find a large display case filled with ceremonial walking sticks. There, couched rather unceremoniously, are two sticks, one of gold and the other of silver, that throw me back almost fifty years to that first trance-like encounter I had had with things Egyptian. Each is surmounted with a tiny solid metal statuette of the child King, and would have been used during the rituals of his coronation. I remember seeing the silver one as a child of nine years of age. I'm getting all choked up again.
In what I'll call the "treasury room", I work my way from the periphery, looking closely at the jewelry and other artifacts while pretending to ignore the 800-lbs gorillas in the middle of the room, namely the golden mask and the solid gold coffin. That's OK, I'm circling like a shark, getting ever closer.
Along with Nefertiti's head, Tutankhamun's golden mask is today perhaps the most recognized symbol of ancient Egypt's splendor. There's nothing else quite like it, even though about a dozen other solid gold mummy masks from various kings have survived to this day. This mask shows the idealized features of Tutankhamun as he would have appeared to the gods upon his rebirth into the afterlife. No mortal eyes were ever meant to gaze upon it after burial. We are intruding. It is also an exquisite, sensitive portrait of the young king. I try to remind myself that this is just sheet metal that's been hammered into shape, looking for signs of the artist's hand. So strong is its power that it nearly blinds me to its details.
If the mask evokes the pathos and poignancy of a young king's life cut short, the gold coffin projects pure opulence. It dazzles and shimmers. The chased decoration, covering it from head to toe, is testimony to the goldsmith's art. The inlaid cloisonné forms of Nekbet and Wadjet, spreading their wings over the king's torso, add color to the otherwise continuous expanse of solid gold. Close inspection reveals that the winged goddesses forms had been chased and incised in all their feathery detail into the body of the coffin before being added as a cloisonné overlay, as if the latter was an afterthought, or something to be done if afforded the leisure of time.
My brain is on overload.
No comments:
Post a Comment