12 With eighteen-year-old eyes
I was 18. It was my first time in Paris. Of
course I went to visit the Louvre, where the assault on the senses
can be devastating. I remember one moment as if it were yesterday.
A little bit lost, I looked up a long stairway to
my left and what I saw took my breath away. It was a statue of a
winged woman, thrusting forward as on the prow of a ship, her
garments swept back by the wind. Even though headless, the rush of
her power and of her grace reached me. She was the Victory of Samothrace.
Later I discovered that the marble masterpiece
came from an island in the North Aegean Sea, that it commemorated a
naval victory in the 2nd century BC, that it had been discovered in
pieces and carefully reassembled.
All this I found interesting but I clung to the
earthquake quality of my first impression. Sculptors do wonders to
give us hope. Careful curators preserve their work. May we have eyes
to recognise the symbols of ultimate victory. I didn't think much
about resurrection then, but I do now.