The O-town Scene

Sam Spokony Left: A recreation of a 13th-century statue of the Virgin Mary at Tintern Abbey in South Wales. Above: Exterior of Chepstow Castle and sur- rounding township in South Wales. So it is with Tintern Abbey, a Living Long and Prospering by Sam Spokony Living in history When I interviewed the visual artist Bernard Aptekar in July, just before he left New York City to attend his exhibit in Krakow, he told me he finds more pleasure in showing his work in Europe than he does in America. "In Europe, people have a greater sense of history," Aptekar said. "The ways in which war and other developments have affected so many people are always taken into account in terms of their overall perceptions of things." His words are true — but not because of some innate sense unique to Europeans, or even some subtle difference in the way people here tend to think or act. It's a physical differ- ence. It's the skeletal structure of history that remains, the many and diverse ancient build- ings that act as final, immortal exhalations of once-vibrant civilizations. I stepped outside London last weekend to visit South Wales, and I experienced firsthand that feeling Aptekar was talking about. The two historical stops for the day were Chepstow Castle (built in 1067 after Wales was conquered by the Normans) and Tintern Abbey (built in 1131, founded by Norman lords and populated by French monks). What struck me first — in the best way possible — was that commercialization of both sites doesn't go any further, literally or figuratively, than the souvenir shops. Walking through each structure for the first time is a distinct event, but, again, not for the reasons you might assume. The young, eminently industrial history of America has left us with titanic icons to gawk at — the Em- pire State Building and Golden Gate Bridge come to mind, and we often contrast those man-made objects with the natural wonders such as the Grand Canyon or National Parks. They all serve to instill some sense of awe and smallness, an otherworldly experience. But to wander about Chepstow Castle is to encounter (for me at least) the most exciting and affecting sight of all: the mundane inner workings of a foreign past. Here's where the Earl ate dinner; there's where the guard stood during his lookout shift. Even as it continues to crumble after more than three centuries of emptiness and decay, the castle is a key to the reconstruction of that societal mindset. Even more than any treasure of nature, it is a living artifact. reminder of the silent, austere way of life led by the monks who once inhabited its massive space. It was only a home — a place of reli- gious work — nothing more. But in continued existence, it provides a cultural memory that goes beyond consciousness to something more central, more deeply entrenched in human thought. History isn't all positive stuff, mind you. The Normans only showed up in order to take control of the English throne, and they did it at the expense of blood, guts and life. Tintern Abbey went bust because King Henry VIII decided to end all monastic life in England and Wales so he could become the Supreme Head of the Church of England. This, though, is the stuff of humanity. It is, you could say, what we do. And it's hard to forget all those layers of yourself, beautiful and gross, when they're still right on your doorstep. This, I believe, is what Bernard Aptekar was talking about. He always felt that the percep- tions of Europeans were different because they are, and it's really just because they're lucky enough to live inside the lens of their own history. In America, like it or not, we always try to remove ourselves from that lens. It leads to the mistake of thinking that the acts we commit — and the thoughts we think — are only happening now, in and for us. We don't realize that, as Jean Baudrillard wrote, the world (and maybe the past and the future, To wander about Chepstow Castle is to encounter the most exciting and affecting sight of all: the mundane inner workings of a foreign past. Here's where the Earl ate dinner; there's where the guard stood dur- ing his lookout shift. too) thinks us. And that one day all we will be is the crumbling remnants of our own most mundane chores, occupations and desires. Living for today is just a limit. Sam Spokony is a senior English and music industry major at SUNY Oneonta studying abroad in London this semester. His column ap- pears biweekly. Oct. 6, 2011 O-Town Scene 5

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