Statues - Indianapolis

Statues and sculptures captured in downtown Indianapolis

Statues - Mauthausen

I've written about walking the grounds of Mauthausen already - that story is here, if you're interested.  I think I mention somewhere that there isn't an inch of the building that hasn't been turned into a memorial.  What I forgot to mention is that just beyond the central camp buildings, out where the grass is green in a way that belies its sordid history, is a statue garden.  Built by the nations in honor of those they lost, these statues are a promise.  A promise to never forget how deeply hate can burn.  A promise to never forget the lives that were lost, and that still can be lost, when prejudice is manipulated.  And above all else, a promise to learn, and to prevent this from ever happening again.  Now, the sculpted steel giants on the lawn of Mauthausen guard that promise, and when you walk among them, you'll want to guard that promise, too.   

  

Angels of Woodland

Some of the angels of Woodland Cemetary.  There were others, but they were eaten by the faulty card reader.

Statues - Venice

We moved so quickly through Venice (and I may have wasted an hour or so feeding the pigeons), that I hardly had any time to catch these statues, which is why there are so few.  I'll just have to go back some day.

When Your Heart is Breaking, Even Though It's Aching

There's a church not far from Vienna.  It calls itself a monastery, but it's entirely full of nuns.  Believe me, this caused no small amount of debate when I got home. "They said it was a monastery."  "Surely, nuns in a nunnery?"  "Don't correct the nuns."  I didn't really have the nerve to ask where all the monks were, though, because every statue outside the church was a saint in varying degrees of martyrdom.  Even the Jesus on the Cross in the sanctuary was a Bloody Anguish Jesus instead of the Regretfully Resigned Jesus we'd seen in every other church.  Enjoy these statues.  Don't have nightmares.

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Children At Your Feet. Wonder How You Manage to Make Ends Meet.

There's a woman standing on the side of the road in Springfield, Ohio.  We've passed her and her children many times before without recognizing her.  All day she stands there, all day she watches.  She holds her children close to her, and glows a warm pink in the light of the setting sun.  She is a mother.  She is a wife.  She is Madonna of the Trail.

There are twelve Madonnas positioned across the continental United States, all but two facing westward.  Following the line of the National Old Trails Road (now mostly Rt. 40 and Rt. 66) from Bethesda, Maryland to Upland, California, these women were erected to honor the women of the frontier, the wives and daughters who were so strong and who so loved the men with whom they crossed the nation.  The presence of these women established the expansion of the American territories as much as their adventurous husbands did, and for this they are recognized.

In 1911, the Daughters of the American Revolution formed the National Old Trails Road Committee, and were tasked with the establishment of the route as a National Memorial Highway.  The dawn of World War One delayed the formal start of the project, but in 1924 Congress approved the plan to erect twelve statues along the Memorial Highway.  German-American sculptor August Leimbach was drafted to design the statue.  He describes his woman as such:

"When I came to America, I often saw these people of the pioneer type, strong and brave and always ready to protect themselves against any danger. Asked to make a sketch model for a monument of a woman of pioneer days, I was inspired by my own impression of these people I had met, and the Madonna of the Trail is the result."

And this woman is no dainty bread maker or house keeper.  She's a sturdy woman, face turned to brave the west.  She holds her baby with one arm while her son clutches her skirt.  And in her free hand?  A rifle.  No, this is no ordinary woman.  This is a woman who built homes.  This is a woman who conquered lands.  

The algonite stone used to build her heavily features Missouri granite, which causes her healthy pink coloring.  I don't know if they did that on purpose, if they thought that casting her in this delicate, feminine color would soften the harshness of her dominating figure.  The color doesn't soften her, not exactly.  Instead, it lends her an air of motherly stoicism.  Now she has a hint of personality, more than you might find if she were just another stark white memorial.

On July 4, 1928, at the dedication of the first statue, the one right here in Springfield, the leader of the National Old Trails Road Committee, then Judge (but soon to be President) Harry Truman said of these women:   "They were just as brave or braver than their men because, in many cases, they went with sad hearts and trembling bodies. They went, however, and endured every hardship that befalls a pioneer."  Within the next nine months, each of the twelve identical statues had been placed and dedicated, the final one resting at the start of the trail in Bethesda, Maryland.  They've since become a source of local pride, with the community taking care to see that their women are not defaced, or too harshly weathered.  They still stand today, that strong line across the country.

I still drive past our Madonna.  I am glad now to know her name.  

Is there a Madonna of the Trail near you?

Statues - Vatican City

Vatican City.  Summer, 2004.

Statues captured from within the territory of the Vatican.

Statues -Schloss Hellbrunn

I could talk for days about Helbrunn Palace and the water games; I probably will, at some point.  But when I see a statue, I just can't help myself, and the gardens here a littered with them.