Art takes many forms. Some, like portraits, are relatively standardized. More obscure art, such as an installation piece that is, technically, indistinguishable from litter, is sometimes more difficult to appreciate. And occasionally, something pops up that is in between the two.
For an example of this in between possibility, we travel to beautiful Northern Italy. Underneath the picturesque medieval villages are a series of painstakingly decorated underground tunnels and chambers that make up the so-called Temple of Damanhur.""
I am not making this up.
The temple consists of nine chambers on five levels decorated with intricate carvings and paintings, which depict the history of humanity from the birth of civilization in the fertile crescent to the fall of the Greek empire and the ascension of the West. An additional chamber, detailing the intricacies of modern pop culture was scrapped after workers realized the Britney/K-Fed mural would necessitate its own temple (insert rimshot here).
The mastermind of this operation? Not a long-dead civilization, but a 57-year-old former insurance adjuster who calls himself ""Falco."" He claims to have experienced visions of past lives from an early age, and the temples represent a reconstruction of those visions. He collected volunteers to a remote hillside and never looked back. The group has no set religion and no distinct message, though they occasionally use the temple to meditate - possibly on the virtues of a good work ethic.
There is one question that immediately comes to mind: What's up with insurance adjusters? Something about their job must drive them slowly insane. And not just the normal kind of insane. The kind of insane that sometimes results in gigantic underground construction and other times results in underground fight clubs that gain momentum among blue-collar workers until the financial centers of society are demolished in a sequence that can only be described as ""trippy.""
If we're lucky, the next crazy insurance adjuster will decide that he could just be happy underground. Maybe he'll write a song about it.
Reading about this artistic project got me thinking: I could do that. Sure, he's got fanaticism and some experience with excavation under his belt - not to mention a handful of devoted followers. But I have a shovel! I have a half-decent work ethic! And Madison is full of public parks!
So that's why I found myself at Vilas Park, starting to construct my own temples. But instead of being dedicated to human history, I decided to dedicate my temples to the human present: booze, babes and... um... more booze. I kept a log during my dig to track my progress:
12:30 a.m. - Dig has commenced. Spirits are high. Libations are flowing freely.
1:07 a.m. - Brief scare when an Unenlightened One neared the temple entrance. I thought about trying to convert him to the Truth but realized I forgot my pamphlets.
1:32 a.m. - During a break, I noticed a small sign near the temple entrance. Great! Future time travelers have come back to mark the point where the revolution began.
2:11 a.m. - I seem to have run into something hard several feet beneath the surface. I think with a few quick blows I should be able to shatter it.
2:12 a.m. - I broke through the obstacle, but my left hand has clamped onto the shovel and I cannot remove it. I smell something burning.
11:38 a.m. - The hospital attendants were very kind, though I caught them sniggering when they thought I wasn't looking. Turns out the sign wasn't a historical marker. It was an underground cable warning sign. The policeman gave me a citation for disorderly conduct.
True artists are never appreciated in their time.
Keaton is trying to procure funding for his next artistic venture: A small faded portrait of a moderately ridiculous Star Wars character wearing an enigmatic smile. He calls it the Mona Meesa. Groan. E-mail him at keatonmiller@wisc.edu.
