On one of its sides there is a wall of tiles; it is commemorating impulsive acts of self-sacrifice that end up in self-demise.
These extraordinary acts, performed in circumstances of the everyday are far from trivial. And their succinct and poetic descriptions are emotive, draped in a sweet melancholy.
I did not listen to the audio part on the bench. By then, I admit I was already put off by this exact fact of no mention. My reasoning, I admit, possibly very unfair.
‘The Memorial to Heroic Self Sacrifice’ it is called.
‘Monument’ is how Susan Hiller called her installation.
The difference in naming seems telling of a difference in intention.
A monument, implies wishes of grandeur. Implies will to be immortal.
In the Postman’s Park, the dead do not want grandeur or immortality. They never looked for it. They only want dignity.
Heroic.
Apparently, the word heroism was introduced only in the 18th century.
Self-sacrifice.
It always implies intention. Self-Perishing is optional.
But would you, or me?
Recently, while attending a talk, a person collapsed. I was not the closest in proximity, there were a few others in-between but still I was there. Close. I am first-aid trained. I did nothing. Froze. Others stepped in and helped wonderfully. I felt scared and hopeless, numb and ashamed afterwards.
The people commemorated in the tiles did not freeze. They are the glue. The invisible ink writing human history.
So many squares, parks and streets are hosts to vulgar statues of heroes. Most of them butchers. Yet the heroes in the Postman’s Park don’t mind they are on no squares. They do not need or want recognition. They want to have left their last breath knowing their loss saved someone else. Most of the times, it didn’t.
There are schools of thought (George Price, WD Hamilton etc.) that deny the existence of altruism. They believe that all acts of altruism are in reality evolutionary acts for the preservation of the species; that self-sacrifice is a misplaced belief together with the idea of preservation of the species in an individual, reproductive narrative.
The installation is a reminiscence of the park experience but far from it; the pictures of the tiles are pictures of the tiles. Someone else’s (art)work. There seems to be no real added value to the original. The concept/declaration that the listener on the bench is being part of the installation is naive as the identity of the audience is obvious.
The Park is a Cenotaph. The installation is placing this cenotaph to the personal in a way that, to me, is trivialising the subject, assuming an identity that cannot exist in in such concepts but in actions.
During the recent shooting in a Florida school, a man, Aaron Feis, a coach, put his body in-between the kids and the shooter, also a kid. He died of his wounds. His death will survive in the memory of those involved he saved, and his name maybe in some news pieces, but then he will embrace oblivion and his beloved’s laments will become a faint whistling at night, a hiss barely noticed.
On a table opposite me, a man sits now with friends, sharing a wine and conversation and he is a man obviously dying, from his looks possibly cancer. He talks trivial everyday things as I overhear. He sips his sips, each sip a quiet, serene, deafening act of heroism.
And I am reminded that heroism is silent. Is instant. Or a daily occurrence; things that the rest of us take for granted.
Heroism is Love. It does not boast. It is not proud. Love never fails.
more info:
https://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/green-spaces/city-gardens/visitor-information/Pages/Postman's-Park.aspx"
http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/exhibition/susan-hiller/susan-hiller-room-guide/susan-hiller-monument"
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/art-reviews/8311816/Susan-Hiller-at-Tate-Britain-hidden-voices-lost-worlds.html"
https://motherboard.vice.com/en_us/article/bmjanm/george-price-altruism"
Thanks to DP for additional editing.
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