Having been raised in Florida, winter sports have never figured
very much in my life. Skiing always involved water and big
horsepower since it's hard to find a lake with any kind of slope. I was 26 before I ever
strapped on a pair of snow skis. Even so, every four years I have found myself
cheering on the likes of Dorothy Hamill and Eddie the Eagle during the winter
Olympics.
This year, I was fascinated by the bob sledders, lugers, and
skeleton drivers. I considered the latter two a death wish on runners. Having
watched run after run I became aware of the artistry inherent in this sport.
The driver of the bob sled, luge, or skeleton tries to carry a perfect line for
over a mile while careening down a wildly curving course over a mile long at
speeds up to 90 miles per hour with a margin of error measured in inches. The driver must enter each curve not too high
and not too low, must carry that line through the curve, and come out of it,
resuming a straight line without over or under compensating, all in
milliseconds. The difference between a record setting, gold medal run and
finishing out of the medals altogether can be one almost imperceptible touch of
the bob sled against the side of the run or a few milliseconds slowing of a luge
or skeleton due to a tiny misstep of the operator.
This is high art at its most ephemeral. All the years of
training and perfecting one’s technique comes down to piece of performance art that
will last less than 60 seconds. Several years ago my wife and I made a long
overdue anniversary pilgrimage to Paris. On one warm summer afternoon, we found
ourselves in a large room looking at a surprisingly small portrait that,
arguably eclipsed all the other art treasures in the Louvre in popularity,
fame, and value. The Mona Lisa is considered to be the most valuable painting,
not just in the Louvre, but in the entire world.
Imagine, if you can that a renaissance version of ‘Snapchat’
existed in the 1500’s. Leonardo da Vinci has spent several years of his life painting
his masterpiece and it is finished at last. He schedules a showing which is
well attended. Amidst the “oohs” and “aahs” of the attendees, the picture
begins to fade and, in moments, it is gone, like a medieval Etch-a-Sketch,
never to be duplicated exactly. Try as he might, da Vinci just can’t re-create
his masterpiece perfectly.
This raises some interesting questions. Does the fleeting
nature of our hypothetical Mona Lisa invalidate its iconic stature as a work of
art? Is da Vinci’s accomplishment any less if his work did not last but a few
moments? How about this question: Is da Vinci, as an artist, really any
different than Steven Holcomb, the driver of the U.S. Men’s Bobsleigh team,
carrying a near perfect line down a mountain, other than the fact that da Vinci’s
art has endured for hundreds of years while Holcomb’s lasted less than 60
seconds?
My professor, and plastic surgery mentor, D. Ralph Millard,
Jr., often quoted St. Francis of Assisi: “He who works with his hands is a
laborer. He who works with his hands and his head is a craftsman. He who works with his hands, his head, and his
heart is an artist.”
Even something as simple as handwriting can be done as art.
It is known as calligraphy. A family friend on my mother’s side in Brazil had
the most beautiful handwriting I have ever seen. Friends and acquaintances used
to ask him to write out such things as wedding invitations for them. He did
this without charge. I would wager that the overwhelming majority of his work
eventually ended up in the trash. He didn’t care. He produced the art; what
happened to it after it left his hands was not his concern.
Plastic surgery naturally lends itself as a form of artistic
expression. Of all the medical specialties it most requires an artistic
sensibility. It endures somewhere between the bob sledder’s run and the Mona
Lisa. I believe, however, that any human endeavor can be done artistically. I
have seen art on an athletic playing field as well as in a concert hall or
museum. I have known people who go about their day doing the mundane things of
life with such care and deliberation…..and heart, that they raise daily living
to an art form. Even human relations can be done artistically. My grandfather,
a physician in Rio de Janeiro, used to take me on walks when I was a boy. We
would always be stopped multiple times as neighbors would invite him in for a
chat and a “cafezinho” (literally, “little cup of coffee”). Once he told me he
as taking me to meet a “very distinguished” gentleman. This individual turned
out to be the neighborhood street sweeper, a former patient who he introduced
me to as though he was a celebrity. This was done without a hint of irony. I
didn’t appreciate it then, but this was high art too.
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