edge of the continent

Earlier this year, I invited my dad to a lecture given by Maya Lin at the Museum of Contemporary Art in La Jolla. Lin had an exhibition opening at the museum’s downtown location and while I wasn’t sure that my dad was familiar with her art or earthscape installations (not that I was, either, although I did some light reading prior to her talk), I thought he might enjoy learning about her work. He enlisted in the Navy during the war and had mentioned how moving it was for him to see the traveling wall exhibits, so it was my hope that she would mention, even briefly, her design of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. She did, in fact, and touched upon several of the controversies surrounding the piece before continuing with truly remarkable photos and commentary on her current projects.

When he learned that I was traveling to Washington, DC, he asked if I would mind visiting the wall and taking a few pictures for him. I stopped there twice: once in the evening with a friend since we happened to be walking nearby at the Lincoln Memorial, and then again a few hours before I flew home. It was a beautiful, cool morning when I snapped these. As the pathway slopes gently downhill, the wall grows from ankle-height to just over ten feet tall. On the granite’s highly reflective surface, sky and trees intermingle with the nearly 59,000 names etched into the stone.

Its great power and beauty, I think, are in the somber minimalism and factual roll call of the dead and missing that lie in stark contrast to — while yet directly reflecting — its lovely park setting and many visitors. Most monuments I’ve seen in person so far have been of the bronze statue variety; none have come close to eliciting a similar depth of emotional response from me.