Visit to the Umlauf Sculpture Garden

Amanda Dulcinea Cuéllar

My visit to the Umlauf sculpture garden was marked by a strange sense of peace and connection with nature. As I walked throughout the grounds I felt awe at the beauty man can create. The array of human sentiments expressed in the sculptures was incredible. I was especially struck by the desperateness with which the mother clung to her child in the sculpture entitled “War Mother.” Another sculpture, in the same style of “War Mother,” that I particularly liked was “Pieta.” These sculptures reflect the passion of human love, as does the sculpture of “The Kiss.” I also liked the whimsical sculptures of Charles Umlauf such as the bather. It reminded me of our literature class and of the carefree mindset of innocent children.

 In the garden there existed a peace between the human sculptures and the animal ones. The “Wild Boar” sculpture stood across the path from the sculpture of “Eve,” undisturbed. None of the bronze figures were chasing the sculpture of the rooster to his death, nor herding the goat away from the boy. Instead all of the animals and human sculptures let each other exist peacefully on their marble pedestals. The epitome of this peaceful coexistence is evident in the sculpture of Saint Francis with the birds.

It was precisely in front of this sculpture that the magical spell of my communion with nature was brutally broken. As I stood, admiring the way in which St. Francis coexisted with the birds, I felt a strange itch on my finger. Absentmindedly I touched my hand to examine the bothersome spot, and I suddenly felt a warm liquid. There had been a strange insect biting my finger which I squashed accidentally. The insect, swollen with its recent meal, splattered blood on my finger and dress. In that moment I returned to the world of man. Suddenly nature seemed to be against me. Instead of welcoming me into its loving embrace, it was tempting me in to be its dinner. Like Icarus, I fell from the grace of nature and became just another human antagonist.

The passion of the War Mother now changed from love for her son to horror and anguish at the eternal struggle between man, nature, and man. I saw how our struggle against nature is also a struggle against ourselves. We are intricately linked to nature, though we spend all of our lives trying to make our lives comfortable and distancing ourselves from our origins.

Thus ended my visit to the Umlauf sculpture garden and my communion with nature; once again I felt myself violently pushed away from the elements. I wonder if perhaps it is not the fault of the insect nor of my medium, but of me that the peacefulness nature offers evades me. Perhaps I am not ready to accept it yet, perhaps I am still too restless and naïve to let myself sink into it.