Picking on minimalist modern art is usually an unfair game. This case is no exception, but given the subject and the location of the offending piece, this one cries out for comment.
I really can’t find anything to like in the statue of Blessed John Paul II just unveiled in front of the Termini train station in Rome.
The unkindly face bears no similarity to John Paul, and the head is a swollen blob jutting out of the top—almost as though a sculptor were caricaturing the round Slavic noggin.
The body really isn’t. The blob of a head seems just stuck on top of a silo. The cape could be mistaken for a door, since it sweeps out from an opening inside of which a person could seek shelter from the rain. Methinks more than one person will.
The void where the body should be might be meant to suggest that he welcomed everyone, but doesn’t that usually mean he welcomed them to *something* rather than nothing?
And it is apparently positioned so that when tourists come out of Termini, Rome’s primary train station, they are looking at the back of the roughly 16-foot tall bronze monstrosity.
There is a place for art that evokes thoughts and impressions rather than accurately and perfectly depicting a likeness, but this one fails to do either. And it certainly does not evoke the true sense of the man whose name it bears.