I went to Harvard. For about two hours. But I have to say: The university deserves its reputation for academic excellence, because even in just that short time, I left a whole lot smarter.
Earlier this year, Steve and I were in Boston when we found ourselves with some spare time one afternoon, so we decided to pop over to Cambridge, home of esteemed Harvard University. Getting there was easy enough; we took the subway, which dumped us within easy walking distance of the campus. Once there, we made a beeline for the Harvard Museum of Natural History — and I’m just gonna pause here long enough to say that I sometimes think names get institutions into trouble. What I mean by that is that, for some people, I think words like museum and natural history come off as sounding a little, well, dry. According to the museum’s website, it hosts more than 250,000 visitors annually. Not too shabby. But I’ll bet that number would easily double if they changed the name to something a little jazzier, like “A Super-Cool Place with Some Incredibly Unbelievable Stuff.” Just something to think about, Harvard.
As we paid our admission fee ($28.00 for the two of us), the woman taking our money asked, “Are you here to see the glass flowers?” And you could tell by the way she asked, she was certain our answer would be “yes.” The truth was, neither of us had any idea what she was talking about.
The moment I heard “glass flowers,” my mind went immediately to the Bellagio Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. If you’ve ever been there, you know what I’m talking about because it makes an unforgettable impression. For those of you who haven’t been: Stretched across the ceiling of the hotel lobby is a 40,000-pound sculpture made up of 2000 handblown, super-sized, vibrantly-colored glass flowers, the work of famed glass artist Dale Chihuly.
What we were about to see at Harvard — because once she asked, how could we not? — was entirely different, but (I believe) even more impressive. While the exhibit is commonly referred to as the “Glass Flowers,” its actual title is “The Ware Collection of Blaschka Glass Models of Plants.” (“Glass Flowers” is certainly snappier, although it might be even more intriguing with a tag, something along the lines of: “Step On ‘Em and You’re Liable to Lose a Toe.”)
The collection consists of approximately 4000 glass models of 780 species of flowering and nonflowering plants. The coloring of the models is true to life; about 850 are life-sized, while the others are enlargements of certain plant parts. They were originally created (over a period of five decades, beginning in 1886) to be used as a teaching tool for botany classes, so beside each one is a tag showing its common and scientific name.
Imagine, if you will, constructing a life-sized replica of an aster from glass: its stem, leaves and delicate lavender petals, perfectly proportioned and positioned. Think about fashioning the thick stem and skinny, pointy spines of a cactus. It’s impossible to not be impressed by the patience, skill, and tenacity required to achieve such artistic, scientifically accurate feats. Had I been enlisted to tackle such a project, I can see myself working on maybe one aster petal before tossing it in the trash and turning my attention, instead, to a rerun of “Friends.”
As for the name of the exhibit, here’s where that comes from: The men who created the glass models were Czech artists, father and son Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka. The women who financed the project were Boston residents, mother and daughter Elizabeth C. and Mary Lee Ware.
The “Glass Flowers” exhibit occupies one of 16 galleries in the museum. With time running short (the museum closes every day at 5, and it was almost 3 when we arrived), we had time to visit just one other, and that’s the one that actually brought us to the museum in the first place: Earth and Planetary Sciences, or, as I like to think of it: The Minerals Room. Steve and I are both geologists, and while he has way more cred (an advanced degree and lots more work experience), I’d argue that I have a greater interest. I’ve loved rocks and minerals ever since I was a kid, and to this day, if I’m standing in a gravel parking lot, I’m hard-pressed not to drop to my knees and start rifling around, looking for a treasure.
And boy, does the Harvard Museum of Natural History have some treasures! I’ve toured lots of mineral exhibits at many museums over the years, and this was among the best of the best. I am 100 percent convinced that even people with no interest whatsoever in minerals (and what is wrong with you people, by the way?!), would love this exhibit. I seldom use the word glorious. But I’m gonna throw it out there now: The minerals on display at Harvard are glorious. They just are. The crystals are dazzling. The colors are rich. And some of the specimens are impossibly large. It never ceases to amaze me that this kind of beauty exists in nature.
According to the display at Harvard, there are more than 5700 currently known minerals on earth (that number continues to evolve, as new discoveries are made). Even though I love minerals, studied them a hundred years ago in college, and continue to collect them, I still have an awareness of just a small fraction of the 5700. So one thing that always fascinates me is seeing mineral names I’ve never before seen, and, in this case, that included: wakabayashilite, kutnohorite, arsentsumebite, and moschellandsbergite. Those names were so strange that I actually googled them to make sure they showed up somewhere besides Harvard’s elite campus — for all I knew, some Harvardite prankster had painted and otherwise disguised “regular” minerals and then christened them with purposely non-pronounceable names (who knows what those academicians do for fun?). But, no. According to my online sleuthing, these minerals really do exist.
Now I said at the beginning of this column that my two hours at Harvard made me smarter. But that’s true only to a certain extent. I now have a basic knowledge of the university’s famous “Glass Flowers.” But please don’t ask me to remember the names of those minerals. I never claimed to be a genius.
Next week: That chain is on your hotel door for a reason — use it!
