As we have all seen not too long ago with the death of John F. Kennedy, Jr., and
36 years before that, the death of his father, the news media, in its various
manifestations, plays an important (some would say too important) part in
orchestrating our national mourning. We are tempted to see this as a recent
development until we compare the loss of great men and women today with similar
incidents in times past. Perhaps the greatest example of media-centred national
mourning occurred with the death of Abraham Lincoln. That media circus went on
for close to a year. In studying how cultures handle the death of a famous
individual, it becomes apparent that only the technology and time frame have
changed. The emotions of moment and the political agendas of those involved do
not. Those in a leadership role are determined that the death of every important
person "mean" something, and it is the job of the media, and those fuelling it's
voracious appetite for both facts and image, to tell us what that meaning
is.
In 1793, a very important man died. His name was Jean Paul Marat. He
was a leader of the French Revolution. He was assassinated by Charlotte Corday,
who plunged a dagger into his chest while Marat while soaking in a medicinal
bath. (He was combating a skin disease contracted while hiding from the royal
police in the sewers of Paris before the revolution.) Before the body was even
cold, the most important artist of the day was called in to sketch the crime
scene. His name was Jacques-Louis David. The man's body was hardly in its grave
before David's painting of the dastardly deed was finished and on display for
the Paris populace to see. The leaders of the revolution, and David himself, had
to give the death "meaning." As the leading classical painter of the day, David
was "the media."
In his own way, he was every bit as effective as the
artists who drew for the illustrated weeklies in Lincoln's day or the newsreel
and television cameras that led the mourning for President Kennedy and his son.
The painting is dramatic, forthright, stark, and simple. It brings to mind
Michelangelo's Christ from the Vatican Pieta. The note in Marat's hand, that of
his assailant, is exceedingly readable. The wound still bleeds. There is an
immense emptiness occupying the entire upper half of the canvas--a voided life
left unfulfilled. And just so there will be no doubt, Marat's name is carved
into the side of the shipping crate which served as his desk, next to his
bathtub. Beneath that is David's signature, printed in simple, Roman letters. It
is pure propaganda--art sublimated to current events and political purpose,
raising the question as to whether it actually is art. Few of us would consider
the 8mm. Zapruder film, or TV coverage of Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald
art, yet they are cut from the same cloth as David's Death of
Marat.
