I would like to share an excerpt from the article "Contrapposto" that appears in the current issue of Saint David's Magazine. Written by alumnus Blaise Haddad '12, it speaks to our school-year theme of resilience.
On our first Eighth Grade trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Ms. Iannicelli brought us directly to Gallery 154 to visit the Greek kouros. This marble youth, with its classical simplicity, its perfect proportionality, and its contrapposto stance—that inescapable Italian word—would prove essential for our class, launching us forward into history. But it meant something more as well. The kouros, Ms. Iannicelli told us, is tied to every Saint David’s boy, embodying his journey as he graduates and steps into the wider world. Its arms rigid at its sides, torso erect and strong, it moves perpetually forward while holding fast to its foundational precepts. The Saint David’s boy, she said, must come here first whenever he visits the Met. No exceptions.
I’ve been to the Met many times since, and I admit I often fail to stop by Gallery 154. I have only so much time to kill, or I’m eager to get to a specific exhibit. Sometimes I just forget. But when I do visit, if only for a few minutes, I’m grounded by it. The kouros returns me to a simpler, more formative time, reminding me of basic things: stand up straight, be confident, face the future with readiness and resilience. It makes the challenges of today, whatever they may be, no different from the challenges of Eighth Grade.
I wish I could visit it right now.
Art history is my bag, but the ethos of this statue could be found throughout Saint David’s, available in numerous forms. What is Mr. Dearie’s Chapel story—in which he manages to escape a restaurant bathroom via the roof after being locked in—if not one of strength under pressure? What is required of the athletes on the Red sports teams if not the fearless resolve to victory and, even more difficult, the courage to lose gracefully? What is the story of David himself if not one of sheer fortitude in the face of overwhelming adversity? Our teachers, our coaches, even the walls of the school carried this lesson, imbuing us with it at every turn.
Eighth Grade was a year defined by challenge—it still looms large, even as it recedes in memory.
On top of the school’s already demanding coursework, we had to complete a number of sizable projects that would give a college student pause: lengthy research papers, intimidating presentations. The one that was particularly troublesome for me was the Aρχω, in which each student must complete a painting or sculpture that riffs on a pre-existing artwork. Even the boldest among us did not fancy ourselves to be artists, despite our many excellent art classes—to think we’d even finish the project inspired disbelief.
Yet, the assignment was also a competition, which meant it was not just something to do but something to do well.
Indeed, on the day of the presentation, the library had become a quasi-art gallery, with all of our masterpieces professionally displayed. I vividly recall the impression that we had somehow transcended ourselves, done something that we might not have fancied ourselves capable of—something we might never have attempted to begin with. It seemed real proof of certain parental platitudes: “you can do anything” or “the world is your oyster.” It felt like a brilliantly clever way to show us the value of perseverance: somehow, you get it done.
... That Aρχω project challenged us in another way, too. At a time when endless other tasks demanded our attention—other classes, other assignments, our impending graduation, the looming vision of high school on the horizon—the project asked us to somehow slow down. Slow down, they said. Take your time. Make a painting. This was not something to rush—and why would you want to rush it? The more you put in, the more you get back. When everything is happening at once, when a million distractions rear their heads, I tell myself—slow down. Give one thing the care it deserves. Remember your eighth-grade self, hold your arms at your sides, stand up straight. And when ready, like the kouros, step forward.
Blaise Haddad '12 is a recent graduate of Columbia University.