An Incomplete Reflection on Our Interaction with Beauty (because it could never be complete...and because this article is super short).

This summer, my wife and I had the privilege of viewing an exhibit of Claude Monet’s Water Lilies. The exhibit consisted of two, large, oval rooms with four of Monet’s 30-foot paintings in each room. As we had stopped by the exhibit on a whim, we were both shocked by the abruptly peaceful beauty of these paintings. Since the sign for the exhibit communicated that Monet had created these paintings to depict and encourage harmony and meditation, I was struck by how people were interacting with these masterpieces. As people buzzed and chattered about the room with convenience store nonchalance, it was clear that we do not know what to do with beauty. In this exhibit, I witnessed three different responses to beauty.

Response 1: we try to imprison beauty. Some viewers at the exhibit attempted to “capture the moment” with their cameras, more eager to “have” the art stored in their pocket than in interacting with it in the moment. Rather than taking the time required to truly see and appreciate a masterpiece, a quick snapshot promises us that we will now have that painting in our arsenal of beautiful things, always obedient to our summoning if we choose to look at them again (which we may never choose to do). After taking a photo, we can pretend that we now “own” that art or experience, not realizing that we barely even saw it ourselves and not considering how impossible it is for an iPhone to capture the beautiful brushstrokes on a 30-foot canvas.

Response 2: we try to tether beauty to ourselves. Others at the exhibit, recognizing that capturing the full painting was a fool’s errand, opted for the alternative strategy of attaching the painting to themselves via a selfie. Rather than becoming absorbed in the beauty before them, these individuals attempted to enlist the art in their own self-absorption. To them, Monet’s masterpiece was a convenient platform for them to convince the world (and perhaps themselves) that they mattered, that they were cultured, that they were beautiful. While understandable, this attitude seems painfully twisted, evidenced by the fact that these individuals spent most of their time with their backs to the beauty in the room.

Response 3: we get lost in the wonder of beauty. This brings us to the picture (yes, I took some pictures, I am inconsistent) above, of my wife absorbed in wonder of this masterpiece, her colors becoming washed in with Monet’s. This wonder at beauty is simultaneously frightening and life-giving. It is frightening because it involves a certain vulnerability, a recognition that what is before us is more than we can handle or take in. It is life giving for the very same reason, as its grandness reminds us of transcendence, that there are things beyond us and our little, busy worlds. And that reminder may even give us peace.