THE SOUL OF THE THING

Where are the spaces for quiet contemplation?

Last month I wrote about the crowds in Europe and the difficulty of seeing in those crowds. Meanwhile an article published on WorldCrunch, “My Mona Lisa selfie and the modern museum as glorified mall,” suggests that museums “are gradually morphing into a staged environment, tailored to meet the needs of spectacle and social media”—in contrast to their previous role as “temple[s] of contemplation.”

This is what I’m struggling with—that art is now a commodity that must be sold to gigantic crowds to prove its worth (?) or to allow the museum operating funds. The idea that artists who make money are sellouts has been trumped by influencing, self-promotion, and the curation of individual experience for an audience of mostly strangers.

It’s about the soul of the thing. I miss spaces for quiet contemplation. As I wrote last month, we got into Notre Dame by going to Mass. I didn’t understand most of it—my French isn’t that good. But being in that beautiful place, listening to the prayers, being part of a community of people who valued the space for its spiritual purpose—that helped me to feel the cathedral and thus to see it better. I am not collecting things—like pictures of moments—but the moments themselves, because they enrich my life by making me think, helping me to appreciate another culture, and offering us all beauty.

So few spaces are left for this necessary process. How do we know who we are or what we think if we don’t allow room for it? And if, as they seem to be, museums are giving in to the pressure to be spectacle, how do we create beautiful alternatives that invite contemplation rather than exploitation? We found one exception in the Musee de L’Orangerie, which posted signs stating that the rooms were for contemplation and whose guards routinely shushed patrons in the water lily rooms.

Detail from Monet’s Waterlilies paintings at L’Orangerie, Paris

I can hear one or two of my friends suggest nature as an alternative and—if you can find some quiet woods—a valid one. But woods don’t include the creative human intelligence that so fascinates me: Where do these images and insights come from? What makes a particular painting or photograph or poem “work”? Recently, the new poet laureate in Norwalk led a poetry walk through an old graveyard, past the dump and into Oyster Shell Park. During the hour and a half we all spent together, we read poems, talked to conservationists, and thought about history. What inspired me was the human intervention in the natural space: the creation of a pollinator pathway, the effort to plant trees, the sculpture installed in the park, the decks over the river for fishermen—and poets.

How do we nurture future audiences to appreciate the art for its own self, rather than for the self the observer is creating by observing and documenting? That I was there is unimportant to anyone but me. If it allows me shared experience with another fellow traveler, that’s a bonus, but seeing David Hockney’s disjointed dancers play with color, shape and movement doesn’t have a practical use. It doesn’t need to be commodified or “worth something.”

David Hockney Video at Louis Vuitton Fondation, June 2025

Why are we allowing corporate America and capitalism to decide what something is worth? I have to when I buy a new pair of Banana Republic Jeans or upgrade my IPhone. But the value of the Mona Lisa or the Rosetta Stone is immeasurably diminished when we turn it into “just a thing.” If I can make a big leap here (and why not?), I would suggest this is part of what has happened to the study of the humanities. Academics have not been able to explain the “thing” of it—and why that thing is important or marketable. But so much isn’t! Contemplation and thought move the “thing” into value. I am not teaching in order to get my students jobs. I am teaching in order to train them to think in a variety of situations, which will make them better citizens (and employees or employers). I want to train them in judgment and discernment, compassion and, yes, humanity. We can’t do that swiftly—or by standing in front of the book or the painting and taking a picture.

This is not an individual problem, but a social one. It requires communal effort to solve. We are told that if we’re unhappy, it’s a personal problem, that our depression and anxiety belong only to us, uninfluenced by the larger world around us. But when the larger world is warped and dysfunctional, when power is actively working against its people, then it’s not the individual’s problem. Only a community that bands together can push back against political and corporate interests. (Look at the power of the recent boycotts, as an example.) In a democratic society, government support for the arts is critical—for all arts, not just the ones that please the leader of the moment and his cronies.

Thanks for reading.

EVENTS:

I’ll be part of Jerry Johnson’s book launch on August 2 for his latest collection, Bad Fruit. Jerry has a musical and distinctive voice, and a lot to stay about the inequities in our country. Hope you can join us. More information here: Jerry Johnson Book Launch.