The Self-Selection of Stillness

Washington D C in Spring

It was one of those weeks when life was traveling fast. The night had barely slipped on its night gown, when dawn was pinkening it again with haste. The traffic was zipping with haste, the lines to the museum opening were moving fast. Things were happening. And they kept happening through the day.

We were in Washington D C – traveling on spring break.

Things are happening all the time everywhere – but especially so in the nation’s capital, I think. The hotel we stayed in was hosting hundreds of soldiers from the National Coast Guard. The areas near the Capitol building and the Washington monument bustled with people with important tasks to do. Every one seemed to have an agenda: even the tourists. Visitors in national parks they have agendas too, but here in the capital, the agendas seemed more immediate. There were monuments to visit, museums to see, senate & house galleries to witness. Everyone bustled. I felt like I was in one of those time-lapse videos sometimes.

The Exhibit – “Ma! Come on!”

Put a few days like this together, and suddenly, you can appreciate why I found myself zoning out in front of the painting. I sat there, staring at it. Unmoving, beautiful, still. It truly was a work of art. We had finally washed up at the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC – after zip-zipping through the Holocaust museum & the Smithsonian Museums: Natural History Museum, Air & Space Museum, American History Museum.

In one place, I sank down between 2 exhibits, and felt a light doze coming on. It was in the American Modern Culture section of the American History Museum. Folks pointed at me and said, “Ah look at this exhibit! The modern day parent – exhausted but present.” I didn’t move.

The Calm & The Storm

When finally the National Gallery of Art offered sofas in which to enjoy the paintings, I took full advantage of them. At one painting, I sat and stared. The stillness of the painting made it seem sublime, the swirling waters of the seas strangely soothing. Can sublime be used to describe a stormy painting? Just as I caught my thoughts begin to meander, I saw it. I did not think it was possible for this to happen. Can art make one hallucinate? After a few moments, I saw the clouds in the painting brighten like lightning rippled through them.

Painting by William Trost Richards in the National Gallery of Art

I sat up. Alert once more. And stared. Then again, it happened. The clouds darkened. I peered around the painting to see if there were any hidden panel lighting fixtures – there were none.

I beckoned the son, and had him observe the painting. “Did you see that?”

“Yes!” His face shone.

“So I wasn’t hallucinating!”

“Nope – it really did brighten.”

After observing another minute or so, he peered up, and said, “Maybe it is the effect of the skylight above!”

I agreed. Must be. Though it felt like magic. But then, a little nagging voice told me we were on the second floor of a building that had 4 floors. So, it could not have been the sun itself – maybe the artificial lighting that gave the impression of a skylight behind the panels had flickered.

Who knew?

Relishing the Stillness

The only thing I did know was how much I relished the quiet, stillness of the paintings in the gallery. Our entertainment options have become swifter: I need to convince children to watch an episode of a sitcom these days. They don’t have the patience to sit through a 20 minute program when they could have reeled and scrolled past 20 different snippets in that time, while checking their chat, keeping an eye on their video games, and looking into that assignment due.

From movies to episodes to YouTube videos to Shorts & reels: everything has become faster. The serenity of a still painting seems dead and dull in comparison.

In truth, it felt like bliss.

Maybe that is the new self-selection evolution. Those who can sit with nothing, will finally be the ones to create something.

“The museum closes in 15 minutes” – I heard the harried announcement ripple through the quiet stillness of the gallery. Quiet or not. Still or not. Time moves on. I sighed and pleaded with  my tired feet to move again. I could sit still on the pavement outside for 3 minutes while I watched the traffic and waited for my ride home, no?