I thought I could become wise, but it is much beyond me. Far away is all that has come into being and very, very deep. Who can find? –

Ecclesiastes, 7:24-25

A few times in my life I have come in contact with my insignificance. When wonder and awe took my breath away. When my thoughts expanded to understand I would never understand all things. When the word profound was not hyperbolic. When art illuminated human experience. When wisdom comforted me in a knowing embrace. When nature included me in divine secrets.

Las Cuevas De Altimira

When I was a sophomore in high school, I spent a summer in Santander, Spain. It was my first international trip. We visited Las Cuevas de Altimira near the town of Santillana Del Mar. The caves house prehistoric paintings. At 16, in the midst of my typical teen fog, I knew the significance of the caves and the paintings. The age of the earth and the lengths to which people tried to make sense of it and each other struck me deeply. I remember the total darkness and a wet cold damp world that we navigated by lamp light. I remember asking, “How were the paintings created in such darkness?” There was mystery around every answer I could find. Las Cuevas de Altimira make me think about the power of the living earth to cut and carve and tell stories. Las Cuevas de Altimira make me think about those who painted on the cave walls and their awesome desire to communicate in a world where language was being born. Las Cuevas de Altimira make me think about those who found and preserved the paintings and their commitment to sharing the story of the earth and its people.

La Guernica

On that same trip to Spain, I saw Picasso’s La Guernica. La Guernica was on display in an annex next to the Prado in Madrid. La Guernica depicts the bombing of a public market in Guernica, Spain, on April 26, 1937 during the Spanish Civil War. The 11′ x 25′ masterpiece portrays the horror of war in abstract black and white. Drawn by the grief of the image, I moved from left to right, slowly reading the story of that tragic afternoon told by disfigured mouths from destroyed faces, transported not by a literal representation of war, but by the cubist recreation of the communal experience. It was like reading a novel. The bull charges while the masses cry out in terror. The lightbulb explodes. La Guernica makes me think about the human cost of violence and war. La Guernica makes me think about the questions that are best asked through art. La Guernica makes me think about the armor that surrounds our hearts, and the need for our eyes to flood with the tears of mothers who have lost their children.

The Florida Reef

I lived in Miami, Florida for a number of years. South Florida is home to one of the largest coral reefs in the world, the Florida Reef. I have been blessed to snorkel in the shallow, pristine waters and experience the Florida Reef quite a few times. Over the course of my snorkeling excursions, I learned about the shipwrecks that have occurred there. In some cases, the remains of once great ships have become small ecosystems. Vibrant schools of fish swim through the coral and metal playgrounds. It is fun to think about the stories these shipwrecks could tell. They could speak of exploration and adventure, of celestial navigation gone wrong, of pirates and treasure, of royalty and “new” worlds. Shipwrecks make me think of all the stories we can tell. Shipwrecks make me think of our history and our future living together. Shipwrecks make me think of life and the raw possibility of our wreckage moments becoming the shape of new life.

The Old Guitarist

I visited the Art Institute of Chicago a few years ago. I was not aware, until I was there, that it housed Picasso’s The Old Guitarist. Maxine Greene had passed away that week and I had been struggling to find words. She has been a philosophical compass I use to navigate the terrain of life ever since graduate school, and I was sad she had left this life. Greene had referenced Wallace Steven’s poem The Man With Blue Guitar in Variations on a Blue Guitar, a collection of her essays. The painting, from Picasso’s Blue Period, depicts and old musician with a contorted shape unbound by blindness and poverty playing his guitar. The Old Guitarist makes me think about the power of the arts to allow us to share grief and know comfort. The Old Guitarist makes me think about, as Greene relates, imagination making empathy possible. The Old Guitarist makes me think about the ability of the arts to meet us exactly where we are and envision what we are not yet.

Celebrating Insignificance

I am grateful art and nature put me in my place from time to time. I learn from hurricanes and pandemics and masterpieces and virtuosos. Strength and inspiration and compassion can be found in insignificance. Humility can lead to open hearts and minds. Practice can lead to depth and understanding. Wisdom is gained with a proper perspective. I am grateful that my 1,000th sunset still brings tears to my eyes. I am grateful that I can read an essay and be so moved that I never want to write another word. I am grateful that I can know awe so intimately that I can be still and know. That is the gift of insignificance.