A potentially obnoxious and already over-explained observation of something fairly mundane
The title is too long, I know.
I recently encountered a painting by Christen Købke1 titled View of Østerbro from Dosseringen.
(as an immediate and all-too-early aside: I realize how pretentious this sounds. I’m not really the kind of person who “encounters” a painting, but stay with me. We will get through this description of a work of art together and what awaits us on the other side will be worth it. Let’s keep going)
The painting depicts a docked sailboat in the foreground against a pink and pleasant evening sky. A child, three women in bonnets, a man kneeling near the boat, and a man in a top hat observing (helping?) the first man, all stand on the dock.
Alongside the painting, I read this analysis:
Købke has created an image that is in love with nothing happening. The child hangs over the rails, the man in a top hat looks on while his friend makes some adjustment to the bottom of the furled sail. The women say something to one another. Life is going on, but there is no drama, no expectation of an outcome, no sense of getting anywhere. Rather than this being a condition of boredom or frustration, though, it feels exactly right. It is tranquil but not tired. It is immensely peaceful but not inert. In a strange way, the picture is filled with a sense of delight in existence expressed quietly.2
My interpretation of the painting differed tremendously.
I saw two men struggling to fix an uncooperative sailboat. I saw three women gossiping, possibly scorning the incompetence of their male counterparts. And I saw a child, bored and alone and forgotten.
I did not initially notice that the sky was pink.
Granted, I came across this painting at the end of a long day. Looking back a bit, it’s clear to me that I brought some things to this interaction with Købke that completely colored my perspective of his work.
My frustration with a particular work problem showed up in the two men “struggling” with the boat. A piece of negative talk that had recently made its way back to me was suddenly in the mouth of these women. And I was away from home, missing the boy, wondering what he was doing.
This is how we experience life.
We meet every moment with our own set of interior feelings and exterior circumstances.
Our joy, our anger, our confusion, our curiosity serve as lenses through which we see the world. They cloud and clarify our view of everything.
The other day, I encountered a small group of flowers planted for the sole purpose of attracting monarch butterflies—a purpose they actively fulfilled in front of me in fantastic fashion.
I did not care.
I was on my way to a meeting that I felt anxious about, and I envied the butterflies for their ability to flit about.
That same day, post-meeting, I saw a man attempt to throw away a watter bottle. Except, and for reasons I cannot explain, he completely missed the trash can and, without noticing his error, continued on his way—a forgotten piece of trash wafting in his wake.
I laughed out loud to no one, like an insane person, walked over to the water bottle, picked it up, and put it in the trash.3 All with a smile on my face.
These two events occured within the span of one hour.
In the first instance, I found something to hate in a scene of beauty. In the next, something to enjoy in a scene of folly.
I was not a transformed person from one moment to the other (the meeting went fine, not even that good). My mood had shifted just slightly.
It’s no wonder we confuse ourselves with our own inconsistencies.
Joy at a child’s play.
Anger at their obstinance.
Peace amidst morning traffic.
Anger on a free-flowing highway.
Stress before an event.
Rest in the chaos of activity.
Laughter at pain.
Sorrow at nothing in particular.
What we experience does not exist in its own vacuum. Instead, we shape it as it comes at us—with our moods, our whimsies, our thoughts, our feelings, our inconsistencies.
It’s strange. Life isn’t life. It is the sum of our attempts at living. Watch yourself and you will see.
Thanks for reading this far.
-jd
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#content
Daniel - It feels pretty sacrilegious to put a book of the Bible under #content, but it is what I’m reading. And genuinely enjoying (even if I can’t get VeggieTales out of my head).
Survivor - We are so back. Jeff Probst will live forever. Anika will win.
Abby Holliday - Shoutout David D. I’m still on this. Sometimes music recs work.
Question
When was the last time you looked at art? At someone’s house or even a museum. Is that something people do? Should it be?
I had to copy and paste the ø from another site. It’s silly but seemed necessary. That’s all I have to say on it.
Alain de Botton strikes me as a generally sad guy but the dude has a way with words. This is from pg. 42 of Art as Therapy, which has turned into an incredibly slow read albeit in the best way.
No one talks about how good virtue signaling feels.