Yesterday, my husband and I saw an art exhibit from Scotland. There were gorgeous paintings by Boticelli, Monet, Degas, Vuillard, Rembrandt, Bonnard and others. We did the audio tour, and so a voice was in our heads speaking rightly about the great beauty before us. Specific details were focused on, rather than sweeping statements. Sometimes biographical information was described. The narrators cleverly did not attempt to sum up a work of art, but guided us gently to points they found interesting to themselves.
At lunch, we looked through the catalogue, and many of the prints could not capture the color and intensity at all. It was disappointing but not surprising. Describing an experience after the fact is difficult, and sometimes at the time not possible at all. It feels like all the senses are assaulted at once, not just vision. How the daubs of paint can convey so much emotion and complexity is a mystery and a miracle.
Capturing experience in words is challenging. Yet most people have the urge to share the intensity. Forgiving ourselves for falling short is a start at showing good intention, no matter how unsatisfying the outcome. Rather than being frustrated, we can be calm in the face of such encounters with great art, and allow the feelings to wash over us without labeling them. Labeling diminishes. It's the experience of absolute joy: it can not be expressed properly or even shared. But it's an act of love to try.
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