Noteworthy

I sit in a coffee house’s lounge. Amidst the gentle rolling hum of the exposition and reflection around me, I notice my ear drawn to the only voice aged over 30 years. Amazing how the ear trains on the anomaly, without my command. It’s as if my mind has muted all the other voices and fixed a target upon the one who could be my mother’s age, though she’s speaking no louder than any of the youth.

A little annoyed with myself for being distracted by her voice, I make an effort to direct my focus elsewhere. I cast my attention on the uneven walls. Upon them is hung a collection of visual pieces, each distinct in its frame and worthy of noting. But here I find another fixation. The largest one hangs on the wall crooked. Tilted by a few degrees, which perhaps wouldn’t have been noticed in a smaller piece, but in this 4x4 foot canvas it is quite irrefutable. My eyes catch again and again on the slant I perceive at its edges. I notice I have been looking in its direction for a handful of moments, yet have not truly looked at it. I am fixed upon the tilt, the thing that should not be. I struggle to make myself look at the artwork itself, but I must confess I barely succeed and do not linger as I should upon the artistry.

I marvel at myself. Why should the tilt pull at me so? It’s no great wonder. There’s nothing to hold my attention in a meaningful way. It’s simply askew.

I begin to imagine having the occasion to present art in a famous gallery and choosing to affix my artwork to the wall askew by these few distracting degrees, intentionally. Wondering how many eager patrons would step forward to try and correct the problem, or pester a staff member to remedy the issue. I imagine titling the collection: “Distracted.” I wonder, how many would perceive my mischief? How many would pull their eyes off the edges of the slanted frame and view the artistry within their borders?

And after all this wondering I realized I ought to take heed of the story here. I feel like I’m in the midst of a little fable, and, like those somewhat dull and inevitably odd stories that filled our children’s picture books, I believe it has a lesson within its oddities that’s worth noting.

I’m reminded to notice what I notice. And, likewise, to notice what I do not notice.

What does it say that the woman’s voice had a distinction that cut through all other voices? For one thing… Mothers, you are significant. Your voice has authority and it carries itself into ears you don’t even know. Of everyone in the room, I am drawn to listen to the voice of seasoned wisdom. Keep speaking, and be heard speaking life, oh Mothers and Fathers.

What of my fixation upon the slanted frame? Here I receive a gentle reminder - don’t miss the artwork for the tilt. How often do I fixate on someone’s askew morality, or off-level manners, and miss the artistry within? God, that I would be resolved to move past the edges, to see and to linger on the beauty within each and every soul. Furthermore, I wonder how often do I get caught on the borders of my own self, fixed upon the places where I compare myself to the floor, to the ceiling. How often do I stop myself short, unable to move past the skew I see in my capacities, my merits, and therefore leaving the whole interior of my person neglected?

Artwork hung in harmony with its environment, perfectly placed within its context, is a glorious thing, no doubt. Just as a person who is well-grounded in their own life, firmly footed with dignity, self-esteem, and gracious meekness, is a wonder and a glory, a blessing to any room.

But let’s not forsake the beauties who hang askew. Some of us get knocked out of alignment, and though some of our glory may be stolen, it would be a tragedy to forsake us altogether. I believe with all my heart there is artistry within every human frame. We must not neglect to see one another, for that’s a double-robbery. When I’m distracted by your tilt, I lose out on just as much as you, if not more. So I’ll say again, let’s notice what we notice, and notice what we do not notice.

With all my love,

HH