Bouncing thoughts inside Seattle Art Museum

The bare halls echoed with the footfalls of the many volunteers of the morning, all spreading outward through the museum. Benches were set up, pamphlets laid out and videos started. We all wore blue dress shirts and black pants, the uniform of allegiance to art, caretakers of knowledge and information. It was 10 min to eight, a small space of time before being inundated by throngs of people. They would come to poke and prod, confident in their classification of art. Men and women dragging small children in front of presences of grand ideas, hoping the wisdom of the ages would prick through layers of mucus plastered on by all their differing loyalties. What chance does art have with young minds already fiercely fought over by school, television, homework, social activities and a thousand branching day-dreams of a healthy youth?

Sometimes I see a child, separated from their parents, standing, silently staring up at some master-piece. Their fingers clasped in rapt attention and body rigid with concentration. I can see the questions the child has, motes of light dancing within the white orbs of their eyes. Yet, their faces are wrinkled with the frustration at the attempts to form these questions on her lips. I want to go to that child and stop time, unravel the curious and uncertain questions that halt all the thinking in her mind. Its so precious and fragile, these moments in a child`s life. She can learn that some feelings and emotions can never be properly found. Or, with the wisdom of someone older, see the possibilities in those strong urgings and learn the value of patience in explaining them.

There is a statue in the left wing that I often wander by, recessed in a corner and easily dismissed by roving eyes. I come often when the crowds thin to stare into the marble eyes or embrace with my sight the subtly crafted contours of its cheeks and temples. This statue is what drives me to lead children`s school trips or volunteer to assist those small people that stand bewildered with questioning eyes. You see the statue in question is a small girl, about 5-8 yrs old, the daughter of some noble parentage.

The longer I stare at it during my borrowed time the more I see into the depths of the artist`s passion of creation that resulted in this vision of youth. It was not the idealized or romanticized version of childhood painted with the all too-confident brush of adulthood. It was also not a simplistic, cute depiction of the beauty of youth untouched by the troubles of burgeoning womanhood or even being on the cusp of awareness of a larger, more formalized world. A pure gaze held forth from the eyes that seemed to see the world free of guilt and unburdened by any religious filters or the patch work mesh of re-written history. It was very characteristic of that infuriating answer of children to any adult`s question; "Why? Because." The pose of her mouth and jutting taunt temples brought to mind the unapologetic attitude of children before we attach the word stubborn upon them. Forgiveness seems a foreign concept, selfishness not yet learned. When I close my eyes in the time after work, sitting on the bus bound for home or in a coffee house, face pressed to the glass watching the fain fall, I see a symbol of that statue. It is a confident face reaching out with a muscular hand to grasp the world in a firm hold. Not a sign of domination but complete control over each of our own worlds.

This is the influence of art and the reason I volunteer to help shine the light of wisdom upon it. Each day I hope to reach just one person. To help them realize the complex machinations hidden within these simple objects. And so I will walk over towards any child that is drawn to something undefinable in the painting. That`s my art, my vocation, defining the intricate for the future creators of greatness. Just one step in the process.