“A table can never be a view of Delft “ — Muriel Barbery
What does this quote mean?
Dear reader, I have no intention to puzzle you with this quote. It sounds simple, yet so esoteric. How to connect the dots?
Simply, the quote is metaphorical for the fact that ordinary realities or everyday objects, like your table, cannot compare to the beauty and depth of true art.
It’s a powerful reminder that no matter how real or detailed something is, it can’t replace the full experience of a moment or a place.
Today, we are catching up on my artsy side.
“A work of art which isn’t based on feeling isn’t art at all.” — Paul Cézanne
My study table is a great example; in itself, it is nothing extraordinary, just wood and structure. To others, it’s just a table, but to me, it’s a portal into focus, imagination, and quiet wonder. It’s where I’ve felt invincible, where ideas have taken shape, and quiet memories have rooted themselves deeply.
This is what I mean by ethereal echoes — when ordinary things carry the weight of our inner worlds. Those invisible feelings and memories that linger after a moment has passed. Not in the objects themselves, but in how those objects make us feel, and what they remind us of, and the beauty of sentimentality.
Now, I don’t mean to shake this table; it holds my favorite cup and my books steadily. But the mystery of beauty and the spirit of Delft doesn’t come from the table itself. It comes from my experiences at the table.
It’s not the object that holds the meaning, but the experience we bring to it. And that’s okay, some things are meant to be felt, not owned.
The Beautiful Mystery of Art
Art is emotion without desire.
I often wonder what Muriel Barbery was thinking when she wrote: “But when we gaze at a still life, when, even without seeking it, we delight in its beauty, a beauty born away by the magnified and immobile figuration of things. We find pleasure in the fact that it demands nothing of us. No longing, just the rare pleasure of admiring something we don’t need to own or desire.” (Paraphrased)
She speaks into the freedom that comes with simply observing and getting immersed in the experience, finding beauty without the weight of wanting.
Art carries a beauty that stirs our desires, yet it was born from someone else’s longing and need to express joy, sorrow, wonder, or ache. What makes it so profound is that it asks nothing of us. It’s understandable when art cossets our pleasures without in any way being part of our projects because it is offered to us without requiring the effort of desiring or creating. We did not have to desire it into being, nor suffer its making, and yet, it moves us. This is the graciousness of art and its timelessness.
The Purpose of Art
Art exists not to explain the world, but to make us feel its weight more deeply.
Art gives us brief, dazzling illusions and makes the vagueness of the world a bit more meaningful.
In this moment, I dream of a horse cantering through Malta’s green hills, soaking in the charm of a village haven, or a hike through Machu Picchu, wrapped in the mystery of the Andes and the echoes of Inca culture. But dreams and longings, however vivid, are not the same as experience, so kindly allow me to take you on a walk.
Camina conmigo…
It was Sunday in New York City, a clear, brisk morning humming with purpose. There were six of us, setting off from the George Washington Bridge, walking to the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a charity walk for the Gift of Chess, but it felt like something more, a pilgrimage of sorts. Step by step, we crossed boroughs, stories, and unseen threads that bind us together.
Along the way, I found myself in a deep conversation with Arthealsearth, an artist whose name felt like a poem. We wandered through ideas like old friends: philosophy, art, the things we rarely say out loud. Then, in the middle of it all, amid the rhythm of our steps and the hush between subjects, she said something unexpected: LIGO.
In science, LIGO stands for the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory. It’s an incredible tool that picks up the faintest echoes from deep in the universe. But she saw it differently; to her, LIGO was a metaphor for how artists work with things we can’t always see. Just like physicists use mirrors and waves to sense the invisible, artists use light, shadow, color, and space to stir something deeper in us to reveal mystery, grief, wonder, and even the divine. Artists use these elements of color, light and shadow not just to brighten, but to show emptiness, richness, and emotions we do not have the words for, and turning silent spaces into form and texture and essence.
That thought stuck with me, because in many ways, art is an observatory of the soul.
In that moment, the walk felt like a painting in motion, each bridge we passed became a brushstroke, and each step part of a beautiful gallery.
If scientists built LIGO to have further insight into the ancient stars and the atmosphere, artists in their reticence and sensitivity create with the same intent, to translate the ethereal echoes of the human soul.
A Moment of Transcendence
“Life is art. Art is life. I never separate it.” — Ai Weiwei
Sacred places, like sacred people, hold a calm frequency, and when art is created or experienced in such places, it does not just stay there; it lingers and echoes.
I’m still in awe when I think about standing inside the St. Stephen’s Basilica, oh, it felt like stepping out of time! It’s not quite a traditional cathedral, but it holds the same kind of stillness, one that wraps around you the moment you enter. Light poured in softly through high windows, and the air felt thick, as if it carried the weight of silent prayers left behind. In that moment, I wasn’t just inside a building, I was in something ancient yet alive, something made with the depth of intentionality. Maybe that’s what sacred spaces do, they aren’t loud, they whisper, and if you’re quiet enough, they start to speak, and listen we must.
When life weighs heavily on me, I’ve learned I don’t always have to go too far to find some relief. Sure, I cannot walk into the St. Stephen Basilica whenever I want, but I’ve found other ways to ease my stress. Sometimes, it’s Chess, a few pages from good books, or simply stepping into the reality of art by being attentive to the small moments in my surroundings, where I find a kind of unexpected tranquil, but deeply needed.
In the Company of Quiet Things
When I was in Hungary for the 45th Chess Olympiad, I took some time to explore and found myself at the Ervin Szabó Library. I went expecting to see one of the most beautiful libraries in Europe, but somewhere in the stillness and silence of the library, I realized it was the library that was seeing me.
Light moves differently at the library. Sunlight filters through the glass atrium and spills gently onto the sweeping staircases and the frescoed walls, and the rich colors of the atmosphere seem to pulse with life, while the air hums quietly in the hidden presence of history. The frescoes don’t feel like mere decoration; they feel like old friends, watching and welcoming me in.
The whole place breathes.
Walking through those halls, I felt time stretch and soften. The quiet reading rooms, the smell of ancient books, and the glow of light made the world outside fade away. I felt like I was part of something much larger, connected to the countless people who had come here seeking knowledge, peace, and inspiration. I am an avid book reader, but then it’s a lifetime opportunity to be in the most beautiful library in Europe.
Places like this, whether a majestic Basilica or a timeless library, hold something beyond what we see; the ambience speaks directly to the heart. In these moments, art and spirit become one, and the ordinary world slips away. Stepping into those spaces feels like stepping into a quiet conversation with eternity itself, where the soul can rest and be renewed by beauty that never grows old.
Art Meets Soul
Some moments touch us deeply, fleeting and fickle instances when something unseen reverberates through us like a gentle echo from another realm. Such moments remind of that life is brief, and that time slips like water through our fingers every second, but in these ephemeral moments, art and presence become getaways to the eternal. Art invites us to pause, to truly see, and to listen beyond the surface.
Life, like art, does not wait for us to be ready; it demands meaning in the little time we have, masked in the intangible, sometimes visible, and yet felt. That’s the magic of art, that’s the magic of life.
As James Elkins says, there are three pillars of becoming an artist: seeing, making and tabula rasa (the blank slate). This tells me that to be an artist, you don’t have to wield a paintbrush with artisan finesse. The journey begins in learning to observe the world without labels, without preconceptions, to receive it as it truly is.
Listening to the rapper NF’s songs is surreal for me; his songs give off a certain kind of vibration that touches my soul’s depth. His craft reminds me that art is not perfection but connection. It’s the courage to reveal our wounds and find the strength to keep moving, embracing the unknown with open eyes, ears, and hearts. Music is art, and a language I hope to keep listening to and hopefully become fluent in. I still have to master the piano, though. Who knows, someday soon, I may give my rendition of Clair de lune.
Be Art
“The one thing that you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live only as you can.” — Neil Gaiman
You are already a masterpiece, so be, be art. You don’t have to make art to be a creator; you already are. Sometimes, simply observing art becomes an act of creation in itself, like watching the way light falls across a stone, the way a page smells in an old library, or the hush before a choir begins to sing. Art already exists all around us; only true artists feel it.
Dearest reader,
Be, be art.
Light up rooms with your presence, leave lasting echoes, breathe your existence into life, for you are made of stars.