How To Enjoy Art Museums?
July 18, 2020I believe art can make you happy, no matter who you are, art is a world rich with ideas, feelings, and deepest human connection, the connection you were looking for all your life.
Modern life is exhausting! The statistics on people struggling — mentally, burned‑out, overstimulated, bored, uninspired, stressed, depressed, “stop this train, I want to get off” — are staggering. If you’re one of the lucky few who doesn’t feel stuck and exhausted, congratulations; you’ve figured out how to survive the modern world.
Sometimes I’m tempted to drop everything and move to a forest, living a peaceful hermit life. I’ve tried it in small doses — it’s lovely — but I always come back. If I were studying plants, animals, or anything that required full‑time wilderness, maybe I’d stay. But I don’t, and I bet you don’t either; otherwise we’d both have stopped reading by now.
I want to feel the way I do after a few hours in the forest every single day in a busy city. I don’t want to sacrifice my life or my dreams. I want it all — don’t you?
Since I first read Nietzsche, the idea of superhuman abilities became my secret obsession. We live in a superhuman culture; everyone wants to be special. Yet, I don’t believe in innate supernatural gifts. What we have is potential, and whatever we grow — becomes our ability.
Curious which is yours? Track what you do every day and quantify the time you spend on it — that’s your supernatural skill. Doom‑scrolling, YouTube binging, endless meetings? All skills, just maybe not intentional ones. Because of that, I stop myself from turning negativity, complaining, or doom‑scrolling into habits. Otherwise, without noticing, I’d become the best complainer in the world.
I try to be strategic with my skills, yet mindful too. Life is complex; I can’t always see which skill will matter the most, so I watch my reactions. My emotions hint when something is progress, a struggle, or worse — and then I reassess.
Why am I telling you this? I want you to understand my philosophy before I explain why I make certain choices.
If someone asked me to describe myself in one word, I’d choose growth. I can’t stop improving. If I stop — yes, I’ve tested this — I spiral down with equal enthusiasm. My brain never rests. Some people call that overthinking; I call it excess mental energy. Unless I channel at least forty percent of that energy into improving my thinking, the whole system turns self‑destructive.
Most people are comfortable letting their instincts run the show. I’m not. I want to decide where I’m headed. “Girl, chill,” they say — but will you chill? I won’t. If I want calm, I have to choose it. I’m not a chill person by nature, but I train myself so I can sustain the fire longer, in the right direction.
My dream isn’t a single path; it’s a jungle of possibilities. I want freedom and power to do whatever fascinates me, with energy and cognitive capacity to immerse in any topic while sustaining wonder and positivity. I’ve tasted this state for months at a time; I know it’s real, and I want it as everyday reality.
Getting there isn’t about rigid doctrine, secret wisdom, or innate superpowers. Because I’m not naturally in that state, something must change. Over years of trial and error I learned: improving key habits that support physical well‑being is the fastest path to mental well‑being.
But, which habits? Many. If you’re lucky, context lets you adopt some easily; the rest of us must carve our own path to happiness. So, I searched for foundational mental abilities that supercharge anything we pursue.
I landed on:
Master these and whatever path you choose will become extraordinary — not necessarily famous, but deeply successful on our own terms.
Today I’ll share the habit I learned early and consider the most impactful for mental training. It requires about twenty‑percent effort for eighty‑percent impact and brings pleasure while building inexhaustible stamina for engagement and presence.
Are you excited? I am. 🙂
I discovered it in art school. You study many styles there — painting, sculpture, design — but drawing from still‑life looked boring to most students. They groaned, rushed, and couldn’t wait for something more colorful. I wasn’t naturally talented, yet I enjoyed it.
Our teacher transformed that shaded room into a quiet chapel. She arranged seemingly dull objects — cracked pitchers, grayed busts, a glass jar — then always added fragrant fresh apples. She loved those compositions, and it showed; her life seemed to flow out of the arrangement. Every session smelled faintly of orchard and graphite.
With time, she taught me to see beyond first impressions. I would mimic her, sitting and watching the composition in silence. At first it felt boring, yet while I was attempting to translate what I saw onto the paper, the composition opened an infinity of dimensions before me. The more details I tried to capture, the more seemed to appear, and my quest to grasp reality felt futile, endlessly unfolding its intricate details. In these contemplative struggles I learned to see beyond appearances — that even a well‑known object, like a cup, can yield infinity of new discoveries — and the world unfolded before me in ways I had never been able to see.
We race through life without truly seeing anything. We process gigabytes of visual data, yet glide over it like a fast scroll — shallow, exhausted, uninspired. We wait for a miracle moment that never arrives. What if the miracle isn’t an external event but a habit — your brain’s practiced ability to notice?
Artists train this skill and reap the benefits. Sadly, society turned a basic human coping mechanism — artistic observation — into a “profession,” leaving many to miss its magic.
Our brain isn’t built to store just raw memory; it’s built for observation → interpretation → action. The quality of observation shapes memory, decisions, creativity, emotions.
Drawing from still objects is centuries‑old wisdom. It teaches you to look beyond recognition and see depth in everything. Art school forces keen observation: you learn to see the world, see yourself, and notice things in front of you invisible at first glance. My teacher’s quiet lessons about shadows felt like objects unfolding into intricate beauty. That little exercise became a life‑long turning point.
That “magic dust” of curiosity and wonder spreads everywhere. Once activated, I felt curiosity burning in every direction. When you learn to observe, insatiable curiosity follows. Even if I lose the spark, trained habits bring me back: pen, paper, object — look beyond appearances, observe with equanimity, wonder at simple things.
Find a pencil and paper. Put an object in front of you. Watch patiently until the ordinary becomes extraordinary. When graphite meets paper and apple‑sweet air reaches your lungs, notice how the jungle gates swing open.
Wait but… I can’t draw? Talent’s optional; patience is the ticket.