(Complicit Clergy. Kristen Ciaccia).
When I was seven, my parents brought home a painting and hung it above the fireplace. They summoned my brother and me into the living room, and we looked at the painting up close. In front of us was a collection of squares in muted and faint purples, pinks, blues, and grays. My parents then had us view the painting from a distance, dimming the lights. A man appeared on the canvas. We were enchanted by this transformation. My parents didn’t tell us the name of the painting or the artist, and it was always known as “the cool painting” in our home. Last summer, I found myself again contemplating that cool piece of art, this time as a middle-aged woman. I reflected and asked myself: Do I need to stop looking at others so closely that they become a collection of faults? Should I instead step back and take a broader view in order to appreciate humanity? I don’t know what the artist was trying to convey with his art, but I was able to be moved and learn by just contemplating this piece because artwork, detached from the artist, can teach us.