What do you see in that painting?

Last Tuesday at Donovan, sitting in one of our circles, I notice Richard having disconnected from the conversation and staring to a spot behind me.  His presence comes back into the circle and then, soon, he’s staring again, until he interrupts the circle conversation to ask, “What do you see in that painting?”  And that’s when I notice a Jackson Pollock-like splatter painting hanging behind me.

The rest of us look at it blankly.  To break the long silence, Richard says “I see a playground overgrown with weeds.”  Even as he shares this, the painting remains a bunch of splatters to the rest of us, despite a concerted effort to see in these splatters what Richard was seeing.  After some laughs about the painting, Richard and the rest of us, we go back to our previous conversation.

While he clearly wishes to remain present to the conversation, Richard cannot disconnect from the painting.  Ten minutes after the first interruption, Richard interrupts again to say, “Are you sure you guys do not see a playground overrun by weeds?  That’s all I can see.”

Isn’t that exactly how perception works?

To Richard, the painting was clearly a playground overrun with weeds.  No questions asked.  And it seemed insane to him that the rest of us simply couldn’t see it.  How often do we hold our perceptions as hard truths expecting that everyone see like us?

When Richard shared his perception, the rest of us paused our conversation, looked in the direction he was looking and did our best to see what he was seeing.  How often do we create the open and curious space to whole-heartedly receive the thoughts, perceptions, ideas, values and beliefs of another, especially when we simply cannot see what they’re seeing?

Once Richard had spotted his playground overrun with weeds, he cannot shake it.  And, once shown the contours of his playground, I start to see it too.  I now could see (1) the splatter I first saw, (2) the intricate highway interchange I somewhat saw when probed and (3) Richard’s playground.  How often are we able to see that one idea can be different things for different people and to hold as valid ideas which seem opposite or contradictory?

This is an inconsequential moment around a splatter painting on the wall of our meeting room. And yet, when it comes to more consequential things – like the hot-button topics of the moment: politics, abortion, mass shootings, etc. – are you able to create and hold an open and curious space for seemingly contradictory ideas and see the beliefs of another just as valid as your own?

(Painting is Jackson Pollock's Convergence, 1952)