One painting, three hours
A postcard depicting Lake Superior, a painting by Lawren S. Harris
Last month, I read Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman. The book wasn’t particularly groundbreaking for me, but there was one story that grabbed my attention.
That story was about Jennifer L. Roberts, a professor at Harvard University. She tries to teach her students “the value of deceleration and immersive attention.” The first assignment in all her art history courses asks students to choose a piece of art in a gallery or museum and look at it for three hours. One piece of art. For three hours. No phones, no books, no conversations. (Students are allowed to take bathroom breaks.)
As someone who struggles with patience and focus, I was intrigued. This isn’t the first time something like this has piqued my curiosity. In 2018, I went on a 10-day vipassana silent meditation course and it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. This experience stretched out time for me. If I had come across Professor Roberts’ assignment back then, three hours would have seemed like a breeze.
But the past five years have re-compressed time, especially in the post-pandemic return to a “normal” pace of life. My calendar doesn’t have as much blank space as I’ve grown to enjoy. And the more I thought about sitting in front of a painting for three hours, the more insurmountable it felt. How will I get through the rest of my to-do list? What if I get hungry? Will I look suspicious?
Yet, I was still intrigued. So yesterday, I went to the AGO and looked at Lake Superior by Lawren S. Harris for three hours. Here’s how it went.
5:23–6:50pm
The first 1.5 hours flew by. My brain was a gift that kept on giving. I filled 10 pages in my little notebook.
My initial thoughts revolved around why I chose this painting. When I first envisioned myself doing this exercise, I imagined choosing a piece by a Chinese or BIPOC artist, or by an artist who identifies as a woman. But out of convenience and comfort, I ended up choosing a painting by an artist in the renown Group of Seven, who also happens to a white man.
The painting was displayed in one of the most comfortable galleries at the AGO, with beautiful natural lighting and a perfect room temperature. There was a steady inflow of visitors but not too many. There was a bench that allowed me to sit right in front of the painting. I thought about the structural choices that were made for the art and artist long before I made my split second decision — and how this mirrors the larger issue of systemic racism that leads people with privilege to maintain the status quo.
This was just one of the big themes that surfaced, and so it continued for the first 1.5 hours.
The themes of power, privilege, and settler colonialism came up over and over again. What’s missing from this barren landscape? Where is the flora and fauna? Where are the Indigenous people?
Curious about the technique, I walked up to the painting and noticed the brush strokes, use of colour, depiction of light. I noticed the contrast — dark on the left, bright on the right; realism on the bottom, surrealism at the top. Who gets to decide what art is “good”?
I wondered about the artist — who he was, what his life was like, what year he painted this. I compared the piece I was studying to the surrounding pieces by the same artist. What was the trajectory of the moment captured in the painting? What just happened? What is about to happen?
I thought about the exercise itself and how I never would have noticed the nuances about this one painting if I was simply strolling through the gallery. Maybe I’ll try this again with another piece of art one day.
6:50–7:28pm
My thoughts started to slow down. I stared at the painting for long stretches with no thoughts in my head, a meditative gaze. During this time, I only wrote 2 pages in my notebook.
Let’s see how long I can look at the painting without writing any notes. Nine minutes later, I jotted down an idea for a short story I will never write.
I decided to get up and look at the painting from farther away — and started reading the bio of the artist before I could even wonder, Is this allowed? What would Professor Roberts say?
Should I buy an annual pass to the AGO? I like it here.
7:28–8:23pm
The last hour was looooooooong and my brain was stretching for ideas. But I wrote 6 more pages.
I imagined the painting teeming with life. Look, there’s someone diving into the water from the tall boulder. Omg, there are seals sunbathing on the flat rock.
As the sun started setting, the light in the gallery started to change. I noticed my body feeling stiff and antsy. I yawned at least a dozen times in 30 minutes. Four Thousand Weeks was such a popular book — I wonder how many readers have done this exercise?
Excerpt from my journal: “I’m going to scan the QR code now. Fuck this!” Then just as I was about to get up: “Changed my mind. I already read the sign and I don’t want to be on my phone. I’ll wait.”
Every time my mind wandered off, I defaulted to planner mode — what I plan to do before I leave the gallery, what I plan to do when I get home, what I plan to do tomorrow.
Hmmm, the security guard seems to be passing by more often. I thought about what it would be like to work at an art gallery.
Then I thought about what it would be like to be in a community of painters, what the dynamics were like in the Group of Seven, the criteria for inclusion or exclusion.
I imagined the painting folding in on itself. I tried to rotate the painting 90 degrees, 180 degrees, and 270 degrees — in my mind of course (big fail, not possible). I’m glad I chose this painting. I was worried it would be too simple but it brought up a lot for me.
And then I was done.
Three final thoughts as I reflect on my experience:
Being alone with my thoughts is easier with practice. While this exercise was a lot less intense than my silent meditation sessions, there were still a few parallels. I don’t meditate anymore, but my mind and body recognized what I was trying to do — and remembered how to do it. Overall, three hours passed by a lot faster than I expected.
I want more of these quiet, reflective moments in my life. I would do this exercise again. At first, I thought 1.5–2 hours would be ideal because that’s when my thoughts started to slow down. But it was so interesting to follow my brain beyond that. And while part of me is curious about what would happen in an even longer session, I’m not going to try it. Three hours is enough.
Even though this exercise might sound like a punishment, it’s actually a huge luxury. I understand how fortunate — and privileged — I am to have the time and space to do this.
This month’s reflective questions
Would you like to try this three-hour exercise? If there is any spark of curiosity, you can use that incredible span of time in front of a piece of art for reflection. Or if your immediate reaction is resistance, take a moment to reflect on the possible reasons for this.
Quietly reflecting beside you,
