How Art Helps Us See the World (And Each Other)

In January of 2023, I went to the Detroit Institute of Arts to see the largest U.S. display of Vincent van Gogh’s original works for my birthday. It felt like something sacred—to step into a room of original artworks by one of my favorite timeless painters, beauty once made by his own hand. As I wandered slowly, taking in each of the works, I found myself seated on a bench in front of The Dance Hall at Arles.

I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular—just letting the painting wash over me. Women in dresses, movement caught mid-frame, in that dreamy, sentimental, colorful way Van Gogh does so well. The whole thing buzzed with life, yet felt timeless in a liminal way.

And then- another woman sat down beside me. She carried herself with grace. Not hurried. Not aimless. It felt like she came to sit in silence, the same way I had.

We didn’t speak at first.

The paintings were what we had come for.

Then, softly, she said,

“It looks like a room full of women, trying not to be alone.”

I turned toward her. She didn’t look back—just kept her eyes on the painting.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “But you’re right, no one is really with anyone. A crowded room, lively but lonely.” The words surprised me, but they were true.

The dance hall wasn’t a celebration—it felt like longing. A warm, golden room filled with people not quite looking at one another, dancing or touching. It looked like how the world had been feeling since 2020—together collectively, yet, distant, apart. Present, but vaguely out of reach.

That moment between us—two strangers pulled into the same painting, seeing it not just with our eyes but with our feelings. We didn’t rush to fill the silence with small talk. We just sat, held in the hush of mutual recognition.

And then—slowly, easily—we did speak.

About the art. About Detroit. About where we’d come from and what had brought us here. Another woman who had been listening joined in. Then a few laughs. And then, somehow, the three of us became… friends. That’s the beautiful miracle of art. It gives us openings. It gives us a context, a frame, ways to see, think, feel and express our perspectives, using it as an external mirror.

Art can shows us what we’ve been feeling—before we know how to name it. In a world trained to prize productivity, explanation, and identity—art asks us to slow down and connect with our inner-most self: What do you see? What do you feel?

And suddenly, we remember we’re not alone. We remember that beauty, expression, and creativity, when shared, becomes a bridge.

That day at the museum gave me more than just a memory—it gave me a sense of belonging, and a few new companions along on this strange, beautiful path. Not because we had everything in common. But because, for a moment, we looked at the same painting, we were vulnerable—and we saw each other.