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Can art change your life? Yes, if you’re lucky enough to have someone open your eyes.
Let’s go back a year or so. I’m 64 years old and newly retired. I’m healthy, have a loving partner and no major financial issues. And I’m not happy at all.
Like many in my position. I lack meaningful activity. Making money no longer matters; what I need is to find something I’m passionate about and, if possible, help others along the way.
For the past 45 years or so, I realize, I’ve mostly done what someone or something else dictated that I do, not what I loved to do. (Did I even know what that was?) Occasionally the cause was noble, such as taking care of my aging parents. Professionally, the pursuit was often a job that was merely okay, hardly scintillating.
I feel, if I’m being honest, a bit lost.
And then along comes art – or, more accurately, a way into art.
A friend and ex-colleague was the spark. While we were mulling over possible retirement projects, she mentioned the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts’ volunteer guides training program.
The program was not new to me. A few years back I attended a members night at the museum and benefited from some patient and clear explanations about paintings from a volunteer guide. I asked about the guide program, thought, “Hmm, that’s interesting,” and then it did not enter my mind again.
At least until my friend encouraged me to apply to be part of the 2025-26 cohort.
Fortunately, I was accepted into the group of 15 (as was my friend). Courses began in September and, still stuck in my anxiety-ridden postretirement mode, I wondered whether I would be up to the challenge. I had heard the training was rigorous. Also, as a naturally shy person, I questioned my ability to talk intelligently about art for an hour or so with 10 or 12 strangers. But I had nothing to lose. At worst, I would get four semesters worth of art history education.
Surprise: The program has been a life-changer. Before, I had an interest in art but little knowledge beyond the big names. After just one semester, I have about 10 times more awareness – though that is only one benefit.
More significantly, I have discovered how to see. While many paintings (or sculptures, or photographs, or installations) remain initially a mystery, I am now equipped to take on the detective work that reveals why a piece may be more interesting than it at first appears.
Time and patience play major roles. We students have the luxury of looking at a work of art for much longer than eight seconds, which apparently (unfortunately) is the average length of time a museumgoer usually spends. We can stare at it, look at it upside down, research it and discuss it with our bright, eager and insightful classmates.
As a result, I can see, for instance, what the deal is with American artist Jean-Michel Basquiat’s references to sugar, cartoons and guns in his 1982 painting A Panel of Experts.
I have decided there is (almost) no such thing as a boring painting.
The connections that can be made between artists are amazing, too. Take, for example, The Vision of Saint John, painted by El Greco in 1608, and Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, painted by Picasso in 1907. One work depicts an apocalyptic scene in the Bible; the other shows prostitutes in Barcelona. But you can argue that the characteristics of modern art that explode out of the second were influenced by the first (look at them side by side). What’s more, legend has it that Picasso loved the earlier painting and had it nearby as he worked on the Demoiselles.
I also now examine environments outside the museum – buildings, streets, metro stations, nature, and maybe even people – with more patient eyes. Call it mindfulness if you want. It’s a consciousness that everyone, and everything, is potentially fascinating, because everyone and everything has a story to tell.
On a similar note, I am starting to understand how I might overcome my fears and engage the members of the public I will (if all goes well) be guiding regularly as of 2027. In sessions with art history professors, museum curators and other educators, my classmates and I are learning how to ask the questions that will get audiences talking and, I hope, stimulate their interest.
Even if I can’t get people to be passionate about art, I want to provide them with an enjoyable (or soothing) experience in a quiet space removed from the chaotic world we live in.
The museum has handed me a huge gift. With any luck, I will get to enjoy it for many years to come.
Daniel Chonchol lives in Montreal.