Sensory Overload

Today I went to a private viewing of the Vatican Museum. We went in after it had closed. The guards pulled the gargantuan doors open just wide enough to let us in, and we scrambled inside. The rooms were devoid of people, yet each one was filled with such beauty that I could barely examine a thousandth of it. Each corner of the Vatican museum was filled with art of excrutiating detail and exquisite beauty. I tried to imagine how much time went into even a room of the museum. Each room was at least a few years of several artists' lives. The museum had in its rooms centuries of people's effort, their genius.


Note: This is not a photo of the prophet. A photo wouldn't justify the statue's impact.

What I remember most vividly was the statue of the prophet and his two sons being pulled into the sea by serpents. The ancients created such a strong, real depiction of anguish in the prophet's face. I will never forget the creased brows, the pained mouth, the eyes turned upward in pain that made this the perfect portrayal of suffering so real. It was perfect.

Each room in the vatican had objects from centuries, maybe even millenia ago. So much beauty has lasted from so long ago. It makes me wonder what will remain from our time after a millenium. Will anything I do still exist? Probably not.