This time last year, I was in a serious "creativity block". Ideas weren't flowing. I was not inspired.
One Sunday morning I found myself without my daughter or husband. I cooked brunch for myself and headed to one of my favorite places in the city- the Hirshhorn Museum.
The Hirshhorn building radiates with beams of originality; a cylindrical establishment that lives on the corner of DC's Independence Avenue. When you arrive at the doors of the museum, you can feel that art lives there.
I walk inside, do the usual security check and head upstairs. I'm anticipating the elation that comes with a Peter Pilotto exhibit. I'm expecting the thrill that takes over you when you see your first Warhol.
To my dismay, I couldn't produce any of the aforementioned sentiments. There was an exhibit on destruction that featured photographs of crumbled cars, and videos of dilapidated barns amongst other works of art.
How the fuck would a picture of a car crash save me from my creative rut? I was so disappointed. I did not stay long, as I felt that I wasted enough of my time peddling through halls of blah.
I went to the museum two months later in hopes that there would be new works of art waiting for me. Nope. The same exhibit was open - I gave it a second chance.
I studied the photographs that captured cars post crash/accident. I sat down and watched a video of a man who stood tall in front of a barn while the building fell apart in slow motion around him.
It was all inspiring. Inspiring because there is a supreme beauty in imperfection if you open yourself up to it. That man at the barn sparked nostalgic thoughts of how I stood strong when everything around me fell apart.
I didn't cook brunch for myself that day. I ate art for brunch and it fed me two lessons: 1) There's beauty in imperfection, 2) Always give people, places and things a second chance.