A Thousand Words

Versailles: a palace of grandeur, a château oozing of royalty, a fortress with so many particulars and details that most of them are overlooked. People talk about how remarkable and gorgeous it is and dream of a time where they can build their own place of luxury. To me, it was gaudy. And I guess that’s the idea. But it was excessive, to the point where I stopped being impressed and just lost interest. I found myself picking up pace as I walked through each room and wondering when it would be lunchtime. I was no longer listening to the headphone guide spewing facts and historical antics. And then I looked up and saw this corner.

This photograph, a snapshot from my phone’s camera, only captures a sliver of the incredible masterpiece. In person, it was breathtaking. Each curve and minute detail seemed to have a distinct purpose in the overall ambiance that the corner exuded.  

As I stood there, feet planted to the stone floor, the voice from the headphones hushed to a distant hum. While staring at this small angle of the enormous citadel, I found myself at a loss for words. Unable to move and mouth ajar, I felt a tear fall from my eye. It sounds silly, but there was something about the artistry that touched my heart. I had never been so taken aback by the detailing of a building before. I stayed put, absolutely bewildered, for at least ten minutes before my mother managed to tear me away.

The rest of my time in the palace was spent wanting to go back and stare at that corner, if only for one more second. It was all I could think about. I was impressed that in the midst of the kitschy décor, I managed to find a fragment of beauty.

To this day, I have trouble wrapping my head around the idea that the majority of people who pass through the palace of Versailles overlook this gorgeous detail. I will admit, I don’t usually walk into a room and automatically look up. In fact, I rarely inspect the ceiling corners of the places I visit. Perhaps I should start. But can you imagine if I hadn’t looked up when I entered this specific room? I would have been amongst the hundreds, even thousands of people who pass through, ignorant to the beauty that appeared above their heads.

And then, with all this in mind, I begin to wonder if there’s a story behind this corner that caught my eye. Was this a meaningless detail to fill an otherwise boring part of the room, or did the overseer have a reason for it being there. Did the person carving these details enjoy working on this piece, or like the rest of us, grumble on his way to work? Did he spend time anticipating the happiness it would bring, or rather regret slaving over something he just assumed would go unappreciated? Either way, I am thankful for his work and appreciate the beauty… even if no one else did.

I wish I could tell you the name of the artist behind this masterpiece, or even what room you could find it in. But even I’m not entirely sure I would be able to find it again if I had the chance. And maybe that’s the way it is meant to be; maybe I was only meant to see it once. It made me stop and look, made me reexamine my boredom and appreciate the time I was spending there. Perhaps it was supposed to stand out to me on an even greater level, forcing me to fall in love with art all over again.

I grew up with an artist for a father, so loving art was in my blood. There was paint on my hands before I could hold a brush, and as I got older, my talent and appreciation only grew. I took classes to further my own abilities, as well as classes to further my knowledge on the subject. And although I never fit my own definition of a “good artist,” it never stopped me from creating art. To this day, there’s a special sort of happiness that comes when a brush is in my hand. It’s the same feeling I get when I visit a museum and one of my favorite pieces is hanging only a few feet in front of me. And it’s the same feeling I got when I was staring in awe of this corner in Versailles.  

This spot on the ceiling provoked such emotion that sometimes I feel like it was somewhat divine. Without going too much into religion, I often feel that it’s moments like these that a higher power is telling me something, trying to speak to me through beautiful moments like this one. You could argue that because I was rushing through the enormous palace, I stopped in this room to catch my breath. And perhaps the sun was in my eyes, forcing me to tilt my head upwards, leading my eyes to this wondrous finding. But couldn’t you also argue that it was something more, something celestial that stopped me?

It’s been over a year and a half since I visited France and this one piece of art, a seemingly unimportant splinter of my travels, has obviously stayed with me. Of course there were other parts of my trip that sparked the same kind of happiness, but it still leaves me dumbfounded that one corner, a necessary, yet deceivingly simple part of architecture could spur so much emotion and thought. And for that reason, I share it with you.

It’s possible that you’ll share my love and appreciation for this small spot on the ceiling of a Parisian palace, just as it’s equally as possible that you’ll roll your eyes and think about how this all sounds crazy. Either way, I hope this picture made you stop and think… even if only for a second.

Word count: 1,000