An afternoon at the museum

I often like to visit the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston with my dear friend Kathleen. We’ve known each other for almost 40 years, and she is a true artist and art aficionado. Whereas my default mode is to move quickly through the galleries, spending no more than a few moments in front of each piece, I’ve always been inspired by Kathleen’s ability to slow down and truly study the artwork in front of her.

I recently come across Sheri Tishman’s work on slow looking. Tishman is an education researcher at Harvard who defines slow looking as “a mode of learning, a means of gaining knowledge through observation.” It involves the intentional use of observation to guide and focus the eye. At its heart, it is about “taking the time to carefully observe more than meets the eye at first glance.”

The case for slowing down feels especially urgent right now. We live in an era of constant distraction, pulled by our phones, notifications, news feeds, and social media. Our attention is fragmented in ways that might have been unimaginable to earlier generations, and speed has become our default mode. By slowing down and giving something our full attention, we push back against that fragmentation. Like strengthening a muscle, the more we practice sustained attention, the easier it becomes in other areas of life. It might even be considered a form of meditation, a practice of being fully present.

Here’s how to approach slow looking:

Start by choosing a single object and giving yourself permission to stay with it. Resist the pull to scan or move on. Then:

1. Take in the whole. Before focusing on any detail, let your eye rest on the full work. Notice your initial impressions without analyzing them.

2. Describe what you see. Silently name what you’re observing, including shapes, materials, figures, and relationships between elements. Tishman calls this “noticing and naming,” and it’s even more powerful than it sounds. Putting observations into words forces you to look more carefully.

3. Ask questions. What do you wonder about? What doesn’t quite make sense? What seems unexpected? Let your questions guide where you look next.

4. Stay longer than feels comfortable. There’s usually a moment where you think you’ve seen everything, and this is when Tishman says to keep going. The most interesting details tend to surface after the first impulse to move on has passed. 

With these steps in mind, I walked into the MFA alone, with no agenda other than to take in the art slowly.

I began in the Art of Asia and Oceania gallery, where I found myself in front of a sandstone sculpture titled Ganesha with His Consorts. I learned that this piece dates to the early 11th century and originates in central India. Ganesha, the elephant-headed deity, sits on a throne with two wives resting on his thighs. One is most likely Riddhi, whose name means “prosperity,” holding a lotus. The other is Siddhi, meaning “accomplishment,” carrying a bowl of sweets. This work was likely part of other elaborate carvings that covered the exterior of a Hindu temple.

I stood in front of Ganesha for a long time. Almost immediately, I felt a stirring to move on as I normally would. But I settled into the experience, and before long I noticed a small detail: at the very center of the base (so small you could easily walk past without noticing) a small rat was quietly nibbling on a piece of candy that had fallen from Siddhi’s overflowing bowl. Ganesha’s vahana (his sacred vehicle) caught in a private, contented moment, nose down, absorbed in his treat.

I laughed at this little gem that I wouldn’t have noticed had I not slowed down to take it in.

And then it struck me that Ganesha is known as the Remover of Obstacles. In Hindu tradition, you might invoke him at the beginning of any new endeavor, asking him to clear the path ahead. Standing in front of this piece, I thought about how slow looking itself is a practice of removing obstacles. Specifically, the obstacles of distraction and speed that keep us from truly seeing what is in front of us.

Tishman describes how this practice of slow looking isn’t confined to museums. Young children can practice slow looking by studying a leaf, journalists do so when investigating a story, and adults can practice slow looking, as I did, when standing before a piece of artwork. Slow looking matters everywhere: in science, in nature, in conversation, in daily life. The museum is a wonderful place to practice it, but it’s only the beginning.

I came home thinking about where else in my life I might try this.