Mindfulness in Manhattan: A Breath of Fresh Air in the Cloisters

A torchlight glows through a distant archway.

The rolling waves of stone guiding each visitor

Along the ambulatory

To the coffee cart.

A bubbling fountain babbles along with the birds.

Made of the same stone enclosing the courtyard,

Offset by a maze of greenery,

The glistening cascade looks more refreshing than this cappuccino.

A summer breeze cools my sunburn as it brushes my cheek.

The whispering wind carries with it a hum of conversation,

Both human and aviary,

None of whom notified me that I left my credit card at the coffee cart.

Far and away my favorite thing we did during my and Dad’s one day in Manhattan over the summer was visit the Cloisters at the Met. Having visited my fair share of museums, this one was a beautiful change of pace as it not only housed interesting material, but served as an immersive experience as well. Each doorway was different, an artifact from this or that Gothic or Romanesque edifice - often a church - in Europe, and primarily France, dating back to the 1,200s. When I first read the doorway notes a la artist statements I thought it a bit weird to include the “art” as functioning architecture within the museum. But as I recognized the sheer volume of architectural inclusion, I quickly appreciated the dual functionality. Why place the doors behind glass displays when you could instead allow visitors to experience the same passageways - the height, width and beauty - in the same way as the architects? Once I settled on this idea, I realized that these walkways weren’t mere copies of their historical counterparts, but the actual doorways themselves, disassembled piece-by-piece and then painstakingly reassembled. This discovery elevated the museum’s status to that of “mind blowing,” though in the back of my mind the thought that the French themselves didn’t get to keep their own historical architecture because George Barnard (a sculpture and collector) wanted a site to show off his findings was a bit unsettling. But then, is that not the case with many historical or cultural museums?

Seeing the different stained glass panels side by side was much the same. At first, to the slightly obsessive-compulsive part of my mind, it was disconcerting that the wall of windows wasn’t a cohesive style or theme; rather, it was made of panes from numerous churches, designed by several artists, depicting a variety of different stories. But, the longer I looked and was able to compare and contrast the panels, noting each artist’s signature, the more I was able to appreciate the subtlety of installing a stained glass exhibit exactly where it would’ve originally resided. After all, the best way to appreciate stained glass is with sun shining through it.

In addition to the architecture, the sheer collection of tapestries, dish ware, statues, shrines, furniture, manuscripts and of course paintings, served as an incredible introduction to a time period of art I’ve often overlooked.

After walking 100+ blocks, I greatly needed coffee. I grabbed a cappuccino from the coffee cart and we sat down in the cafe courtyard. As we sat looking through the stone arches, resting our tired legs, I got the chance to fully relax for the first time in a while. I closed my eyes and simply breathed in the warm air, easily 10 degrees cooler than the rest of Manhattan. The longer I rested my eyelids, the more attuned my hearing. At least 2 birds fluttered in and out of the garden, even a couple fast-moving hummingbirds. The breeze brought with it a quiet hum of conversation populated by a chirp here and there, all intertwined by the soft rustling of leaves. When I awoke from my meditation (read: nap) the dazzling sunshine was filtering through the stone archways and pouring through the opening ceiling, highlighting the vivid colors of the countless flowers.

Sitting at my cafe table, gazing out into the painting of a courtyard, I was at once transported to two places: a monastic courtyard in the medieval age that the museum was purposefully emulating, and the Abbey Cluny which my grandparents and I visited twelve years ago.

I sat there a few minutes, ruminating on the face that twelve years ago I embarked on my first ever experience out of the country and now I was sipping coffee in a museum in Manhattan that I’d walked through all of Harlem to visit because I wanted to get out of Asheville for the day. The first France trip changed my life in innumerable ways, and this trip with Dad, albeit brief, was here again doing the same, reminding me to be present and appreciate what’s in front of me.

And yes, I appreciated the cafe so much that I left my credit card (I think) at the register. I wouldn’t be an Adrian trip without something like that!