A few days ago, I went to see an exhibition of the early years of Claude Monet, a French artist, at the Kimbell Art Museum.
A classmate of mine had managed to procure free tickets for a small group tour and invited me along. I was assigned to be on call that day, but could not pass up the opportunity. After explaining to my residents and attending, they graciously allowed me to leave the hospital an hour early to attend.
I saw over fifty paintings, from his first studies of landscaping to his eventual move towards Impressionism. It was an awe-inspiring journey of color and expression and story of a young, struggling artist.
At the museum, I also learned a new word. A docent is “a person who leads guided tours especially through a museum or art gallery.” How posh, I thought. The word seemed to convey education and expertise. And indeed, the docent who guided our group had a vast pool of knowledge about the paintings displayed. She knew from which museum or collection each painting had been procured. She knew where Monet had painted each piece. She explained how two seemingly very different paintings could simply be two different points of views. How many times had she given this same presentation? Yet as I watched her speak, I could see her delight and joy in the simple act of sharing her passion for art.
do·cent | noun | ˈdōsənt | a person who leads guided tours especially through a museum or art gallery
The docent told us that Monet and other Impressionists rebelled against the tradition of painting shadows in grey or black. They saw that there were colors to be discovered in shadows too. Critics initially rejected Monet’s famous snowscape The Magpie (see above) for its innovative depiction of shadow using delicate tones of blue. Today it is hailed as one of his best work.
As I listened, I thought about the importance of balancing tradition with transformation. Monet had been trained as a traditional landscape artist before beginning to branch out into new studies of light and shadow. Without that foundation of study, perhaps he would not have been as successful. Yet he also did not allow himself to be entrenched in the “rules” of his work. Likewise, my medical school has given me a foundation to build upon. But my learning will surely never end. In the course of my career, I will see vast changes and discoveries. What colors lay hidden in the shadows of medicine? Will I be able to learn and adapt?
Afterwards, my friends and I went out for dinner. It was wonderful to see them again. Last year, I saw my classmates nearly every day. Now as third years, we are all busy running around in our different electives and choosing our future path.
Of course, as with any collection of medical students, we had the usual circle where we all went around and talked about how our minds have changed after more exposure to different specialties. A former aspiring radiologist now has her mind set on obstetrics. A former hopeful surgeon now wants to do pain management. Last year, I thought of becoming a neurologist or internist – now I have decided on psychiatry.
My declaration was not met with surprise.
“I wouldn’t have guessed it, but I can see it,” one person told me. “It suits you.”
“He’s calling you insane,” someone else joked.
Then we talked about the exhibit.
“When I’m a resident, I’d like to involve art in my study,” someone said. “After all, medicine is both a science and a humanity.”
I thought of the dozens of patients whom I have met over the last six months. I thought of all the challenges that we had yet to face and all the lessons we will learn. I thought of the docent and her love of art. I thought of Monet and the Impressionists and their shadows of color and light.
I couldn’t agree more with my friend.