All the Beauty in the World

“When in June of 2008, Tom died, I applied for the most straightforward job I could think of in the most beautiful place I knew. This time, I arrive at the Met with no thought of moving forward. My heart is full, my heart is breaking, and I badly want to stand still awhile.”

This quote encapsulates the transformative power of loss and its influence on Bringley’s relationship with art. The juxtaposition of a “full” and “breaking” heart illustrates the complex emotions following Tom’s death. The author’s desire to “stand still awhile” in the museum environment highlights themes of healing, reflection, and finding solace in beauty. This passage also introduces The Museum as a Sanctuary, a place where time seems to slow down, allowing for introspection and emotional processing.

“Now I have arrived! And the only thing to do is…keep my head up. Keep the watch. Let my hands remain empty and my eyes stay wide while my inner life grows all mixed up with beautiful works of art and the life that swirls around them.”

This quote captures the essence of Bringley’s new role as a museum guard and its potential for personal growth. The short, imperative sentences (“keep my head up,” “Keep the watch”) mirror the straightforward nature of his duties, while the final sentence expands into a more lyrical description of his inner experience. This contrast highlights the dichotomy between the outward simplicity of his job and the rich inner life it facilitates. The image of his inner life becoming “mixed up” with the art and surrounding activity suggests a deep engagement with his environment, hinting at the transformative journey ahead.

“I startle at the picture because I can’t believe he’s captured it—that feeling we sometimes have that an intimate setting possesses a grandeur and holiness of its own. It was my constant feeling in Tom’s hospital room, and it’s one that I can recover on these church-mouse quiet mornings at the Met.”

This quote expresses a key theme in All the Beauty in the World: the power of art to capture and evoke profound human experiences. Bringley draws a parallel between Vermeer’s ability to imbue everyday scenes with a sense of sanctity and his own experiences in Tom’s hospital room. The author uses personification in the phrase “church-mouse quiet” to emphasize the reverent atmosphere of the museum. This comparison highlights how art can serve as a bridge between personal memories and universal human experiences, allowing the author to reconnect with significant emotional moments through his encounters with paintings.

“The picture is so beautiful, so tenderly flush with life that it seems to be itself living—living memory, living magic, living art, whatever you’ll consent to call it, it looks as whole, bright, irreducible, and unfading as I would wish the human soul to be.”

In this quote about Titian’s painting, Bringley explores the theme of art’s timelessness and its ability to capture the essence of life. The repetition of “living” emphasizes the painting’s vitality, while the list of descriptors “whole, bright, irreducible, and unfading” creates a powerful image of permanence. By comparing the painting to “the human soul,” Bringley suggests that great art can embody and preserve the most fundamental aspects of human experience, transcending time and mortality.

“The frenzy of the day has passed and only the death remains, the blunt fact, the impenetrable mystery, the immense and immovable finality. As a watchman I can use this picture in something like the way it was intended to be used, and for that I am grateful.”

This quote reflects on the contemplative nature of religious art, particularly depictions of Christ’s death. Bringley uses a series of powerful adjectives—“blunt,” “impenetrable,” “immense,” and “immovable”—to convey the weight of death as portrayed in the painting. The author’s gratitude for being able to use the picture “as it was intended” highlights a central theme of the book: the idea that art serves a purpose beyond mere aesthetics, offering a means for deep reflection on fundamental human experiences.

“In Bernardo Daddi’s mind the painting must have been a kind of machine to aid in necessary and painful reflection. I am not interested in finding anything new or subtle about the Jesus pictures. Daddi has painted suffering, it seems to me. His picture is about suffering; it has nothing on its mind except suffering; and we look at it to feel the great silencing weight of suffering, or we don’t see the picture at all.”

This quote further explores the theme of art as a tool for contemplation and emotional processing. Bringley’s description of the painting as a “machine” emphasizes its functional purpose in facilitating reflection. The repetition of “suffering” underscores the painting’s singular focus and emotional impact. This passage illustrates how Bringley approaches art not just as an aesthetic object but as a means of engaging with deep human experiences, including those experiences—such as grief—that touch on death and suffering.

“Much of the greatest art, I find, seeks to remind us of the obvious. This is real, is all it says. Take the time to stop and imagine more fully the things you already know. Today my apprehension of the awesome reality of suffering might be as crisp and clear as Daddi’s great painting. But we forget these things. They become less vivid. We have to return as we do to paintings, and face them again.”

In this quote, Bringley articulates a central thesis of the book: that great art serves to remind people of fundamental truths about the human condition. The author uses short, declarative sentences to emphasize the directness of this artistic communication. The comparison between his understanding of suffering and Daddi’s painting illustrates how art can clarify and intensify one’s perceptions of reality. The closing lines highlight the recurring theme of the necessity of revisiting art, drawing a parallel between the cyclical nature of human understanding and the repeated viewing of paintings.

“Tom liked Raphael, so we thumbtacked the Madonna of the Goldfinch above his hospital bed. My dad admires Dickens, so he opened a paperback and read out a sad and funny passage. It was curious, the way great art collapsed so simply into so ordinary a setting. I had long supposed otherwise. In college especially, I thought of great art as a thing to gape up at or stare back at, where nobler persons than ourselves had splashed it around cathedrals or fit it between the covers of great books. And yet, even a story as exalted as the Passion now felt near and unmysterious, being plainly an attempt to express the very plain thing that was happening in that room.”

This quote evokes one of the book’s themes: the democratization of art and its relevance to everyday life. Bringley juxtaposes high art (Raphael’s painting and Dickens’ literature) with the mundane setting of a hospital room, highlighting how art can transcend its traditional, revered contexts to become intimate and accessible. The author’s use of contrast between his college perception of art as something distant and elevated (“to gape up at or stare back at”) and his current experience of art as something “near and unmysterious” underscores his evolving understanding of art’s role in human experience. This shift in perspective is a key aspect of Bringley’s journey. The reference to the Passion story becoming relatable in the context of Tom’s illness demonstrates how art can help process and give meaning to personal experiences, especially those involving suffering and mortality. This idea of art as a means of understanding and coping with life’s challenges is a recurring idea in the book.

“I rest my eyes on one and then another, noting the slightly different impression each makes on me—too subtle and too purely visual for words. In moments like these I realize how much sensory experience falls through the cracks between our words.”

This quote expresses a recurring idea from the book—the limitations of language in capturing the full essence of art and sensory experiences. By describing his encounter with Chinese calligraphy, Bringley highlights the profound impact that visual art can have beyond verbal description. The phrase “too subtle and too purely visual for words” emphasizes the unique power of visual art to communicate in ways that transcend linguistic boundaries. Bringley’s use of sensory language (“I rest my eyes”) and his focus on the nuanced “impressions” each character makes illustrate his developing ability to engage deeply with art. This passage also reveals Bringley’s growing awareness of the gaps in human perception and expression as he acknowledges how much “falls through the cracks between our words.” The contemplative tone and introspective nature of this observation reflect the author’s journey of personal growth and heightened sensitivity to art throughout his time at the Metropolitan Museum. This quote exemplifies how Bringley’s role as a guard has transformed into that of a keen observer and interpreter of art, highlighting the book’s overarching theme of finding beauty and meaning in unexpected places.

“I learn not only to choke back any snobbish impulses I might have, but to dismiss them as stupid and absurd. None of us knows much of anything about this subject—the world and all of its beauty.”

This quote, which evokes the title of the book, suggests humility in the face of art and human experience. Bringley acknowledges the temptation toward intellectual snobbery but rejects it. The use of strong language (“stupid and absurd”) emphasizes his commitment to this perspective. The second sentence employs a universal “us,” suggesting that this limitation of knowledge applies to everyone, thereby equalizing the museum guard and the art expert. This idea of shared human experience in encountering beauty is central to Bringley’s narrative.

“She was strikingly beautiful, but the series mostly makes me feel alive to the way people in general look, how concretely and peculiarly we are built, how much we communicate by bearing and gesture, how we appear to others as line, color, light, shade. In the pictures, O’Keeffe looks at once like a hairless primate and an austere goddess, and that’s really how it is, isn’t it? The mystery of our entire species impresses itself on me.”

This quote illustrates Bringley’s growing appreciation for the beauty in everyday humanity, sparked by his observations of art. The author uses vivid, sensory language to describe human appearance, emphasizing both the physical and the abstract qualities of human form. The juxtaposition of “hairless primate” and “austere goddess” highlights the duality of human nature—both mundane and divine. This paradox is central to Bringley’s evolving perspective on beauty and humanity. The rhetorical question invites the reader to share in this realization, while the final sentence underscores the profound impact of this insight on the author’s worldview.

“I understand why it’s happening. Behind that apparatus, the gentleman feels that he has a surer grip on reality, as it can be difficult to fully experience what we know will slip through our fingers. We want possession, something to put in our pocket, so to speak, and carry away. Except what if nothing very beautiful fits in our pockets, and only the tiniest sliver of what we see or experience can be possessed.”

This quote explores the human desire to capture and possess beauty. Bringley empathizes with the museum visitor’s impulse to photograph artwork, using the camera as a metaphor for humans’ attempts to grasp and retain experiences. The phrase “surer grip on reality” ironically suggests that this attempt might actually distance us from the true experience. The author then employs the metaphor of pocketing beauty, followed by a rhetorical question that challenges this notion. This question invites readers to consider the ephemeral nature of beauty and experience, suggesting that true appreciation might lie in presence rather than possession. This idea aligns with Bringley’s overall message about the value of direct, unmediated encounters with art and life.

“I am sometimes not sure which is the more remarkable: that life lives up to great paintings, or that great paintings live up to life.”

This quote expresses the reciprocal relationship between art and life. The author uses a balanced structure to present two perspectives, creating a thought-provoking paradox. This rhetorical device invites readers to contemplate the interplay between artistic representation and lived experience. Bringley’s statement suggests that great art has the power to capture and reflect the essence of human experience so accurately that it can seem to predict or parallel real-life events. Conversely, it also implies that life itself can be so profound and beautiful that it matches the idealized versions presented in art. The quote’s contemplative tone reflects the author’s deep appreciation for both art and life and his ability to find meaning in their intersection. It also hints at a larger theme in the book: the transformative power of art to shape one’s perception and understanding of the world around one.

“I have been harboring a secret self under my uniform? Well, of course I have. Guards are really nothing but secret selves barely hidden under dark blue suits. One conversation at a time, I am finding that out.”

Here, Bringley uses the metaphor of “secret selves” to highlight how the uniform conceals the rich, varied backgrounds of the guards. The rhetorical question at the beginning serves to emphasize the author’s realization, while the repetition of “secret selves” reinforces the idea. The final sentence suggests a process of discovery, both of himself and his colleagues, underlining the transformative nature of his experiences at the museum. This quote captures the author’s growing appreciation for the complexity of his coworkers and his evolving self-awareness.

“There is a heartening rhythm to it that helps put me back in sync with the world. Grief is among other things a loss of rhythm. You lose someone, it puts a hole in your life, and for a time you huddle down in that hole. In coming to the Met, I saw an opportunity to conflate my hole with a grand cathedral, to linger in a place that seemed untouched by the rhythms of the everyday. But those rhythms have found me, and their invitations are alluring.”

This quote delves into the themes of grief, healing, and the restorative power of art and routine. Bringley uses the metaphor of rhythm to describe both the disruption caused by loss and the gradual return to normalcy. The imagery of a “hole” juxtaposed with a “grand cathedral” illustrates how the museum initially served as a refuge from everyday life. However, the author’s tone shifts from melancholic to hopeful as he acknowledges the return of daily rhythms. This passage reveals Bringley’s emotional journey, showing how his work at the Met has unexpectedly reintegrated him into the world, highlighting the transformative potential of engaging with art and diverse people in a structured environment.

“Too many visitors think of the Met as a museum of Art History, where the objective is to learn about art rather than from it. Too many suppose there are experts who know all the right answers and it isn’t a layman’s place to dig into objects and extract what meaning they can. The more time I spend in the Met, the more convinced I am it isn’t a museum of art history, not principally. Its interests reach up to the heavens and down into worm-ridden tombs and touch on virtually every aspect of how it feels and what it means to live in the space between. There aren’t experts about that.”

This quote evokes a key theme: the transformative power of personal engagement with art. Bringley argues against a purely academic approach to art appreciation, instead emphasizing the importance of individual interpretation and emotional connection. The author uses contrast to highlight the difference between learning “about” art and learning “from” it, suggesting that the latter is more valuable. The metaphorical language of reaching “up to the heavens and down into worm-ridden tombs” emphasizes the vast scope of human experience that art can encompass. By stating that there aren’t experts on “how it feels and what it means to live,” Bringley democratizes the art experience, encouraging readers to trust their own interpretations and responses.

“Religion contains the root word ligio, as in ligature. In its basic form, it is ‘a tying back,’ a return of one’s focus to certain elementary truths as a community perceives them. I belong to no particular religious tradition, but I often feel the need to be tied back, to brush away trivial concerns and commune with something more basic. I stare into the beautiful mihrab not as a pious worshipper but as a worshipper nevertheless.”

This quote explores the theme of spiritual connection through art, even for those who don’t adhere to organized religion. Bringley uses etymology to draw a parallel between religious practice and the act of engaging deeply with art. The metaphor of “tying back” suggests that both religion and art can serve as anchors, connecting individuals to fundamental truths or experiences. The author’s personal reflection on feeling “the need to be tied back” illustrates how art can fulfill a spiritual function, providing a sense of grounding and transcendence. The final sentence, with its paradoxical description of Bringley as “not a pious worshipper but a worshipper nevertheless,” underscores the idea that profound engagement with art can be a form of secular spirituality.

“Looking down at the carpet, it feels like a fool’s errand to quest for abstract answers to transcendent questions. It feels like the more I explore, the more I will see, the more I’ll understand how very little I’ve seen. The world feels like a surfeit of details that refuse to coalesce.”

This quote reflects on the overwhelming complexity of art and history and the humbling effect of deep engagement with cultural artifacts. Bringley uses the metaphor of a “fool’s errand” to convey the futility of seeking definitive answers to life’s big questions through art. The paradoxical statement about understanding “how very little I’ve seen” as one explores more captures the idea that increased knowledge often leads to a greater awareness of one’s own ignorance. This quote touches on themes of humility, the limits of human understanding, and the endless richness of artistic and historical exploration that run throughout All the Beauty in the World.

“The pictures on the walls happen to look lifeless and dull—not an indictment of the paintings, just an acknowledgment that there’s time enough in a veteran’s week for art to look all sorts of ways, even hardly worth looking at.”

This quote shows the evolution of Bringley’s relationship with art over time. The author uses a paradoxical observation to convey how familiarity can sometimes dull one’s appreciation for even great works of art. The phrase “veteran’s week” emphasizes the passage of time and the routine nature of his job, while “all sorts of ways” suggests the fluctuating nature of perception. This reflection highlights the tension between the timeless beauty of art and the subjective, time-bound experience of the viewer, a recurring idea in the book.

“It isn’t fair to the poor copyist, who works carefully and doggedly, while Cassatt soared on the wings of her hard-won mastery. This was her style; this was her subject; and she made a thousand choices with quick, inspired intelligence that can’t be replicated, only woodenly mimicked. To sum up, I can neither believe nor stand how good her picture is, and for the first time in a long time, I simply adore.”

This quote captures a moment of renewed appreciation for art, contrasting with the earlier sense of jadedness. Bringley uses vivid imagery (“soared on the wings”) and personification to emphasize Cassatt’s artistic genius. The juxtaposition between the “careful” copyist and Cassatt’s “quick, inspired intelligence” underscores the ineffable quality of true artistry. The author’s emotional response (“I can neither believe nor stand”) and use of hyperbole convey the overwhelming power of great art to inspire awe, even in someone who has become accustomed to being surrounded by masterpieces.

“Strangely, I think I am grieving for the end of my acute grief. The loss that made a hole at the center of my life is less on my mind than sundry concerns that have filled the hole in. And I suppose that is right and natural, but it’s hard to accept.”

This quote evokes the complex nature of grief, a central theme of the book. Bringley employs a paradox (“grieving for the end of my acute grief”) to express the unexpected emotions that arise as one moves through the grieving process. The metaphor of a “hole” being filled with “sundry concerns” effectively illustrates how life gradually returns to normalcy after a significant loss. The final sentence captures the conflicting feelings of acceptance and resistance that often accompany healing, reflecting the author’s honest and introspective tone throughout the memoir.

“Looking back on my first months at the Met, it seems remarkable to me that I could once spend days on end in the same quiet, watchful mood. I suppose it speaks to the unique power of grief. Now my days consist of so much push and pull, it’s hard to imagine living in such a focused way. I don’t have a simple purpose anymore, as I did when I came to the museum. Instead I have a life to lead.”

This quote shows the evolution of Bringley’s emotional state and his relationship with the museum over time. The phrase “quiet, watchful mood” characterizes Bringley’s initial state at the museum, emphasizing the meditative quality of his early days as a security guard. This is juxtaposed with the “push and pull” of his current life, illustrating how his emotional landscape has become more complex and varied. Bringley attributes his initial focus to “the unique power of grief,” acknowledging how his loss shaped his early experiences at the museum. This reflection underscores the book’s exploration of grief as a transformative force. The transition from having a “simple purpose” to having “a life to lead” represents a key arc in the memoir. It suggests a movement from a state of emotional survival to one of renewed engagement with life’s complexities. This shift mirrors the author’s journey through grief and his gradual reintegration into a fuller existence.

“I think to myself: there is a lesson here, and it’s a funny one to be learning in a place as grandly cosmopolitan as the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Meaning is always created locally. The greatest art is produced by people hemmed in by circumstances, making patchwork efforts to create something beautiful, useful, true. Michelangelo’s Florence, even Michelangelo’s Rome, was in this way rather like Loretta Pettway’s Gee’s Bend.”

This quote distills a key insight from Bringley’s experiences at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The author’s observation that “meaning is always created locally” challenges conventional notions of art and genius, suggesting that great art is not solely the product of grand cultural centers but can emerge from any context. The metaphor of “making patchwork efforts” cleverly ties the quilting process to the broader act of artistic creation, emphasizing resourcefulness and perseverance. By drawing a parallel between Michelangelo’s Renaissance Italy and Loretta Pettway’s rural Alabama, Bringley breaks down hierarchies in art appreciation, advocating for a more inclusive understanding of artistic value.