Nobody sees a flower really; it is so small. We haven't time

The great painter of the American spirit, Georgia O’Keeffe, once said with quiet gravity: “Nobody sees a flower really; it is so small. We haven’t time, and to see takes time—like to have a friend takes time.” In these words she gives voice not only to her art, but to a philosophy of life. She reminds us that true vision—true seeing—requires patience, presence, and reverence. The flower, though delicate and fleeting, holds within it a universe of beauty. Yet most pass it by, too hurried, too consumed, too blind to notice. To see, she teaches, is not the act of glancing—it is the discipline of dwelling.

The origin of this quote arises from O’Keeffe’s own artistic journey. In her paintings, she magnified flowers to immense scale, forcing viewers to behold what they otherwise ignored. She believed that beauty often hides in smallness, and that the hurried eye misses the sacred. By comparing the act of seeing a flower to the act of forming a friendship, she revealed that both require the same thing: time given willingly, attention offered generously. Without time, there is no depth, no understanding, no love.

The ancients also bore witness to this truth. Confucius taught that true knowledge begins with careful observation, not hasty judgment. The mystics of India practiced meditations that focused on a single object, learning to see beyond its surface. Even the Greeks, with their reverence for nature, believed that the smallest seed contained the essence of divinity. O’Keeffe’s words, though born in the modern world, echo this ancient reverence: to see is sacred work, and sacred work requires time.

History itself shows us how profound this lesson is. Consider the friendship of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, two great writers of the twentieth century. Their bond did not form overnight, nor in passing conversations, but through years of walking, talking, critiquing, and supporting one another. Out of their time together grew works that shaped the imagination of generations. Had they not given time to truly see each other—strengths, flaws, and dreams—the world might never have received The Chronicles of Narnia or The Lord of the Rings. Just as with the flower, the richness of friendship is revealed only when one lingers long enough to truly see.

The meaning of O’Keeffe’s teaching is this: in our haste, we lose the essence of things. We think we see, but we only glance. We think we know, but we only assume. To truly see a flower is to give it time, to notice the curve of each petal, the trembling of its stem, the fragrance that drifts unseen. To truly know a friend is the same: to listen, to wait, to share silences as much as words. Time is the price of vision, and without it, all beauty remains invisible.

Therefore, the lesson is clear: slow down. Do not rush past the treasures of life, mistaking motion for meaning. Take time to notice the flower at your feet, the friend at your side, the loved one whose presence is too easily taken for granted. O’Keeffe’s words remind us that seeing is not passive—it is an act of love, an offering of one’s most precious gift: time.

In practice, I counsel this: choose moments in your day to pause and truly see. Look closely at something small—a leaf, a ripple of water, a smile—and let it reveal itself fully. Give time to your friendships, not only in words but in presence. Protect moments of stillness where vision can deepen. In these acts, you will begin to perceive the richness hidden beneath the surface of all things.

Thus, remember the wisdom of Georgia O’Keeffe: “To see takes time—like to have a friend takes time.” Do not squander your life in glances, but live it in vision. For when you truly see—whether a flower, a friend, or the world itself—you will discover beauty that others have missed, and in that discovery, your soul will be made whole.