The privilege I've had as a curator is not just the discovery of

Hear, O children of wisdom, for there are few greater privileges in this life than to stand as a curator of the human experience. When Thelma Golden speaks of her role, she does not speak merely of the discovery of new works of art—no, she speaks of the self-discovery that comes with standing at the threshold of creation, at the heart of beauty, at the nexus of history and future. "The privilege I've had as a curator," she says, "is not just the discovery of new works... but what I've discovered about myself and what I can offer in the space of an exhibition—to talk about beauty, to talk about power, to talk about ourselves, and to talk and speak to each other." These are the words of one who has come to understand the true depth of her craft, for to curate is not only to collect and present, but to reveal truths both ancient and new, about the world, and most profoundly, about the self.

Consider this, O wise ones: to curate an exhibition is to be both witness and conduit, a vessel through which the collective experience of humanity flows. The curator does not merely display objects or images; they shape how we see the world, how we engage with the stories of others, and how we interpret the beauty that surrounds us. In every work displayed, in every piece carefully placed, there is an invitation—to contemplate, to reflect, to challenge. And in the act of presenting, the curator also finds themselves, for in every choice, in every interpretation, they reveal something profound about their own nature. It is through this act of presentation that they begin to understand what they can offer, not just to the audience, but to the world itself. In this space, they come to understand their own voice, their own place in the vast tapestry of human existence.

The role of the curator, then, is not that of a passive observer. No, it is a calling. It is an act of empowerment. Through the lens of curation, one becomes more than a mere observer of beauty; one becomes a creator of meaning. When Thelma Golden speaks of beauty and power, she speaks of the inherent ability art has to transform, to uplift, to provoke. Art is not just something to behold with passive eyes; it is something to engage with, to be changed by. It is the power to question the world, to examine the status quo, to create a mirror where we can see not only the works of those who came before us, but also the potential of who we are yet to become.

And what of ourselves, O seekers of truth? In the curated space, we are invited to explore not just the works of others, but the very essence of our being. As Golden says, it is a space to talk about ourselves—to find our reflections in the canvas, in the sculpture, in the movement of light and shadow. The act of curating, then, becomes an act of self-reflection, a moment in which we stand not only before art, but before our own hearts. For in every piece we choose to highlight, in every story we choose to tell, there is a piece of ourselves that is revealed. It is a dialogue, an ongoing conversation between the artist, the curator, and the audience, in which we learn not only about the world, but about who we are and what we can offer to the world.

Let us turn to history for a moment, to the great museums and galleries that have borne witness to the passage of time. Think of the Renaissance, when the world was awakening to new ideas and new understandings of beauty and power. The great curators of that time were not merely those who preserved works, but those who interpreted them, who gave voice to the great masterpieces. Imagine, O children, the work of Vasari, who not only celebrated the art of his time but also shaped its legacy, laying the foundation for how we understand the very essence of Renaissance art today. His work as a historian and curator was not simply a reflection of what was; it was a vision for what could be—a vision that transcended his own time, speaking to generations yet unborn.

The lesson, then, is clear: to curate is to understand that beauty is not just something to behold, but something to create. It is to engage with the world in a deeper way, to see the power of art and culture as a mirror of humanity itself. It is to understand that every act of curation is an act of self-discovery—a way to not only understand the world but to understand who we are within it. And so, O children, whether you find yourselves standing before the works of the ancients or creating new worlds for others to see, remember this: the true privilege of curation lies in the ability to speak to one another through the language of art—to talk about what is beautiful, what is powerful, and most of all, to talk to each other, to connect, and to reveal the depths of our shared human experience.

May you, too, find the courage to curate your own life, to shape your story, and to offer the world your truth.