I was 16 and it was a school trip overseas. Florence. Rain hung thick in the air and the sights and smells of the tourist squares were dizzying. Wading through nausea, fever tugging my mind away, I slumped on an ottoman in the Uffizi. Thoughts muddling, eyes darting, resting on whatever could hold their attention.

And then there she was.. larger than my entire field of vision. Caught off guard by it, I drew in a breath and took in the details…

Gold. Pink. Seafoam. Petals floating in air.

Breathe In.

Out.

Sun on hair. Warmth. Light.

Breathe In.

Out.

Lashes. Brush strokes on canvas.

Breathe In.

That day, it was beauty, not medicine, that brought a ceasefire to the battle with fever, nausea, and disorientation. Sickness had shrunk me, but beauty seized my whole being and released me back to a spacious place. I could breathe again.

This is the simple power of art, or more simply, beauty. It causes us to inspire [literally: draw in air] and fills our entire being with the life we need to face… more life.

The Birth of Venus, Botticelli. All images via The Google Cultural Institute