I visited Cloisters in NY in the beginning of March. My eyes bled from the love, God, and more like the idea behind God, beauty, silence, eternal peace. But also I found something special there…
It was a solo trip, I didn’t know what to expect. A bit far away from where I stayed, upper Manhattan drive 40 min, but I managed to prioritize it. I entered the building and saw those monumental things, kept walking and my heart exploded. Never felt so much gratitude for how the museum is organized, how many unbelievable treasures presented to viewers.
I listened to Philip Glass and embraced long pauses of silence. The view on the Hudson River stretched before me. I just wanted to die there.
When I reached the Unicorn Tapestries time stopped completely. Seven medieval masterpieces hanging before me in quiet glory. The vibrant colors still alive after five centuries, the delicate threads telling a story no one fully understands. The hunt begins with noblemen and their dogs searching, tracking a creature believed holy and impossible to capture. The unicorn dips its horn in poisoned water, purifying it for other animals to drink. It fights back fiercely against the hunters, its hooves deadly and precise. Then betrayal comes in the form of a maiden, the unicorn resting its head in her lap, surrendered to love. The hunters move in for the kill, spears piercing the magical beast. In the final tapestry the unicorn appears resurrected, tethered to a pomegranate tree, collared but alive. A thousand small flowers bloom around its feet, each one rendered with impossible patience.
I sat there and watched for hours. For some reason my art history books skipped these Tapestries. My school teacher skipped them too. I felt like I am this unicorn, life problems and various troubles trying to catch me, trap me through seduction and violence.
The hunters’ faces show no remorse, only determination. The unicorn’s eyes hold knowledge of its fate but fight anyway. The maiden’s betrayal feels personal somehow. I wondered about the nameless weavers who spent years creating this story, their fingers working threads of gold and silver. Did they believe in unicorns, did they understand the layers of meaning they created, did they know their work would outlive everyone they loved.
Humans chase rare things, collect precious objects, build museums to house beautiful things. Humans need things. But as I left I passed a mirror with words etched across its surface:
EVERYTHING WILL BE TAKEN AWAY.
And it should be taken.
