My Positive Change

The Detroit Institute of Arts isn’t just a museum—it’s an experience that begins the moment you arrive.

This week, I went with Jan and our local senior citizens center on another outing. This time to the DIA. Even before we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by one of the politest, most welcoming staff members I’ve come across in a long time. It set the tone right away. I could tell this wasn’t going to be just another stop. It was going to be something more.

The DIA has been part of Detroit since 1885 and has grown into one of the most respected art museums in the country. With more than 65,000 pieces in its collection, it draws visitors from all over each year. And walking through it, you can feel that history—not just in the artwork, but in the way the place carries itself.

Daily Prompt — Question of the Day

Describe one positive change you’ve made in your life?

I found my way back to writing through loss and grief.

And somehow, that’s changed the way I experience places like this.

Not Buried. Just Preserved.

Mummies and the past are almost synonymous with one another.

Standing there in front of this piece—dated between 10 B.C.E. and 395 C.E.—it’s hard not to feel the weight of time. Layers of linen, carefully wrapped in an intricate geometric pattern, preserved not just a body, but a belief. The ancient Egyptians trusted that through this process, the soul could continue its journey into eternity.

The golden face mask wasn’t just decoration. It was transformation. An effort to align the deceased with Osiris, the god of the afterlife. Even in death, there was intention. Purpose. Continuation.

And in a different way, I understand that.

There was a time when I stopped. Life shifted, and something that once felt natural, became distant. Like it had been wrapped away and set aside yet I couldn’t find it any longer.

Looking at something so carefully preserved, I couldn’t help but think maybe not everything we leave behind is gone.

Some things wait.

Coming back hasn’t been about starting over. It’s been about uncovering something that was always there, just layered over with time and frustration.

Not buried.

Just preserved.

Before Elvis Had a Face

There was something about this mask that stopped me. I immediately understood why. And not because it’s a ceremonial mask from the Bobo people of Africa, carved from wood, detailed with pigment, and finished with real hair.

Something in the face, the structure, the attitude—it reminded me of Elvis. In a literal way, with that same kind of presence. That unmistakable energy. Just a little before his time though, 19th early 20th century.

Jan chose Blue Suede Shoes, and somehow it just worked. A ceremonial mask rooted in tradition and spirit, paired with a rock and roll icon. Completely different world but the same feeling of identity, performance, and expression.

That’s what stuck with me. How something so deeply cultural can still connect in a way that feels personal and familiar. Even a little unexpected.

The Wrong Song, The Right Moment

I’ll be honest…this one made me laugh.

Standing next to a 14th-century sculpture—The Virgin Annunciate (circa 1390–1410), carved wood with painted detail—and somehow Madonna starts playing in my head. Like a Virgin… touched for the very first time.

Yeah… not exactly what the artist had in mind and probably not Madonna either.

This piece represents a sacred moment—the Annunciation—when Mary is told she will bear a child. It’s quiet, spiritual, full of meaning.

And then there’s me. Museum nerd hat on. Smiling like I just wandered into the wrong scene with the right soundtrack.

Jan took the photo, and honestly… it made the moment. Because sometimes art hits you with reverence—and sometimes it hits you with irony.

Either way, you feel something. And that’s kind of the point.

The Afterparty

No pun intended, but from one kind of ‘virgin’ moment to another. This one feels a lot less quiet.

Bruegel’s The Wedding Dance (1566) is the complete opposite of stillness. Where the last piece held restraint, this one lets everything loose. Around 125 people packed into a single scene dancing, celebrating, caught somewhere between joy and chaos.

It’s loud, even without sound.

Painted by Pieter Bruegel the Elder and now housed at the DIA, the scene captures rural life in a way that feels almost too real. The elevated perspective pulls you in, like you’re standing just above the crowd, watching it all unfolds at once.

And what stood out to me wasn’t just the movement. It is how familiar it feels even by todays standards. Not polished. Not perfect. Just people being people.

After the still, sacred energy of The Virgin Annunciate, this feels like the afterparty. Messy, alive, and unapologetically human.

Different worlds—same museum.

Built by Hands, Carried by Memory

Then… you walk into this. Simply majestic and no small frame.

The Detroit Industry Murals by Diego Rivera (1932–1933) doesn’t ease you in, rather it surrounds you.

Twenty-seven fresco panels stretching across the Rivera Court, all telling the story of Detroit’s backbone. Industry, labor, and the people who kept it moving.

You don’t just look at it. You stand inside and feel it.

Inspired by the Ford Rouge Plant, Rivera painted workers and machines as one system.

And standing there, I couldn’t help but think of my grandfather. Remembering the stories, the era, the kind of men who worked with their hands and carried something a little heavier than what you could see.

The fact that he knew Johnny Cash somehow didn’t feel so far off in the moment. I figured it was worth mentioning. Hell, Elvis is already in the house, and this mural isn’t just about factories. It’s about the people who built things. And sometimes, that brings you back with it.

Not Everything Is Meant to Be Let Go

By the end of it all, after the murals, the masks, the music in my head, and the moments I didn’t expect…I found myself standing in front of something quiet.

A photograph of a Syrian monk, carefully copying a sacred manuscript by hand. Line by line. Word by word. No rush. No audience. Just patience and purpose.

It felt different from everything else in the museum. That’s where it clicked for me.

Museum Nerd

The daily prompt asked: What’s one positive change you’ve made in your life?
My answer was simple—but it didn’t come easy:

I returned to writing because of grief. Not by forgetting it. Not by outrunning it. But by carrying it… differently.

Like that monk preserving something sacred, I realized I didn’t have to let go of what I lost to move forward. I will keep it and honor it just as the museum does, so it’ll never be forgotten and kept safe. Because some things are too important to lose…even when they’re gone.

What do you know, I’ve become a museum nerd too and will most definitely be returning as there’s plenty more to see.

Thanks to the DIA for hosting our group.

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