Trondheim reduces the heart rate.
The gentle undulations of the water introduce a new rhythm. Breathing gets more deliberate. Footsteps become more resolute. The subdued light – diffused by a dense carpet of cloud – makes introspection and reflection inevitable.
Amidst all of this, the city’s Nidaros Cathedral parts of which are nearly 2000 years old an imposing and ominous focus.
Inside an information screen provides an animated story of the building’s construction.
The story begins with a modest-looking box-like structure – a church built to memorialise the burial place of Olav II of Norway in 1070. Over the following 2000 years the same structure grows into a more majestic statement with spires that pierce the sky. Multiple lightning strikes sees new extensions being built. The building that emerges embodies a sense of pride, resilience and determination.
The story emphasises an often forgotten truth: change is always occuring. That perfection, perhaps even completion, can only be an aspiration, something that most of us struggle to reach and few ultimately reach.
Nidaros Cathedral was officially ‘completed’ in 2001.
During my Trondheim trip, I’ve arrived at a deeper understanding of why I sometimes struggle with writing. Digital demands immediacy – either that or quantity.
Quality takes time.
The finished product certainly deserves time. Why not take a little more time? Why not give yourself permission to take a little more time?
Also. Art doesn’t exist in a bubble. Art isn’t an escape. Art isn’t another land.
Art occurs when we participate in it. That makes us as the audience member an integral part of it. Art prompts questions. Being attentive to the answers demonstrates how effective art is. Art extends beyond classical music or opera. Art draws on a multitude of knowledge and experience that enriches life. It must.