I had a completely different blog post started for this week but, today, the white smoke appeared above the Sistine Chapel and the Vatican and the world witnessed the election of a new Pope. Whether or not you follow the Church, it’s hard not to feel the magnitude of this moment: centuries of tradition, a ritual steeped in symbolism, and the arrival of a new voice stepping into this ancient role. And all of this unfolding inside one of the greatest testaments to artistic tradition in the Western world. There’s a sense of gravitas to it all, but also a quiet hopefulness—what will shift, evolve, or be reimagined under the new guidance of Leo XIV?
And as I was watching the smoke billow from the chimney, here’s the detail that stopped me in my tracks:
This powerful vote takes place beneath one of the most iconic ceilings in the world.
While cardinals cast their ballots in the Sistine Chapel—making history, choosing direction—they’re quite literally surrounded by some of the greatest artistic achievements of all time. Most well known are Michelangelo’s frescoes which soar above and in front of them. Particularly well known are the Creation of Adam and the Last Judgement. But the prophets and sibyls also watch from above. Every inch of that space is a reminder of the creative human spirit—both its devotion and its daring. It’s a living museum of artistic tradition, where past genius meets present choice.
So as I contemplate the pronouncement of a new Pope, and the fact that it takes place in such an artistic treasure, how could I not think about art—about how we, as artists, also stand within a long lineage?
We study the masters. We borrow, we rebel, we return.
We walk through museums and examine closely the work of the past, long distant as well as more recent. We notice the echoes and the influences of one artist’s work in another’s —techniques handed down, ideas challenged and reshaped. There’s a comfort and groundedness that comes with knowing we’re part of something bigger — a history of artistic tradition, of visual storytellers who whisper or shout at us across generations.
And yet… every time we pick up our pastels or our brushes, we’re called to bring about something new. A breath of freshness. A sense of our personality. A small act of creative defiance, even if it’s just in choosing an unexpected palette or daring to make some distinct marks. Like the newly elected Pope who has stepped into a role shaped by centuries—but who will leave his own imprint—we, too, are invited to both honour what came before and say, boldly: Here’s what I see. Here’s how I feel. Here’s who I am.
Art is tradition.
Art is change.
And the surface we work on is always open to both.
So today, as the bells ring out and the smoke clears, I’m reminded that each beginning can be sacred. That choosing to make something—anything—can be its own kind of ritual. Not religious, perhaps. But absolutely spiritual.
The next time you step into your studio, try this: bring to mind one artist’s oeuvre or a specific artwork that’s shaped you. Then ask yourself—what could I do it differently? What’s my mark?
Honour the tradition, but don’t be afraid to speak in your own voice.
What tradition, genre, or style are you carrying forward—and how will you make it yours?
I’d love to hear from you so please do drop a comment!
Until next time!
~ Gail
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