☕ If I Could Own Any Artwork

The Kiss (Klimt, 1907–1908) © Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, Vienna (author’s photo)

It may sound cheesy, but I’d choose The Kiss by Klimt. I first liked it back in my art appreciation class, not obsessively, just a quiet fascination.

But when I finally saw the original at Belvedere, I actually cried, shocking my family and even the tour guide.

I didn’t understand why at that moment, but later I realized it was a complex feeling.

I had assumed, because of the gold leaf, that it must be small, maybe the size of the Mona Lisa. “Gold is expensive, right? It can’t be huge.” That was my logic.

But seeing its actual scale hit me so profoundly.

And I cried, for my assumptions, for how small my perception was, also for the fact that many people in the world might never get to stand there and feel its actual magnitude,

…and for how much more I might have assumed in my head that isn’t solid.

So I’d choose this painting, because it constantly reminds me how limited my own perspective can be. It reminds me not to judge the world by what I assume, and to stay humble about how little I might really know.

And there’s another thing. Some people say the woman in The Kiss looks forced or trapped. But that interpretation never resonated with me.

If you let yourself take it in… Her eyes are gently closed. One hand wraps around the man’s neck, the other rests softly on the back of his hand. Their bodies lean into each other with no space between them at all.

If she were being forced, her hands would be pushing away, her palms turned outward. Her expression wouldn’t be this calm, almost meditative. And yet, here she is, leaning in, her own arm drawing him closer.

To me, she isn’t surrendering to him; she’s surrendering to the moment, to the intensity of the connection itself. The tilt of her head, the subtle pull of their bodies, hints at the depth of presence between them. It’s not coercion; it’s an openness that only becomes clear when you see the real thing up close.

It’s wild how a painting can hold so much: love, quiet, presence, humility. And somehow, when you’re in front of it, it makes you pause, breathe, and notice your own heartbeat a little differently.