Believing is Seeing is Deceiving

The art gallery was quiet and nearly empty on a rainy fall afternoon.

Clara stood six feet from the big yellow wall, taking two slow steps to the left. The white text on the black board shifted in the light, "BELIEVING IS SEEING." Then she took two slow steps to the right. The letters flickered, "SEEING IS DECEIVING."

She stepped back to the left. Believing. A step back to the right. Deceiving.

"You're going to give yourself motion sickness," Thomas said, coming up from behind her with two coffee cups from the museum cafe. "I'm trying to figure out which one is right," Clara said, taking a cup from him. "Look at this. If you stand over here, it shows that what you believe shapes what you see. But if you move over here, it tells you that your own eyes are lying to you."

Thomas stood beside her, taking a sip of his coffee. He looked at the dark plastic lens overlaying the print. "Maybe it depends on what kind of day you're having." 

"I'm serious, Thomas," she smiled, nudging his shoulder. "Which one do you believe?" Thomas took a step to the right, watching the words shift. "Well, yesterday when I couldn't find my keys, I was convinced I left them on the kitchen counter. I looked around that counter three times and didn't see them. Then you walked in and picked them up right off the table. I believed they were gone, so I couldn't see them." Clara's eyebrows furrowed. "So, believing is seeing," Clara said.

"Except today," Thomas continued, stepping back to the left. "I looked at the forecast, saw a clear blue sky on my phone, and left my umbrella at home. Now it's pouring outside." He gestured toward the museum windows, where the sound of rain pattering filled the silent room. "So, seeing is deceiving."

Clara giggled, the sound echoing against the tall gallery ceilings. "So the art is just calling us out for being human?" "Pretty much," Thomas said. He moved until he was standing directly in front of the middle of the artwork. The letters blurred together into a wave of text that couldn't quite be read. 

"What does it say from there?" Clara asked, moving to stand beside him. "Nothing clear," Thomas said, handing her his empty cup so he could zip up his jacket. "It just shows you that both things can happen. We see what we believe we'll see, but sometimes our eyes fool us anyway." Clara looked at the blurred words against the bright yellow wall. You didn't need a degree in art history to get it...you just needed to walk past it and watch the words shift a little bit depending on where you stood. 

"Come on," Clara said, walking toward the museum exit as the rain outside slowly stopped. "Let's go see if your phone was actually fooling you about the weather." Thomas smiled, following her toward the glass doors. 

"I already know the answer to that one."