Is it a tingle? A spark? A double-take? A rush? Whatever it is, it’s that indefinable moment that stops you in your tracks.
In a previous article, The Art of Buying Art, we talked about trusting your instinct at the moment of commitment—that "wobble point" where excitement turns into doubt. This article steps back from that moment entirely. Long before buying is even a consideration, something else happens first: a quieter, more fleeting sensation.
It’s the instant a piece of art catches your eye unexpectedly and, for reasons you can’t yet explain, your attention locks on.
The reaction before the thought
It happens in a heartbeat. A pause. A narrowing of focus. A subtle shift where the background noise drops away and something pulls you in.
In this moment, you aren't deciding anything. You aren't judging the technique, imagining where it might hang, or even deciding if you "like" it. All you know is that it has interrupted you. That reaction isn't theatrical; it doesn't announce itself with fanfare. But once you begin to notice it, you will recognize it every time.
What this moment is not
It’s worth being clear about what this reaction does not mean:
- It does not mean the piece is “your style.”
- It does not mean it suits your home.
- It does not mean it is clever, valuable, or important.
- And it certainly doesn’t mean you need to buy it.
Whether it’s a bold abstract, a tiny digital detail, or a serene photograph of light dancing on water, the moment isn't about taste - it is 100% about how the work unexpectedly grabs your attention.
The painting we laughed at (but never forgot)
Most of us are taught to move quickly past that reaction. If we can’t rationally explain why we paused, we feel a bit foolish. But sitting with that feeling is where the real connection to art begins.
Back in 2010, my partner Sally and I visited an art exhibition in central London. One painting stood out - or rather, it didn’t. It was a huge canvas painted black with a small, solid red circle in one corner. No complexity. No visible narrative. It was priced at several thousand pounds.
We scoffed. We dismissed it as ridiculous. We embodied every "anyone could do that" stereotype. And then we left.
The odd thing is that all these years later, that painting is still mentioned. Not with dismissal, but with a growing sense of curiosity. It stayed with us and returns to our conversations. It lodged itself somewhere we hadn’t invited it. We didn’t want it, and we certainly wouldn’t have bought it. But as a piece of art, it worked.
What art leaves behind
Some art impresses you in the moment and fades by the time you reach the car. Other work does the opposite: it lingers, nags, and resurfaces when you’re least expecting it. This staying power isn’t about beauty or style, as they are way too subjective. No, it’s simply about how it resonates with you.
Art is not always about what it shows you while you’re standing in front of it. Sometimes it’s about what it gives you to carry away, and that effect often reveals itself slowly, over time.
Chase the moment, not the outcome
I encourage you to go out and look at art deliberately - not to buy, and not to "educate" yourself. but simply to provoke a reaction.
Wander into village hall exhibitions, small town galleries, or hotel lobbies. Spend ten minutes somewhere you would normally walk past, observing without intention or judgment. The goal isn't to discover your taste; it’s to notice what still has the power to interrupt you.
When that reaction happens, try not to rush to label it. Let the feeling exist before you attampt to explain it. Instinct is not the enemy of thought; it simply comes before it. If nothing registers at that first level, there is nothing for logic to work with.
Art you live with
There is a difference between art acquired for status and art that becomes part of your life. For the latter, the only thing that matters is whether that initial response holds, and whether the feeling returns after the novelty has worn off.
You don’t need to be “into art” to engage with it. You don't even need a vocabulary, a degree, or permission. You only need to be willing to look long enough for something to happen.
Go and chase that moment. Not to understand, but just to see what still has the power to stop you.
Written by Clive Wilson, co-founder of Zanoogo. The Journal explores ideas around design, instinct, and the way we live with the things we choose.
