In these first few days of June, I have been pondering the photographs I took in May (together, my Mundane May project). My motive was plain: to photograph a scene or object each day in May, post the images with an open mind, and see what happens.
The exercise was a test of sorts, to see whether I could establish and sustain a new rhythm, without preëmpting what might emerge. My hope was that I would become more observant, especially of things and situations in the periphery or out of sight. That was realised. But, I seem to have become a little more patient as well; my innate curiosity, which has languished in recent times, has been rekindled too. All of this is gratifying.
Then, yesterday, a postscript emerged. While cataloguing the final few photographs, I looked at some older images. One, captured in October 2023, seemed to levitate over the screen. I stared at it for quite a while, and let my thoughts wander.
The photograph captured one section of the Rococo library, which is located in the Abbey of Saint Gall. The library is the oldest in Switzerland and one of the oldest monastic libraries in the world. It houses over 170,000 religious documents, many of which are over one thousand years old. Several artworks are displayed too, and a sarcophagus to boot.
Staring at the picture reminded me of time spent on the parquet flooring, exercising my senses in the company of my dear friend, Riccardo (from Lisboa). I was inspired awe-struck by it all. As we moved about that day, quietly, and studied various items and explanatory notes, many questions came to mind. What might the authors have been thinking when they wrote, what did they eat, and who were their patrons? Did they ever dream their contributions might still be preserved hundreds of years later?
Recalling that visit to Rococo helped encapsulate my thoughts about the Mundane May project: We know far less than we think we do.
At first contact, it is easy to draw conclusions, especially if quantitative data is available. But these are often an illusion. As we think more deeply, we realise the world around us is dynamic; things change, often in unpredictable ways. Understanding in such situations relies on reasoning, intuition, and judgement. And, for that, qualitative data is necessary.
Indeed, what seems to be so at first may not actually be so.
Context matters.
The parallels with board work are stark. If I have learned one thing in the past 25 years serving as a director and advising boards, it is this: look beyond what can be seen, and hold options lightly. Validate what is reported. Strive to fill gaps by asking good questions and listening intently to the responses—before making a decision.
That none of us knows it all should be self-evident. That being the case, why do so many leaders, directors, and consultants continue to assert deterministic answers, best practice models, and 'ideal' structures, as if they exist and acting on them will deliver a prescribed outcome?
Wittgenstein's maxim is ringing in my ears.
Riccardo and me, chatting on a bench seat at the St. Gallen station, awaiting the train to Zurich.
