Translator: Tanya Cushman Reviewer: Peter van de Ven
A couple of months ago,
I tour-guided a very respectable Indian couple living in the United States.
He was a CEO;
she was a doctor.
They told me they wanted to see as much as humanly possible
in a two-hour tour's time.
And that's what I did.
I remember them very well.
It was a sunny afternoon.
I took them up the Saint Michael's bridge,
down to the harbor,
to the castle.
We crossed the Friday market.
We tasted chocolate.
We even talked to locals,
and, yes, he asked a million questions,
and she took a million pictures.
All went well, actually, until we reached the cathedral.
"Do we really need to visit this, Kristel?" he said,
"We are not so much into churches, you know."
"Well," I said," you don't have to,
but, you know, this is the place
where you can see the world-famous Ghent altarpiece.
This is a must-see in Ghent."
They looked at each other.
I could tell they hadn't the faintest idea what the altarpiece was about,
but most of all,
they worried that the visit would eat up too much time of the tour.
But, hey, I convinced them anyway.
And there we were,
in the dim chapel,
facing the massive Ghent altarpiece.
It had been painted by van Eyck -
or "van Ike" in English -
about 500 years ago.
I could tell they were impressed,
and so I briefly introduced them to the symbolism, the technique,
and the wonderful detailing van Eyck is famous for.
"Kristel, can we take a picture?"
"I'm afraid not," I said,
"but you know what?
You can take your time - all you need -
and I will wait for you outside the chapel."
Now, when they finally came out,
everything about them had changed:
He was in thoughts,
with his arms around her shoulders,
and she was is in tears.
"Thank you so much for bringing us here," she said through her tears,
"It all came back, you know.
We thought we coped, but now, here ..."
And then they shared with me how they lost their child the year before.
You can imagine the rest of the tour was different.
They were more open,
more relaxed,
more connected;
they were a couple.
Now, the point I want to make here
is that the transformation of the couple was visible,
it was substantial,
and it was real.
And I wondered whether this would have happened
if the Ghent altarpiece would have been put up in a museum.
Now, I don't know about you,
but when I go to medieval rooms in museums all over the world,
it always strikes me how they tend to attract very few visitors.
I took a picture - the picture you see here
is the medieval art room of the museum in Princeton,
but it could have been any other museum,
because it always comes down
to a collection of exquisite, single pieces
that clearly belong to a very specific place,
as most medieval art is, by the way.
It is as if by disconnecting the art from the place it is made for,
it loses its attraction,
its inspiring value,
its soul.
Believe it or not,
the same terrible fate awaited the Ghent altarpiece,
especially since it undergoes a very expensive restoration.
There were some policy makers in Ghent
who were coming up with the idea that we should have a museum just for it.
You can imagine, in what a state of shock I was.
But also, how happy I was the day I found out that the tide has turned,
and that the decision was made
that the Ghent altarpiece will stay in the Cathedral,
no matter what,
and that money, time and effort
will be invested to accommodate it even better.
So, that's good news for you because now you will be able,
as the Indian couple,
to fully enjoy its power,
its inspiring value
and its soul.
Now the key question, of course, in all of this is the following:
Can places have a soul?
Take the cathedral:
Over a thousand years,
a place where people come to mourn, to pray, to celebrate.
Is this cathedral nothing more
than some mere, albeit beautiful and impressive, square meters?
Or is the consolation, the inspiration and the reflection
that people clearly experience in it
just as a real as the ancient stones it is built with?
And if so, what is the value of that?
What is the value of a square meter of soul?
You know, when I walk from my apartment to my office,
I often take a shortcut through the cathedral.
I always enter by the green wooden door at the side
and then exit through the main entrance.
I used to rush through it
with my laptop in one hand and my smartphone in the other.
But one day, I slowed down my step and sat down for a minute.
I looked up and let my mind run free.
When I arrived in my office later,
I experienced that those couple of minutes
really empowered me, grounded me, relaxed me;
and it turned out to be a perfect morning workout.
Now, I'm sure you all know places like that,
and it doesn't have to be a religious place.
It can be any place you are intuitively drawn to.
You know, those places with a vibe.
It can be the bench in the park you love to read on
or these typical, old cafes where people,
for generations sometimes,
come to meet.
Or those small, iconic shops in the city,
you know, where you enter, and you really smell the history in it.
You know, these kind of places -
the places that sit and feel right, you know.
These places are valuable;
these places are the heart and the soul of a city,
and still, too often, we take them for granted.
As it goes with most things of value,
we realize its value the most when we are the verge of losing it:
the day you find out your favorite place has been destroyed
or converted into something that it is not at all.
Let me take you for that to a favorite hangout place in Ghent,
the Graslei-Korenlei.
This used to be a medieval port, since the 12th century, so to speak,
and it has everything that comes along with a port:
restaurants, shops, bars.
Imagine boats were loaded and unloaded there,
and everything went well until the 60s
because then we dug a huge canal around Ghent
which made this port obsolete.
So our policymakers,
they were thinking and thinking and thinking,
and the most creative thing they could come up with was this:
a parking lot
with not a living soul out there.
Luckily for us, we came back to our senses in the 90s,
and we restored it back to its original function,
albeit a port for pleasure boats.
I remember very well that as soon as that conversion was made,
everybody suddenly seemed to notice the potential of the Graslei-Korenlei;
everybody wanted to be there, you know,
and it stayed like this as today.
The moment we plugged right into the soul of the place,
it became the hot spot that it still is in Ghent.
Now the Graslei-Korenlei is a great conversion
as we not only invested time, money and effort
in the restoration of the medieval backdrop of it,
but also in the restoration of the original function of it.
However, it is not always like that.
And yet, conversions of places,
they are very tricky,
but they are more trendy than ever.
In that context,
I want to show you a picture I took last week
in a wonderful 16th century chapel
here in Ghent.
As you can see, it is converted into a trendy bar.
Now, you also can tell, if you look at it,
that a lot of time and money was invested in the original features of it:
the Gothic windows, the tiling, the pillars.
However, nothing was invested in restoring back the original function.
The original function could not be further away from the current function:
a place of contemplation versus a place of drinking.
Now, how much I do love bars -
I'm a Belgian after all -
when a conversion only focuses on the restoration of the building
and does not fully align with its original function,
then there will be -
it will not realize its full potential.
You will always feel there is something off about it,
and finally, and worse, when time passes by,
bit by bit the current function will eat the soul of the place
until it becomes - after the trend is over - empty again,
and new investors have to be found.
Now I hear you thinking:
"But Kristel, what do we need to do with places like that?
We cannot leave them empty, can [we]?"
Well, the most relevant question for me is
"Is this place really empty?"
For that, let me take you to an empty, very inspiring place here in Ghent
that is Sint-Baaf's Abbey -
over 1,000 years old,
and apart from a beautiful refectory
and a well and an enclosed garden,
there's nothing.
No heating, no facilities, no electricity.
Only stones and a lot - a lot of soul.
Now, I love to take people out there, really,
because that place never lets me down.
It always has its effect, no matter whether we are up for it or not.
One day I took a very young, enthusiastic, loud group of marketeers out there.
They had expected to do a team-building,
so you can imagine their faces when we arrived at this empty abbey.
But they tried to stay positive, you know, and I challenged them, and I said,
"Well, can you walk three minutes by yourself around the premises?"
"Hey, of course we can do that,"
and off they went,
and slowly but gradually,
the peace and quiet descended back on the abbey.
Three minutes became five minutes.
Five minutes became ten and more,
and when they finally came out,
totally everything about them had changed.
They were more quiet, more relaxed.
They were also more, like, attentive towards each other,
and I noticed that the topic of their conversation had changed.
It was not about work anymore;
it was about themselves,
their hopes and wishes,
their dreams,
and the most important thing was, to me, that they all assured me
that they would come back to this place one day.
Now, that's the value of a square meter of soul.
Now, places can be very inspiring,
very powerful, valuable,
but it cannot speak up.
But you can,
and I can,
and therefore, to all the policy makers all over the world,
I want to say this:
"Be sensitive to the inspiring and valuable places you have
in your neighborhood, your town and your city
because they are the heart and soul of it.
See beyond the square meter;
see the soul.
And once you see it,
make sure you do everything in your power to keep it like that and protect it.
And if a place runs out of use and becomes empty,
ask yourself whether it's really empty,
and if it's not - if it has a lot of soul -
have some guts there to invest in the soul,
and the future generations will thank you for that.
And if no option is left but conversion of the place into something new,
don't compromise
and make sure that the conversion fully aligns with the original function
because that's the only way it will pay off."
Of course, I also have a little message
for my fellow tour guides all over the world.
I want to say this from the bottom of my heart:
Keep on taking your clients
to those places you value so much where ever you live.
Take them there, but once you're there -
and I know this is a very hard one for guides
because we always want to talk -
build in some silence and space in your tour
for your clients to truly enjoy and experience a place.
And finally, I want to say this to you all:
Keep on going to those places you are intuitively drawn to.
Pop in there.
And when you're there,
be present, fully present,
listen to the place, what it has to give to you,
let it feed your soul,
be aware of the value,
and above all,
I wish that you would all be inspired
by each square meter of soul.
(Applause)