Not silence exactly—but a collective pause. People slow down. Voices soften. Even footsteps seem to ask permission. It’s a space where looking becomes an activity in its own right.
That’s what struck me most during my recent visit to the Magritte Museum in Brussels.
The image above is the master image from that visit. Two figures—backs to the camera—standing in front of a Magritte painting. You can’t see their faces. You don’t need to. What matters is the act itself: people looking at art that is, in many ways, about the act of looking.
A selection of images from my visit
Magritte and the Comfortable Discomfort of Thought
Magritte doesn’t shout. He doesn’t overwhelm. His paintings sit there calmly, politely even—and then quietly rearrange how your mind works.
A pipe that isn’t a pipe. A window that isn’t a window. A landscape that refuses to behave.
Standing in that gallery, I was reminded that Magritte isn’t trying to trick you. He’s inviting you to notice how easily we accept symbols, labels, and assumptions without question. He’s asking you to slow down and really see—not just what’s in front of you, but how your own mind fills in the gaps.
In retirement, that feels oddly familiar.
Retirement as a Magritte Moment
Leaving full-time work does something similar. The labels fall away.
You’re no longer the job title.
No longer the role people expect you to play.
No longer defined by email signatures or organisational charts.
And at first, that can be unsettling.
But then—if you let it—it becomes liberating.
Like Magritte’s paintings, retirement asks:
What happens if you stop taking the obvious interpretation for granted? What if the thing you’re looking at isn’t quite what you think it is?
Photography as Witness, Not Explanation
I didn’t take dozens of photos in the museum. I didn’t need to. What I liked was the distance. The anonymity. The fact that the people in the image could be anyone—or you. It’s not a photograph about Magritte so much as it’s a photograph about encountering Magritte.
That’s something I’m increasingly drawn to in my photography now: less explanation, more witness. Not “look at this,” but “stand here for a moment.”
Rewired, Not Replaced
Retirement doesn’t mean switching off. It means rewiring. Different pace. Different questions.Different ways of paying attention.
Magritte understood that the world isn’t fixed—it’s interpreted. And interpretation changes depending on where you’re standing, what you’ve lived through, and how willing you are to look again.
That afternoon in Brussels wasn’t about ticking off another museum. It was about standing still long enough to notice that the act of looking—really looking—is still available to us at any stage of life.
And perhaps, like Magritte quietly suggests, it always was.
