Recently installed on the streets of New York, Ursula von Rydingsvard's "Ona" is a singularly curious work of art, a massive "glob" of cedar and bronze that, as one views it, quickly veers into a curious stream of whim and imagination.  Polish for "she" or "her (like the Hebrew "ima" for mother and "oma" for grandmother), "Ona" is anything but feminine.  She is essentially shapeless, heavily layered and textured (though some might compare this to the many levels of makeup that some women put on themselves), and by most assessments almost garish in appearance.
     On the other hand, with its enormous, almost hulking presence, and untold permutations of metal and wood, "Ona" reminds us of the utility of looking at life and its expressions in diverse and multiple ways.  For some, "Ona" is comforting, a sort of eternal warmth to which they are drawn; for others, she is inspiring, a monument to possibility; and for still others, a highly evocative moment in an otherwise staid and nondescript day.  Like life, "Ona" has something for everyone.
     "Ona" also underscores to us the importance of looking at people with, as much as possible, open eyes.  In the constricting caldron of our individual desires and ambitions, we often look at people not as they are but as whom we wish for them to be.  We miss things, we overlook things, we stumble over what we should see most.  And we fail to understand who our fellow humans really are.
     Perhaps that's the biggest thing that "Ona" can teach us.  If we really want to grasp the picture of who we are and what we really mean, we must be willing to step into that which we don't always understand.  We have to let go of what we have assumed, give up what we know.
     We remember that because we are made in the image of an infinite and inexhaustibly creative God, we will find marvelously new worlds every time we open our eyes.