The 13th Station

The Stations of the Cross traditionally guide the faithful through a journey of reflection and preparation. This ritual, practiced by many in the Christian faith, moves them step by step around the nave of a church or cathedral toward the altar, where they anticipate an encounter with the divine. At each of the 12 stations depicting Christ’s passion story, they contemplate suffering, moving from image to image, each deepening the sense of meaning and purpose. This progression is about preparing oneself for something larger—a confrontation with everything that life and faith demand of us.

In this exhibit, the metaphor of the stations is not intended to reflect their specific religious meaning, but to highlight a larger, universal concept: the human mind's unrelenting instinct to fashion meaning. Whether you know the Stations of the Cross or not, this ritual provides a relatable framework, an example of how we position ourselves to face the unknown, to confront life's greatest challenges.

But what happens when we finish the ritual unsatisfied? What if we reach the end and the answer, the resolution we expected, does not appear? The 13th Station is not a literal or additional station—it is not a final step on the path. It is instead a reference to how the mind, desperate for closure, begins to create its own meaning. It is the biological function of the brain to impose order, to connect fragments, and to make sense of what it cannot fully grasp.

The 13th Station, then, represents our natural drive to make meaning where there is none given. This is not about filling in a gap or resolving the narrative neatly. It is about acknowledging that this need to create meaning is inherent in who we are. It is automatic, biological, and often unconscious. The 13th Station is the mind's response to the void—the discomfort we feel when we are left without answers.

In this context, the 13th Station is an invitation. It is the point where the mind insists on finding meaning, even when it is confronted with the unknowable. And in that insistence, we see the tension between wanting to understand and facing the reality that some things cannot be fully explained.

This matters because it touches on something deeply human: our discomfort with uncertainty. Just as a religious person might approach the altar expecting to feel a connection with God but instead may often feel nothing, we, too, are confronted with this emptiness in life, in art, and when we experience trauma. The 13th Station acknowledges that this emptiness is not a failure—it is an essential part of the human experience. It is the moment where we are most vulnerable, and in that vulnerability, we are reminded of the limits of our own understanding.

This exhibit mirrors the journey of the stations. As you explore it, viewing the images of destruction and absence, reading the words that accompany them, you might begin to feel that pull—the desire to connect it all, to find a meaning that makes sense of the fragments. But the exhibit does not offer you that conclusion. Instead, it asks you to sit with that feeling, to confront the void and allow yourself to remain vulnerable in the face of uncertainty.

In this way, you are invited not just to observe but to participate. The 13th Station becomes an experience that you carry with you. You are not just looking at images or reading words. You are actively engaging with the very human need to find meaning, to make sense of what is presented before you. And in doing so, you are reminded that this process—this act of searching—is where the meaning truly lies.

But The 13th Station also represents something deeper—the projection of the self that we bring into every experience. It is not only the anxiety of uncertainty that propels us into creating meaning, but also the way our ego distorts our perception of the world. When we are too focused on the 13th station—the overarching narrative we bring with us—we miss the first twelve. We miss the reality right in front of us: the suffering, the images, the presence of others.

This tendency is automatic. It is how we, as humans, navigate our experiences—by inserting our stories and seeking answers that align with our own desires. But in doing so, we miss the opportunity to authentically engage with the world, to experience life as it is rather than as we wish it to be. Stations invites you to recognize this reflex and step back. It challenges you to observe how the mind projects meaning onto the fragments and to release the reflex as just that: a projection.

By acknowledging this pattern, we can try again. We can allow the anxiety of uncertainty and lack of meaning to propel us forward, but this time with awareness. We can remain present, observe the reflex, and let it pass. Only then can we re-engage with the world authentically and ethically. We can connect with life, other people, and the phenomena around us without the distorting lens of the ego.

This is the heart of the Stations: a space where you confront the projections, release them, and re-enter the world, open to its rawness and reality. It is not just about sitting with discomfort; it is about finding meaning in the process of releasing, re-engaging, and recognizing that life itself, without the narrative, holds the deepest connection and meaning.