Washington, D.C. The Capitol Building. Our tour guide passed out headphones and we heard his crackly voice rattling our eardrums. We walked into the Rotunda, this seat of U.S. history with statues lining the circular walls: iconic leaders and brave individuals with novel ideas.

“Look up,” the guide said. We tipped our heads back and our eyes traveled up and up and up, to the very top of the dome. There is a painting of an eagle, arrows clutched in its talons, a woman with a crown of stars brandishing a sword, men shrinking away in terror, a rainbow, a bare chested man with wiry hair etc… in the center, a ring of women waving a banner. E pluribus unum. Out of many, one.

The painting took decades to complete. One man died in the middle of his work and another man finished it. Maybe the first artist stumbled on his 180 foot ladder and fell to his death. I don’t want to learn the facts about the artist, because I’m afraid they would disappoint. Did his neck ever fully straighten? Did he suffer from acrophobia but saw only the picture? Was he dizzy and nauseous even in his dreams? Did he wear paint splattered clothes to dinner parties?

He painted eight winged women holding a banner. They represented temperance, courage, justice, wisdom, magnanimity, faith, hope, and charity. Out of many, one.

Look up. We know much more about the Artist who painted the bridge between the terrestrial and the celestial than we do about Constantino Brumidi. We know He died in the middle of His painting, but we also know that now He’s alive and daubing colors everywhere. We know He doesn’t like black and white very much and that He’s writing Latin on souls and skyscapes.

He hopes somebody will look up and see His handwriting among the stars. E pluribus unum.

Out of many, One.