I have been fortunate enough to see a lot of mosaics in Cyprus. Grandiose stretches of tile spreading across the ground, open to the air or tucked inside structures. Mosaics depicting deities like Zeus and Aphrodite, or mythic legends like Achilles. Even gladiators fighting each other on the floor. I stop at each one and think about how lucky I am to get to see them live and in person. Someone fit those tiles together to make a place for people to walk, yes, but also because it was art, and that is always something people have done. It will never stop amazing me, that people have always liked things to be pretty. I think it is the most human things ever, to want to walk in beauty. To take that beauty in.  

My favorite mosaic is the Four Seasons mosaic at Nea Paphos. 

It captured my attention instantly. Patched together like a quilt, it is nine squares of tile. Each corner has the face of a season, personified. In between are symbols of the seasons, and in the middle another face, maybe Dionysus. It was his face that captivated me. It’s not terrible realistic, but it’s captivating all the same. The winter face is haggard and cold, with a scraggly beard and tired eyes. The autumn one is warmer, sepia toned and proud, boasting from a plentiful harvest. Spring is donning a floral crown, and Summer is mostly faded away, but you can still see her smile.  

I think I liked this one the most because I can picture myself as a child, walking on it like it’s in my own house, entranced by the faces looking up at me. I remember learning about the seasons in preschool. It’s one of the earliest ways we learn to understand the passage of time, because we live in it so solidly. We change our clothes depending, and our routines change with the seasons, too. It’s more abstract that months or days of the week, but it’s dependable. Mostly. 

I found myself wondering if there will be people who come to see that mosaic who won’t remember what it’s like to see the seasons change. With climate change rapidly forcing humans to evolve and adapt to harsher conditions, how do we know that this mosaic, one that has thus far stood the tests of time, remain relatable?  

We watch the baby animals emerge in the spring, watch the birds fly south for winter, wait for the harvest in the fall, live in the sun in summer. It’s all right there, cemented in tile from a thousand years ago.  

But what if one day, we need to write a longer description of the mosaic on the plaque that overlooks it? 

It’s strange to think that the most understandable piece in the entire sea of mosaics might one day be misunderstood.  

I had to take a break from the whataboutism and just appreciate that I wasn’t just looking at the past when I saw that mosaic, but the present, too. I’ll leave the future for the future. In the meantime… pretty tiles. 

-Abby