In 1545, Jacopo da Pontormo scored a major commission from Duke Cosimo I de’ Medici to paint the main chapel of Florence’s church of San Lorenzo. A contemporary of masters like Michelangelo, Pontormo was a distinguished but aging artist who was eager to secure his legacy.
Pontormo knew he needed to make these frescoes the crowning achievement of his career, so he sealed off the entire chapel. He built walls, erected partitions, and hung blinds so that nobody could steal his ideas or sneak an early peek. Trusting no one, he chased away local youth and kept human contact to a minimum. He spent eleven years holed up, painting Christ on Judgement Day, Noah’s ark, and Creation itself.
Pontormo died before his work on the chapel was done, and none of it survives, but the legendary Renaissance writer Vasari visited the site soon after the painter’s death. He reported a confused composition and unsettling lack of alignment, scenes that ran into each other every which way. Robert Greene writes, “These frescoes were visual equivalents of the effects of isolation on the human mind: a loss of proportion, an obsession with detail combined with an inability to see the larger picture.”
Leadership can be similarly isolating. Pontoromo let the consequences of self-imposed solitude undermine his legacy, and if leaders today aren’t mindful, they can seclude themselves in ways that are just as destructive.
No one in a leader’s orbit is neutral. Board members are shareholders first and mentors second. Direct reports have their own teams to worry about. Employees depend on leaders for their jobs, investors demand they hit milestones, and customers need them to solve problems. Even friends and family struggle to understand the burden of a job they’ve never had.
It’s all too easy for leaders to erect metaphorical walls as impenetrable as Pontormo’s chapel and, once built, those walls inevitably begin to close in. Entrepreneurs and executives know the feeling: Lying awake at night with worries barreling through their heads. Splitting attention to cycle through work issues while talking to friends. Burning the candle on both ends even though they know exhaustion is a handicap, then reacting to difficult situations with anger when their team needs someone level-headed. Constantly pushing themselves to improve and to be more dedicated. It’s a tightness in the chest, made worse by the fact that they don’t want to admit — even to themselves — that they are part of the problem. They tell themselves it’s normal. This is the job. Just power through.
Pontormo’s ultimate undoing wasn’t the chapel he walled off, but the destructive ruminations he couldn’t escape. His isolation skewed his perception of the big picture. In his case, that picture was a literal painting. For leaders today, it’s self-awareness and clarity — skills they need to master to remain a source of inspiration, guidance, and vision for their teams. Understanding the consequences of isolation is the first step to overcoming them.
There is no one-size-fits-all solution. But once we acknowledge that we are the stories we tell ourselves, we realize that we can rewrite the script. When despondency threatens, leading venture capitalist Brad Feld follows a shared set of ground rules with his spouse, including cutting out screen time on weekends and spending one week a quarter off-grid together. Matt Blumberg, CEO at Return Path, invested years into building a company culture that encourages his employees to communicate openly and honestly with each other. After enduring the crushing defeat of a failed startup, David Mandell reeled himself back from depression by agreeing to advise an aspiring entrepreneur who needed his help. Minnie Ingersoll, co-founder of Shift and current COO of Code for America, realized she needed to be more open about the psychological hurdles she was facing and stop worrying about what other people thought.
Each of us paints our own chapel. Imagine what Pontormo could have accomplished, who he might have become, and the millions he might have inspired, if he had thrown open the doors. He could have cultivated human connections instead of pruning them. He could have asked for help. He could have practiced the most effective form of self-care: caring for others. Perhaps Pontormo’s most lasting legacy is the story of his fall from grace. Leaders must heed its warning: Don’t paint yourself into a corner. The walls we build around ourselves are prisons, not fortifications. Vulnerability is a source of strength. We earn others’ trust by extending our trust to them.
from HBR.org https://ift.tt/2CLHGXU
