Yesterday Michael told me he was thinking about things. Specifically thinking about how he could not tell anyone who my favorite artist was or who my favorite band was. This disturbed him as it made him feel like he doesn't really know me, or wouldn't be able to prove to others that he did. He quizzed me on his favorites and I was able to rattle them off quite easily. This did not make me feel like I knew him better or loved him more. It was just information stored.
I look at art and any sort of artistic mediums (movies, books, art, music) as a very personal but evolving love affair. The artist I loved 10 years ago may not steal my heart today. The same goes for music. When I was a kid I loved Metallica....now you couldn't pay me to listen to them. The experiences in my life shape the sorts of visual and auditory media that I enjoy. There are a few that stick through all time and maybe those are my "favorites".
Michael thought maybe I was just more complex than him and that it why it wasn't apparent what my favorites were. I explained that I do a lot less sharing than he does. He speaks of his love affairs in all these various media and I rarely bring them up in conversation. I never feel like I need to. I don't feel like they would change the way he loves me or influence the day. He and I are so very different and that is what makes us a great match. He consumes things. He devours them completely and unabashedly where I choose what I look at and listen to based on moods. Knowing who directed something or who played guitar on such and such a track does not sway my feelings about the piece. I enjoy things at face value. I enjoy them because they make me feel something even if I am unable to put into words what those feelings are.
There are have been pieces of art that have made me cry when I have seen them in the museum. Not many have done this really. There is one piece I saw when I went to Chicago Art Institute that blew me away. It was tucked in the corner, but when you approached it the light changed. When you walked backwards away from it, it changed again. It struck me as odd that I loved it so much because it was not from the time period of painters that I usually enjoy, but the painting brings me so much joy. I have a copy of it (postcard size) by my desk. It always enlightens my spirit. I may have posted it here in the past. It is hard to say.
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"Song of the Lark" by Jules Breton
This representation does not do the painting justice. You have to see it to really appreciate the texture and light quality of this painting. If you are in Chicago you should stop by and enjoy it.
well digested althea ma chere, i came by to visit because i needed some muse, and there, walking along the path was i, barefoot at dusk, the village just far enough to sing with the lark without being heard by the folks. thank you for the inspiration, you never fail. and you do have the eye and ear of the artist.
ReplyDeleteat dawn, silly, it is late on my internal clock, i write nights and shiver by day..translate the rest in between..
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