(no subject)
A good piece of art lets you slip into a piece of someone else's life for a moment. A great piece of art leaves you to walk in a new world.
I had never seen "A Little Night Music." Listened yes, studied some of it, though never found it called me. I house managed it three times this weekend, and was enchanted each time. It is a delightful comedy that truly smiles through all the biting humor, or as one put it "its knives in whip cream." I can always tell where Sondheim lets out some of his bite and where a collaborator has rightfully held him back.
Each time I watched it I felt so deeply wrapped in it, elevated by the charm. It was depressing leaving the theater each night. Leaving a beautiful string of moments to walk into northwest Ohio. It is a sick purgatory. Not quite hell, certainly not well off.
Of course each time I left I was left asking myself about this life that I've made around myself.
I was meditating on it as I was walking home. It all feels safe. I've lived a life as if I could make it safe. One where I constantly think back to things that can't be changed because on some level I know they can't be changed, and only changing things about myself instead of who I am with others, because again I can deal with changes with myself. But people are drawn to a pattern of a body, and what happens if that pattern should shatter in pieces? What ceases or matters if the chatter and clatter draws to a dim when we go out on a limb? Its so hard to feel safe.
There is a Charlie Brown strip where he is going at length about what safety is, comparing it to sleeping in the back seat of a car. You don't worry in a back seat, you sleep knowing that the people in the front seat are the ones doing the worrying. You don't need to worry, and that is safety.
Hardly my life, but I live it as if I can just sit in the back seat again. Not that I need to worry, but I have to drive. Its called being alive.
Its silly. I spent so much of my life conquering my fear of death, and that was hardly the thing to worry about.
And this is what I mean by great art, a weekend (in the country) and I'm left walking in a new world.
I stood in my bathroom this morning and I remarked about how beautiful my eyebrows are, that I should pluck them to emphasize how sharp they look. I looked at my face and remarked how beautiful I am, that I should cultivate myself. It didn't feel shallow. It wasn't vanity. It was a moment of sanity.
I had never seen "A Little Night Music." Listened yes, studied some of it, though never found it called me. I house managed it three times this weekend, and was enchanted each time. It is a delightful comedy that truly smiles through all the biting humor, or as one put it "its knives in whip cream." I can always tell where Sondheim lets out some of his bite and where a collaborator has rightfully held him back.
Each time I watched it I felt so deeply wrapped in it, elevated by the charm. It was depressing leaving the theater each night. Leaving a beautiful string of moments to walk into northwest Ohio. It is a sick purgatory. Not quite hell, certainly not well off.
Of course each time I left I was left asking myself about this life that I've made around myself.
I was meditating on it as I was walking home. It all feels safe. I've lived a life as if I could make it safe. One where I constantly think back to things that can't be changed because on some level I know they can't be changed, and only changing things about myself instead of who I am with others, because again I can deal with changes with myself. But people are drawn to a pattern of a body, and what happens if that pattern should shatter in pieces? What ceases or matters if the chatter and clatter draws to a dim when we go out on a limb? Its so hard to feel safe.
There is a Charlie Brown strip where he is going at length about what safety is, comparing it to sleeping in the back seat of a car. You don't worry in a back seat, you sleep knowing that the people in the front seat are the ones doing the worrying. You don't need to worry, and that is safety.
Hardly my life, but I live it as if I can just sit in the back seat again. Not that I need to worry, but I have to drive. Its called being alive.
Its silly. I spent so much of my life conquering my fear of death, and that was hardly the thing to worry about.
And this is what I mean by great art, a weekend (in the country) and I'm left walking in a new world.
I stood in my bathroom this morning and I remarked about how beautiful my eyebrows are, that I should pluck them to emphasize how sharp they look. I looked at my face and remarked how beautiful I am, that I should cultivate myself. It didn't feel shallow. It wasn't vanity. It was a moment of sanity.