Beauty is an odd thing
I went with some folks to see "A Single Man" and it's beautiful. Tom Ford made it, so it's bound to be beautiful, but the way this man shoots people and things is so pretty; color temperature changing, vistas and closeups; never before have i focused so wonderfully on the edge of a woman's jaw, or the way light falls on a face. Gorgeous.
And the movie is a bit about beauty - in the traditional way of gay literature of the time period (60s-70s) - much of what i've read (Monette, Holleran, Mann, Isherwood, et al) speaks about the elusivity of beauty, and how beauty is equal to truth in so many contexts. Obviously, often this philosophical beauty is encased in slim boyish bodies that hold no sway over me.
And that's the danger. The works that deal with Beauty are, well, beautiful and relevant, and one has to fight through the particular limitations of casting and personal preference.
I have experienced Beauty - it does exist in the spiritual form. Beauty is akin to feeling joy - beauty often causes joy - it brings joy to life. Be it a sunset, or a particular tone of blue admist the grays of your closet. Be it the one woman waiting for the bus in a unique way, or most achingly, in the smile of the person who is the epicenter of the love earthquake shaking you.
I think everyone has, and should experience that beauty. That moment when you are looking at them, and, like some wierd zoom effect, their face fills your range of vision. A vista of eyes, and beard, and cheeks, and eyebrows. Of soft hairs along their neck, little bumps on their skin, endless hazel, and smiles. It's heartbreaking in a good way, in the way that it bypasses your defenses, leaves them in shambles, breaks your heart to tell you the truth: you love the world, you love what it is doing to you, how it's changing you to fit the moment: You feel like you have seen the truth of the world - that somehow by revealing itself to you, peeking at you behind his graceful entrance, it has made you feel special.
Thats the beauty of Beauty. It makes you feel special - like the world has extended you a gift - of seeing, experiencing and touching something just for you. You are not just a viewer, a person in a crowd, you are the person, the receiver of something special - and thus you are special.
Beauty is also easy to tell by it's lack - the loss of Beauty is a special kind of heartbreak. It's the loss of that feeling of special - of feeling like you are just like anyone else - that you have been replaced by another viewer - that the special perfect view, that seemed designed exactly for you, is now someone else's view. The loss ends you - like Prof. Falconer says "These last months, waking up has actually hurt." Walking around without the thing that made you special...well, its a zombie life, devoid of all beauty and joy.
Except that there are memories - bitter in their promises of sweet. Zombies don't feel anything, so they have it better that the beauty-starved fool, who feels nothing now only because he has nothing but memories of feelings.
But, hey, try living without Beauty, and you might as well try not living.
And the movie is a bit about beauty - in the traditional way of gay literature of the time period (60s-70s) - much of what i've read (Monette, Holleran, Mann, Isherwood, et al) speaks about the elusivity of beauty, and how beauty is equal to truth in so many contexts. Obviously, often this philosophical beauty is encased in slim boyish bodies that hold no sway over me.
And that's the danger. The works that deal with Beauty are, well, beautiful and relevant, and one has to fight through the particular limitations of casting and personal preference.
I have experienced Beauty - it does exist in the spiritual form. Beauty is akin to feeling joy - beauty often causes joy - it brings joy to life. Be it a sunset, or a particular tone of blue admist the grays of your closet. Be it the one woman waiting for the bus in a unique way, or most achingly, in the smile of the person who is the epicenter of the love earthquake shaking you.
I think everyone has, and should experience that beauty. That moment when you are looking at them, and, like some wierd zoom effect, their face fills your range of vision. A vista of eyes, and beard, and cheeks, and eyebrows. Of soft hairs along their neck, little bumps on their skin, endless hazel, and smiles. It's heartbreaking in a good way, in the way that it bypasses your defenses, leaves them in shambles, breaks your heart to tell you the truth: you love the world, you love what it is doing to you, how it's changing you to fit the moment: You feel like you have seen the truth of the world - that somehow by revealing itself to you, peeking at you behind his graceful entrance, it has made you feel special.
Thats the beauty of Beauty. It makes you feel special - like the world has extended you a gift - of seeing, experiencing and touching something just for you. You are not just a viewer, a person in a crowd, you are the person, the receiver of something special - and thus you are special.
Beauty is also easy to tell by it's lack - the loss of Beauty is a special kind of heartbreak. It's the loss of that feeling of special - of feeling like you are just like anyone else - that you have been replaced by another viewer - that the special perfect view, that seemed designed exactly for you, is now someone else's view. The loss ends you - like Prof. Falconer says "These last months, waking up has actually hurt." Walking around without the thing that made you special...well, its a zombie life, devoid of all beauty and joy.
Except that there are memories - bitter in their promises of sweet. Zombies don't feel anything, so they have it better that the beauty-starved fool, who feels nothing now only because he has nothing but memories of feelings.
But, hey, try living without Beauty, and you might as well try not living.