Thanks Raelha for reminding me of great art, especially from my favourite painter of all.
Sunday, May 10
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4 comments:
usually I'm pretty open to art of all kinds, but Munch really freaks me out like nightmares on canvas.
That third picture doesn´t look like a nightmare though.
I hadn´t seen that last one before. It´s quite startling, he´s capured that feeling perfectly. And the way the woman is floating past oblivious, or uncaring about what she´s done.
Well, I suppose that's why I like him, or maybe the better word is 'identify'. Kinda fits in with liking Albert Camus, Joy Division, David Lynch... It's the world the way I experience it and feel about it, so I identify strongly when I see others expressing the same ideas and feelings.
I see how it can also be depressing and nightmarish. Such is the world I inhabit, I'm afraid. If I could find any satisfaction or meaning in putting up colorful parrot pictures and write poems about horses grazing in the morning mist and how wonderful children are, I would, but it's not me, not how I'm wired.
It's not to say I don't find pleasure in things. I sometimes think when I do find pleasure it's a richer, deeper, darker pleasure that few others can really understand, that why my love affairs are torrid or heartbreaking. I just live in a very surreal place, a sad and beautiful world.
For every street Munch paints of a sidewalk of people with infinite distances between then, sallow skin and eyes that have seen too much, or people on bridges finally exploding with the angst that hangs in the air, unable to stand the turmoil... there's also a passionate kiss where the people literally merge into one another, or a beautiful but unexpected use of color smudged thickly onto a canvas that perfectly captures the setting sun and all complex we feel as day turns to night.
Life is just very, very deeply felt for me, and nothing I can take lightly, and while I'm not recommending it to anyone, there does seem to be consistent theme to my aesthetic choices, my writing, and all other forms of expression that I take in or let out. Solemn, heavy, but weighty and full of purport.
Guess I'm like Brendan Perry a bit, or Douglas Hofstedter. I can help be serious, but appreciate stark, sublime beauty. And in the end, that's what it is to me: beauty.
But I can also see quite clearly that that is not the way the majority of people in the world see things and they prefer much lighter or cheerful fare, and that's fine; in fact, it's great for them, if it makes them happy. I just have to stay true to myself.
There´s nothing wrong with being true to yourself. I´m glad you don´t write about how wonderful children are, (I deal with them very day at work anyway, I don´t need more reminding) or those other topics you mentionned. You just wouldn´t be you if you did, and that´s why we´re here, becasue of who you are. It can be dark and depressing, but there´s much beauty here too, and it comes from you.
A strange coincidence that you should be writing the words "I just live in a very surreal place, a sad and beautiful world." When I´ve been listening to the line "between the worlds of men and make belive I can be found" and thinking of you.
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