It’s been raining for two days. True to form, we’re all complaining about it. “Pissing rain.” “Crap outside.” “Miserable.” “Shit weather.” “Gross.”
But you know, it was the most luscious Saturday morning I had in a long time, because when I woke up I could actually hear the rain falling, even with all the windows closed up tight, and all I could think was “Gorgeous. Above Zero” Shortly after, when I did go out, I ran part of the way because it just felt so good – my lighter coat and running shoes instead of heavy coat and heavy boots, holding my head up smelling the atmosphere instead of hunkering down against the wind.
Later again in the day, the rain was still coming down so hard every part of me got wet except for the arm holding the umbrella. I had to walk on the far inside of the sidewalk so as to not get doused by the passing cars. But it’s not SNOW! It’s ABOVE ZERO!
When I walked home, my backpack stuffed with oranges, lemons, limes, pears, squash, grapes, onions, chicken, peameal bacon, I felt 20 lbs. heavier in body and 20 lbs. lighter in spirit.
But really – the most beautiful moments were tonight, walking in the blackened streets, shimmering in a million different colours. I watched the raindrops fall upon the streetcar tracks and the paving stones all around them and felt as if my whole world was being cleansed of winter.
Two days’ rain culminating in a shiny, glittering night: the most beautiful thing in my world these past days. Number eighteen.
Later tonight I watched The Kids are Alright. I’m a little slow on the uptake about things “current.” I rarely read or see or watch the things everyone else is currently reading, seeing and watching. There’s no reason for that, really, I just don’t always pay attention to these things. It was a telephone call from my sister that told me about the whole OJ Simpson drama, after the highway scene was all over. The first time I watched the Jerry Seinfeld show was in its last season. When I started to hear buzz about The Kids are Alright I thought there was some re-issue of the wonderful, fan-made documentary about The Who, so named some thirty years ago.
I did, of course, learn about the newish movie and the excellent performances by Annette Bening, Julianne Moore and Mark Ruffalo in what everyone today knows as The Kids are Alright. Their performances are wonderful. What really struck me are the non-softened shots of Bening and Moore. The lighting on them is sunny and realistic and shows what women in their 40s-50s really look like in the light of their kitchens. Okay, what they really look like when they happen to be Annette Bening or Julianne Moore, but you know what I mean.
Real women on film – real women with real woman skin are beautiful thing nineteen.
Number twenty: the biggest ever of the big music.
And for those who may remember another movie called The Kids Are Alright:
I remember once when I was 19 or 20 and being at Holiday Beach playing Frisbee with some friends and getting lost in the perfection of the late spring day. And I remember the ever loving but sometimes irascible and always growly Robbie scoffing me, telling me to get the fuck back down to earth. I was a little annoyed for being yanked out of my reverie. I mean, why deny anyone a little reverie?
Remember the plastic bag scene in the movie American Beauty? That scene astounded me the first time I saw it. It was one of the most memorable movie experiences I ever had – I wanted the story to freeze so I could hold that scene, those words, with me. The film rolled on but I wasn’t ready to let that bit go because in it, Ricky articulates what I’d felt on that day and so many other times:
It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing. And there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it, right? And this bag was just… dancing with me. Like a little kid beggin’ me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. That's the day I realized there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid ever.
Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember… I need to remember. Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it… and my heart is going to cave in. (American Beauty, 1999)
That “entire life behind things” is what I think we call beauty. And if we pay attention, it can be a sublime experience.
I think the term “beauty” got commandeered over the past century, and in this post-modern world it seems to have been watered down to represent something trite or trivial. For that reason I hesitated entering into this challenge, as I did last year because I don’t want to be slotted in as one of those ‘bloggers of pretty things.’ Not that I don’t love and appreciate the ‘bloggers of pretty things’ – I follow a number of them and lots of them are really good at it – they are by no means trivial in my mind. But I don't wan't to be perceived as such. This blog is about writing, and inspiration and the creative process and how all those things are associated with the act of living out a life.
So I’m really interested in what it is that is beneath the surface of something that you or I define as "beautiful" – what is that element which connects us to it? What is that “life behind” the wind and that plastic bag that compelled Ricky so? What is it draws me to that colourful fella on the subway or one painting amidst hundreds of others in a gallery, or that particular hymn in that particular church at that particular funeral?
I’ve never subscribed to what my friend Tricia calls the “grandpa in the sky” god theory. But BEAUTY is a cosmic experience I can grasp on to. Beauty gives me the experience of seeing magic coming through a person or a thing or a place. All kinds of artists will say that their work is not by them but passed through them, and whether I’m looking at a picture of Michelangelo’s Pieta or watching Carlos Santana play, I see that.
Once I met a Canadian Orthodox priestmonk, Father Vladimir, at a monastery in Finland where he lived and worked. An artist, he went there to learn and practice icon painting from a master. As I sat in his studio listening to him talk about his calling and his work, I kept turning around to look at one particular icon of Mary on a shelf amidst dozens of others against a wall. At one point I mentioned to Father Vladimir that I couldn’t stop looking at her.
“That’s because she’s speaking to you” he said matter-of-factly, and went on with whatever he’d been talking about.
And at that point, despite my Presbyterian (icon=big no-no) upbringing and knowing very little about the Eastern Orthodox faith, despite my not believing in any “grandpa in the sky,” I had no doubt at all that these strange little paintings were less the product of that lone painter than they were his collaboration with some divine source.
I believe we’re drawn to what we perceive as beautiful because of the strata within it, or that “life behind” it. And I believe those elements of the thing are different for any person who experiences beauty, based on his or her own life, history, needs and desires. And as we evolve and change, our definitions of beauty and our ability to find it changes.
For some reason I need it a lot. The searching for it and writing about beauty keeps my head above the sometimes murky waters of living a life. Maybe there are some more socially-responsible things I could be focusing my writerly attentions on, but in many ways this is self-preservation – or as Ricky put it – fear conquering. Whatever it is – I think life would be pretty much hell without it.
Beautiful thing number 12 of 101 in finding beauty – revisiting the "plastic bag scene."
Considering beauty, and things number five and six of 101:
Number five: Seeing the world through the eyes of a daughter is beautiful. For me, it is the opportunity to live life again through them, and be reminded of what it was like to be in the world when I was young. Being in the world with my daughters is to be reminded of what it feels like to love completely – and to be loved, unconditionally.
Today is a particularly striking reminder of that, and today I'm particularly thankful for these daughters. Read the last part of this post from last year to find out why.
Number six: This photographer – Miroslav Tichy, who I discovered at one of my favourite blogs, Accidental Mysteries. The haunting photographs were taken with homemade cameras, and finished with homemade frames. The photos were controversial because his subjects were usually unaware they were subjects. The beauty of his images is unarguable.
I suppose I also feel akin to Tichy because the subjects of my little stories are most often unaware of my attention to them, and I, too, have been taken to account for it. What seems clear: this artist loves his subjects as much as I love mine.
The foundation set up on his behalf has set up this website:
Beautiful things considered, first day of self-imposed challenge.
Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
~William Butler Yeats, 1899
What is it you find beautiful? Based on what I know of most of my faithful friends here in blogland, it’s not going to be that pretty pop star whose photo was manipulated to “perfection” for the cover of Rolling Stone. I could look at Bob Dylan’s face and find mountains more beauty than I can in hers. But that’s me. My definition of beauty is formed by where I came from, my ideals, my age, my interests, my education – and my needs. What about you? What defines beauty in your world?
I find old train tracks beautiful. And forgotten corners of cottage yards. And broken down old sheds. And my mother’s hands. The way a little kid darts around his father repeating “Da-a-d…?” as they walk toward the Air Canada Center to the hockey game. Or the stunning gradation of the sky as it was the other night – from breathtaking orange to the deep royal blue housing that delicate sliver of a crescent moon. Or Santana’s rendering of Soul Sacrifice at Woodstock. The soft traces of humming I hear coming from the woman with the beatific smile who sits on the other side of my office cubicle. The bowl on my table filled with sweet potatoes, beets, Bosc pears, an acorn squash and some bulbs of garlic – a haul from the market last week. Giant ropes coiled on the decks of ships.
What is beautiful to you? I challenge you to explore it:
Find 101 examples of beauty, and show, tell, list or write them. Photographs, songs, poems, paintings, crafts – however it is you tell your story.
There is no timeframe, because the number target may seem high to you. (It won’t for long – trust me.) And modify the challenge to suit you. Do it once a week and it could become an ongoing topic for a year. Find a few things a day, the project could last a month. Sit down for a few hours and you could finish a list in one go! Maybe you’re not ready just now. Or maybe you are stumbling across this challenge six months from now. Any time is a good time to start.
Feel free to grab the badge below and put in your sidebar if you like, as a reminder of where to find inspiration in an uninspired or down period. And that, really, is the point. Where the doldrums take over – finding beauty brings inspiration back.
Why 101 things? I just like odd numbers better than even ones. It’s only a number and who knows, maybe the term “101” will just be a symbolic sort of thing, representing “my collection” or “my exploration.” I just know that for me, it’s a topic I need to return to time and time again, and I’m hoping it will turn into something of an extended exploration here.
If you do take part, be sure to let me know (as well as the tag or category you’ll use, if you wish) and I’ll list a link to your blog on this dedicated page.
After all – it’s really beauty that I’m searching for in Realia every day. I’d venture to say it’s what we’re all looking for.