The movie, Youth was an interesting- very quirky, but I normally like the offbeat ones. It was a Cannes Film Festival entry, but that doesn’t impress me.
This movie made me uncomfortable because I am leaving youth behind. I’m decidedly middle-aged. And I’ve come to terms with that realization. If I had not noticed before, having an almost eighteen year old beauty for a daughter has taught me that the torch has been passed and outer beauty is fleeting. That’s what my rational brain says, anyway.
But, the reality in this movie was shown over and over as the filmmaker showed a variety of naked bodies- young and nubile, old and flaccid. That was somewhat depressing, as was the message that all of our efforts to make a mark in the world are futile. With the exception of world wide figures, we slowly fade from the memories of those who knew us best. As Michael Caine’s character laments- he no longer remembers his parents. And he realizes that his almost middle-aged daughter will eventually lose the memories he tried to imprint on her of their times together. I know this is true, It’s happened to me. I notice that memories of childhood, once so very vivid are beginning to fade, like an old color photo. I left the theater somewhat depressed, but did take something from the film. The detachment I am learning at work is smart- no job is that important. It’s work, it doesn’t define our true essence.
Water colors has always been my favorite art form. I love the balance between control and abandon that a good water colorist exhibits. I’ve dabbled a bit here and there, but mostly what I love is the color wash. When I see a January sky- bare, black branches against a china, blue sky, I want to find the exact combination of shades. I love pearly, gray skies, and the tiny puffs of clouds stained violet and deep purple while the sun sets on the river. Winter days are the perfect time to paint, so I am giving it a try.
I often overhear a good snippet of conversation- a phrase or an expression that I must jot down. I have Ever Note on my phone for that purpose. At home I still keep a paper journal for longer musings or ideas. I live in a household of creative souls. My daughter paints, my husband composes music. When I see them disappear into their respective lairs, I do not disturb. My writing takes place all over the place- my room, a quite corner of the family room, sometimes even at the kitchen table. Therefore, I don’t always receive the same respect for my creative time which is whenever I can fit it in between the full time job, the housework, and some quality time with my family.
“What are you writing about? Is it about me? Will you be finished soon? I need…”*
*(directed at me when I sit down to write)
There has been progress since I asked for quiet time, but more often than not, I am interrupted. Perhaps that is why so many writers go sit at a coffee shop to write.
Just some random musings on this cold day in January.