dear you,
it’s nearly the summer solstice, the sun feels warmer on my back and the evenings are light again. there is a warmth in my heart and a restlessness in my bones.
the year so far has been heavy, and hope has been difficult to cultivate. things have felt uncertain, i have felt the painful imprint of pieces of my contacts list existing as a graveyard of people i have known, and i have felt distant from reality. i’ve been trying to nurse a heart so inclined to break, trying to take the love i’ve poured into others who have not held it gently and give it to myself.
lately, i am reminding myself that it’s okay to change, to fail, to make mistakes or be imperfect. it’s okay to feel grief, to not know what i’m doing, and to feel scared. i read recently that the world tends to open itself up when you’re acting from your centre, unbothered by your representation to others, and bothered by how you show up in the world and carry yourself. i’m trying to embody this in my practice of not postponing joy and love. i’m trying to allow myself to feel it if i feel good, and remind myself i am deserving of it, and do not need to stay loyal to suffering. i am asking myself how to return to love even in grief, rage and sadness. how to remember the way i want to be in this world. how to stay connected to the expanse of my own heart, and my capacity to level with the hurt of others without rejecting it. how to willingly witness the full spectrum of humanity, and how to invite community and connection. i will touch rage and insecurity and judgement when remembering love, projecting and reacting and defending before remembering love. i will forget and fear, but i will still practice imperfectly because this is the only option. to plant hope and joy and love where pain dwells. to unlearn individualism, to access true connection, and to see others with love, even when my heart wants to close in on itself.
every day the world gets smaller and hopeless. yet every day, a small thing like a petal falling saves me. i’m learning that there is no one right way to live and i can succeed in whatever i do even if it looks different to what i imagined.
i feel lucky to be here.
i went to a monet exhibition this month and saw monet’s water lily pond. i’ve been wanting to see it for so long, it’s slowly become one of my favourite paintings in recent years. i love the impressionistic details of the water lilies, the light on the bridge, and the greens of the grass. i love how the gorgeous giverny countryside inspired his water lilies series even when both his eyes were severely affected by cataracts, and the delicate and dreamy quality his work achieves. i love how it reminds you that the earth and nature are incredibly giving and bountiful. i feel that although it looks so idyllic, it reminds me of scenes i’ve stumbled across myself. the weeping willows, the bridge, the water. the way the greens of the grass and trees and the lavender-tinged reflections of the clouds and irises gently swallow the sky and water. it reminds me of the casual magic of life.
i just finished reading han kang’s ‘greek lessons’, a beautiful meditation on language, violence, loss and intimacy. the book is a love letter to human intimacy and connection, and han kang communicates aspects of the human experience and its depths i have never been able to put into words. reading, thinking with, and seeing the world through the book is such a sublime experience, especially as it progresses and the voices intersect with startling beauty, moving from darkness to light, from silence to expression, before merging in a profound sense of unity. it prompted an abundance of reflection on the structures and limitations of language, of alienation, of moving on from the past. how coming to terms with suffering rests on the possibility of connection and reconciliation.
i watched ‘la chimera’ recently. i went to see it in a small, arthouse cinema and the room was packed so it felt strangely intimate. i don’t think i can quite put what the film made me feel into words. it felt like an enchanting dream, full of light and significance, coloured with the past, memory and love. the use of 35mm, super 16mm and 16mm film lent it the ability to convey the landscape as another protagonist of the film, exuding the feeling of contemplation, and telling the history of cinema as a material item. i love the idea of the invisible red string of fate so i loved how the film weaved this through, connecting it to the ancient legend of orpheus and eurydice, and italy’s rich history. i love how objects and places had different meanings to everyone, and music could beautifully spell out tragedy.
in the film, there is a fine line between realism and fairy tale, shown through the tone, costumes and settings. the red string is reminiscent of the string ariadne gives thesius to find his way through the maze. it’s beautiful how at first it only appears in arthur’s dreams, but then it crosses the boundary between dream and reality, and he can tug at it by the end. his white suit at multiple points symbolises his liminal position as a ghost or corpse, situated between the past and present, the living and dead, and the seen and unseen. his eye is also blocked by shadows throughout until he sees the light at the end, where he arguably meets the same fate as the statue, becoming unknown to human eyes, and returning to the wild, far away from civilisation and in the world benyamina occupies.
there’s a soft melancholy to the film that lingers long after the beautiful final scene and credits. it arises from its portrayal of a tragic sense of lost beauty and the ideologies born from a materialistic, patriarchal society. when talking about the creative process behind the film, alice rohrwacher, the director, speaks of her fascination with archaeology, and how making a film is similar to archaeology in that both manage to see a story in places where others only see a collection of things. both recompose the story, piecing it together from the little bits they find that bloom.
these days i read in the little moments of my day and lose track of time. i let the song play until the end instead of skipping it halfway through. i watch the magpies and their fluttering wings. i finish my cup of coffee. i get lost in kind eyes, laughter, and soft hands. i watch the little green flies land on my book and weave their way between the words on the page. i blush at the waiter who calls me darling. i trace the patterns on stained glass windows. i spend time alone with the trees and the late spring breeze. i take my time sifting through one end of the bookshop to the other and smile at the dedications on the first page. i watch the faint orange and pink sunsets and sit with the cats. i see the pink opium poppies that have comforted me every june. i listen to jazz in the evenings. i walk through alleyways and wonder about the people who pass through them every day like me. i notice new things within the mundanity. the shrub of flame azalea, the patches of light between leaves and on the ground, the golden light illuminating the swan, the stairs littered with pink petals, the smell of summer rain, the people cycling by, and the drooping laburnum watereri.
i let my love of living move me when i feel i cannot.
i hope you find peace this summer. i hope the love you put out comes back tenfold. i hope you spend time with people who take care of your heart, and i hope you can see the magic of living even when it feels like you simply cannot.
that's my favourite painting too!
Oh I loved that movie so much!