"Actually we are fooling ourselves, for deep down in every man, woman, and child, is the fundamental idea of God. It may be obscured by calamity, by pomp, by worship of other things, but in some form or other it is there. We finally saw that faith in some kind of God was a part of our make-up."
Some kind of . . . Some form or other . . . Those are some equivocating words. Lotta wriggle room there for those of us who are resistant to the "god thing."
On one of my meandering thrift shop experiences I found a book called Great Painters and Great Paintings. Three sections with the first slice focusing on the artists who started a movement called post-impressionism. I was familiar with all of the names but only superficially aware of their styles and impact. I've read a page a day and then will randomly call up some of the works of each artist, lingering on the painting without trying to "understand" it or "interpret" it. I try to enjoy it. I see what effect it has on me. If I don't care for it I shrug and move on. If it does talk to me I'll linger for a while, maybe zoom in so I can see the brush strokes or the way the colors interact or wonder how someone could create using a pallet knife instead of a brush. The few pages of background on the painter I'm admiring is enough to explain their impact on art, how they studied and what they studied and why they paint like they do. I read, absorb a little, then look at a painting. These were clearly men touched by something larger than life. They were almost uniformly disparaged or ignored during their lifetimes, the brilliance of what they did not apparent until long after they were dead and gone. They were often deeply flawed and isolated individuals, simultaneously certain and unsure about their efforts but not overly concerned about what the public thought of their work, continuing to forge onward despite any negative reviews. When we go to an art museum now we restrict our visit to an hour and a half, no longer. We barely touch on all the art displayed but this slowness makes sure we let what we are seeing soak in a little bit. I forget most of what I've seen not long after the visit but the otherworldliness of the art sticks with me. Often the act of looking doesn't provoke an impact until later on after my conscious and my subconscious has a minute to reflect and ruminate and digest. The beauty touches me in a way that I am unable to explain logically. It's bigger and badder than what I can see with my eyes or read in a book. It's God-like to my way of thinking.
There was a share from a brand new guy who went to a classical music concert and remarked on the transition that occurs when the orchestra finishes tuning their instruments - a disjointed, chaotic sound where the instruments aren't in harmony, fighting among themselves to be heard - and began to quiet down and get ready to create as a whole. I liked the analogy of how this can apply to my thinking: all these thoughts bouncing around in my head that'll eventually come together and make sense if I'm patient enough, waiting and seeing, instead of trying to force the issue. Because I'm big on forcing stuff. I'm cocksure that I've got it all figured out.
You know . . . sometimes I'm in harmony and sometimes I'm tuning up.
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