Creating beauty

[An update: My grandmother is sleeping a lot and eats just a bit of applesauce; my mom flies out on Monday to be with her. Hope I didn't cause confusion by using the word "remember" there at the end.]

My Aunt Bonnie's comment in my previous post about her mom - my grandmother - always trying to make things beautiful stayed with me as I went to sleep last night. My grandmother has - or had, since they recently moved from the home where they spent most of their lives - a beautiful garden in their back yard, that I remember being full of apple trees and grape vines and roses upon roses. And an old sundial that I would often stare at, trying to figure out just how it knew what time of day it was.

Creating beauty is hard to me; I often feel like the world is in a constant war against beauty. I think this is because in order to create beauty, we have to become vulnerable, and the world - for the most part - cannot tolerate vulnerability. I'm reminded of the parents of the girl with Down syndrome who are having her undergo plastic surgery to make her more "beautiful," or less vulnerable.

I try to create beauty with these little talents that I have. I love art that both shatters and heals. Films like Lost in Translation, Magnolia and A Little Princess do this well. Bad art, which I would argue is what Crispin Glover makes, only serves to shatter; while he hopes that tearing away some of the false selves that we live with is enough, he only leaves us broken, alone and despondent. Good art heals us; I think The Office is an excellent example of this; laughter is an awesome elixir. It sure "heals" me.

And then there's great art, the kind that makes you weep and laugh in the same breath. The final embrace in Lost in Translation is, to me, great art. More recently, any single frame from the film The Diving Bell and the Diving Bell inspires wonder, hope and longing simultaneously.

One of my favorite paintings is New York Movie by Eward Hopper. (Click on the link - go on, live a little. :) ) The vibrant colors and the joy of going to the movies fill me with life, but the loneliness of the woman reminds me of my own aloneness. Sorrow and hope, the shattered and the healed, all in one frame.

I hope you create some beauty today. And remember my grandmother if you do.

Stairs bookcase

If I had a house and an extra wad of cash, I would totally copy this person's design for a bookshelf.

See more of the pictures here.

Beauty saves the world

If Dostoevsky was right when he said that “Beauty will save the world,” then these Mexican artists with Down syndrome are indeed Beauty's sweetest voice.





Mujer by Lorena Vélez
Artist (with Down syndrome)