A Red Line and a Purple Swirl
Creation—the only thing keeping me sane. Pencil, charcoal, paint brush in hand, I create an illusion. I like to pretend I’m an artist. And I’m sketching my way to the top: one line, one shadow, one creation at a time. I pretend my future is to create life rather than to understand it; I am but one artist painting on the seemingly never-ending canvass of the universe. My contribution is simple; it is small; and inevitably lost in the greater picture. But it will always be, indisputably, mine and mine alone.
Others look over it, past it, through it—but my eyes are drawn directly to it. I see it as what it is, for what it is—and only I understand it’s true meaning. Some may seek it, but they’ll never truly understand it. It isn’t meant to be understood.
If I made a line in red, you would not see angst, war, or self-struggle. You would see a red line.
If I made a purple swirl, you would not see a renaissance of ideas, love, and knowledge. You would see a purple swirl. Simple and lonely.
If I became an revolutionist and created a new form of art, chances are it wouldn’t be appreciated.
After all, what is art? What is creation?
And maybe, if I took the line of red and the purple swirl and combined them on one canvass, it would depict angst, self-struggle, and war between accepting or rejecting change from a renaissance of ideas, love and knowledge. And now there is a story. Creation pushes the limits of imagination—it isn’t definable, it can’t be understood, because there is no single meaning to any piece. There is the artist’s intention, and viewers interpretation—innumerable in possibilities. That is real creation. That is art.
I’m an artist in my illusion of painting on the canvass of the universe. I captured my life, my struggle, and my new beginnings. My life is a balance of a red line and purple swirl. My contribution is simple, beautiful, and lost. But it will always be, indisputably, mine and mine alone.
Nothing quite says Christmas like ice skating downtown :) Distant hums of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” as Thomas and I share yet another amazing day together…
As for the second photo, his smile is just amazing. It brightens up an otherwise gray day at the park.
Tomorrow is the big day—we’re off to the east coast, my first time during winter and his first time ever. I’m so worried that I’m going to be too cold to want to do touristy things. I love staying under the covers where its warm when it’s cold out. It’s so tempting to just waste the days warm inside the hotel room. But I suppose, I’ll force myself out into the snow. It’s currently 19 degrees in New York. I find that I’ve been reminiscing about my past Christmas experiences—last year: the east Caribbean; the year before: the southern Caribbean; year before that: Mexico. It seems my family has a pattern of avoiding weather under 60 degrees. I’m hoping I’ll survive. It’s time for Thomas and I to skate on some real ice; and I can’t wait to see all the smiles he has in store for me over the next week before he goes home to France.
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.”
John Keats
The most beautiful things in life cannot be captured on film or in photographs; the best things in life are experienced. But this smile never ceases to bring me joy even in my lowest moments.
For those of you who actually read this blog (Thomas), the east coast trip was more than I could have ever dreamed. Thanks to our dual, keen plans we managed to escape New York before a huge snow storm hit, immobilizing all air traffic out of JFK. But we also managed to miss a few of our flights anyway. Also to Thomas, Radio City, Radio City, Radio City!!
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. And Thomas had to go home. But a wise Frenchman once told me—to look at things from a different (more optimistic) perspective. We aren’t apart until we’re together; we’re together until we are apart. And in our hearts, we’re always together. He said it way better than I.
In the end, all I need is this smile to keep me believing that love outlasts all things. In the end, all you need is love.
Thomas, (if you’re reading this) we could be heroes.
Clochette
There are few things in this life that—despite our advances—cannot be replaced. Among these things are people. And no matter what the means, the way, the span of time in which we have to do so, goodbyes never get easier and adjusting to life without them never becomes a simpler process. So what do you do when your life suddenly changes and an irreplaceable person is suddenly gone?
Do you let it go? Try to move on? Do you fly 6000 miles across the world?
Considering all the possibilities—except letting someone irreplaceable slip away.
French Lessons
When you get to know someone, there is always an exchange—you learn from each other, whether you realize it or not. And there is truth in the belief that you learn a lot about yourself when getting to know others; a simple branch of the principle that “you are the company that you keep.”
I am in no way claiming to be a new expert of French customs, language, or knowledge; but I have definitely learned a lot from living with Thomas, my own personal Frenchman. But the things I’ve learned have not really been of an academic nature, but more so it has been things that have helped to pave my journey of self-discovery. Not only this, but I feel like I’m not alone on this journey. Not only is he teaching me, but he is also learning from me and is traveling beside me, as we go down this road together.
Yes, there also have been many failed actual “French” lessons—where Thomas had to endure my terrible French accent and epic failings at pronouncing “R’s.” But most of all, I’m excited to continue to learn about this person who I’ve been sharing my life with the last few months and the person he is making me.
I’ve learned the hard way that it’s hard to truly know a person; and now, knowing what I know, I can look at our set of circumstances more prudently, following the wise example of Socrates, who believed true widsom was kept by those who did not believe that they could know all the answers to life’s questions—or in this case, to a person. The beauty of humanity, of the soul, is it is forever adapting, changing, molding into new, unique, and beautiful masterpieces of life. And as people, we are forever growing into ourselves and learning about others.
I do not claim to know Thomas completely. I know what I have seen, experienced, and loved over these last few months—but my best lesson is just the incredible experience of getting to know him more and more every day. And by doing so, I am learning more and more about myself each day. To live, to learn, to laugh, and most of all to love.
