It’ll be just like starting over.

Monday, March 1st 10 at 3:03 pm 1 comment

I’m going to attempt to come off as articulate right now.

I’ve always had a very visceral emotional connection to art. It’s just the way that it has always been for me. The first time I saw The Kiss it made my heart completely swell and it still does even though I’ve been admiring it for nine years. Every time I see Guernica it fills me with awe and fear and sadness. Even though I’ve stared at it so much I nearly need not pull an image of it up other than in my mind. I remember standing before the paintings of Claude Monet in Las Vegas, the pure weight of the reality of his brush strokes caused me to hold onto every fraction of myself so as not to explode from desire and wonder. I have read The Phantom of the Opera so many times that I’ve got it nearly memorised, but it still breaks my heart as terribly as it did the first time, no matter how many times I return to it from the beginning.

There are just some things that maneuver themselves so deeply into me that there is a constant twist that is sure to bring tears to my eyes with how very much I love it and how very beautiful it is. Paintings have always gotten to me the most in this way, I suspect that is because I am (somewhere deep, down inside of me) an artist myself. However, I can always count on music to get right down to brass tacks with my tender heart and squeeze out whatever it can get.

During recent months, I can always count on Paul McCartney singing Let Me Roll It or damn near anything by George Harrison. I’m not entirely sure what it is about Let Me Roll It, but I’m guessing it is just the simplicity of the lyrics and the love that shines in Paul’s voice. As far as George is concerned, it is simply his beauty, his purity and his spirituality that affects me so deeply. It doesn’t necessarily matter which song is playing, it can be anything and I just feel and overwhelming flood inside my chest and my eyes want to cry because of how perfectly he touches me. The truth is, any variety of things can bring this out of me – but right now we’re discussing Liverpool boys.

Last night we were in the car. I was sitting in the back seat because Kristi’s brother was with us and we were driving him across town so he could go to church. We were listening to her mix and I was trying to tune out Philip’s loud voice and just hear the music. But it was quiet. So I leaned down and put my ear right up close to the speaker. It was the three tiny chimes at the start… the quiet and warm declaration of a perfect life in love before the rhythm kicks in. It was when John promised “My love, it’ll be just like starting over.” I felt it in the bottom of my chest and it ran upwards like fire to my eyes and beauty wanted to pour out of me. It was as though he was stood inside of me and grabbed everything that he could, squeezing it in a perfect embrace of tenderness and affection. Oh, in that brief moment, before I pushed the tiny tearlets back down, I was completely and perfectly in love with every fraction of existence.

It was so lovely.

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Ten albums I can never do without. A brief collection of things.

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. 21.08.2010 «  |  Thursday, August 26th 10 at 12:27 am

    […] When moments like that happen, it’s usually when you’re not really looking for it or paying attention too hard. They usually happen at the simplest of times, when everything is normal and quiet. Infinity can be found in the smell of a newborn baby’s head, a boy wishing on pennies in a fountain, your very favourite song live for the first time or a quiet moment with yourself. […]

    Reply

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