Strolling Amongst the Impressionists

It happened while walking through the Impressionist exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts in Montreal.  A place where they proudly have no maps to guide you, just French speaking docents who scornfully point when asked about the locations of exhibits. Much of the work I had seen before in various museums, but new for me were the quotes from Renoir, adorning the walls in black letters about six inches tall, above the art work created by him and the other brilliant hands and minds from the Impressionist Era. 

Many were quotes or comments in regards to the critics, those who doubted the movement of this new art form from its inception-- scoffing at the colors or the subject or the style. These critics, from a conservative mindset, dismissed the new ideas, new ways of thinking and new ways of seeing the world as nonsense, less-than-art, or worse. 

Revealed in their words was not just contempt for the new, but reverence for the old—for the established.  But whom did history declare as the victor in that timeless argument between the old and new?  The visionary versus the skeptic clinging with all his or her might to the log jammed into the river of the past.  Afraid that the waters of progress would sweep them clear off the map of history and render their time on earth meaningless, or at least their opinions less significant than they ever though they would be.

The answer of “who won” is in the name on the walls, and in the brushstrokes, and in the books, and in every element of recorded history.  Whether in battle or art, music or science, love or hate—history and eternity belong to those who go outside themselves—push their world and the world of those around them into new places.  Often this growth happens not because of people saying it could—but because of people saying it couldn’t or shouldn’t.   

I have come to know the power of that clinging to the past, what was known, and of a man’s ability to link himself so strongly to a role or a position or a belief that he looses himself in it to such a depth that it drowns him.  So addicted to the process, he defends it as he would his family.  Fighting with all available passion and strength any idea—any person—that would dare offer a new way, a new direction, or a different way of holding the brush.

But what these people—from those that battled Jesus to those that fight against Gay Marriage fail to understand is that the natural progress of the human order is growth.  All things must grow, for else how do we define the difference between a chair and a plant?  The chair will always be a chair, but the plant (in the paraphrased words) of CS Lewis—MUST grow from its seed self, to it larger self—to its flowering self.  Or else it is not much of a plant at all.

I've known painters who never did any good work because instead of painting their models they seduced them. (Pierre-Auguste Renoir)

 Like all other living things, we as humans, or artists, can be distracted.  We can loose our way amongst the dinosaurs and be dragged back into the caverns of the normal—of the same—of the old proven ways.  Not everyone will overcome that darkness, whether internal or external—to become the glorious flower—paint the seminal work—write the Pulitzer prize winning book—or love so completely that it brings tears to their eyes.  However, everyone can.  The same seeds are sewn in the hearts and minds and DNA of all of us.  That so few of us reach it is a testament to the power that we bestow on those critics—on those that wish not to see us grow—succeed—love. 

Whatever their names may be, they have always been, always shall be.  But if you use them not as the stone to weigh you down, or the cloud to darken the sky—but rather the motivation—and the inspiration—then you will begin to know your way—your path of growth.  If you simply learn that “they” do not matter, whoever they shall be, then you will know the power that is contained within the soul of a person doing what she knows is the right thing to do. 

Not only will you benefit from it, but all of humankind will as well.  For the efforts of those who followed their way, whether by serving as light or leading the fight against darkness, are not recorded in only their own family stories—but in our stories.  Theirs are the names on statues, on buildings, on the pages of books, and of our collective conscious. 

Just imagine for one moment what we are capable of if just 10% more people followed their dreams—and did not become mired in the opinions of others, the fear of failing, or the noose of low self-esteem.  What lies out there in the minds and abilities of people too afraid to lead themselves away from their personal prison?  A cure for cancer?  An end to poverty and world hunger?  The solution for world peace?

Sadly, far too many profit from things as they are. They make money on the sale of weapons, or the sale of ideas that preach to closed minds tired old ideas.  They sell a way of being that flies in the face of the march of human history and the lessons of our past.  Even more people see these problems and so many others as unsolvable. Permanent—

ingrained in our nature.  How many people, told they have cancer, have simply resigned from life—long before the disease would have ever taken them.  How many more, with an attitude of resilience—have either beaten the disease entirely—or turned their final days into final months or years—often making amazing accomplishments in that added time.

I know that resignation to fear—to criticism, to adversity is not a version of our best selves.  Either as individuals or as a community.  Why have so many great people overcome adversity to lead amazing lives?  Why have the best days of a Nation so often followed its greatest challenge? For if a single artist can decide to follow his passion—paint the way he wants to—portray the world as he sees it—then that power can be found within us all.  And that beauty can be brought forth by a family—by a city—by a country—by a world.

But it remains our responsibility to use—to overcome.  No matter what the others may say. No matter what they may do.  The future demands it of us—if it is to be any more than a repeat of the past.  And our souls demand—if we are ever to meet the highest calling of ourselves—for us not to loose what makes us special, beautiful, and unique.  It is our role to play, our picture to paint, and as long as it is incomplete—so too is our story and that of the world in which we live.

You've got to be a fool to want to stop the march of time. (Pierre-Auguste Renoir)

 

 

Quotes Retrieved from: http://www.robertgenn.com

 

 

"These are the days of Miracle and Wonder"

Graceland remains my favorite album that I have never purchased.  I love every song from it, can sing along with most, and each song connects with a different part of the inner me.  From the fun and catchy “You can Call Me All” all the way to the title tract: Graceland.  Most of all, that tract conveys a feeling that I can say I know. 

These have been amazing times of late.  Starting back on the fall colored cliff overlooking the Shenandoah Valley in Western Virginia, to a conference in Minneapolis, the birth of my niece, and many other things great and small I am amazed at what the world has brought to me over recent days. 

I am equally amazed; however, at the old me that still clings, riding my back, determined not to be thrown off into the garbage heap.  It hides there, just over my shoulder, unseen but always felt.  At the oddest moments it cries out for acknowledgement.  Perhaps in the form of too many drinks, time spent with a stranger that would be better used for sleep or reading or walking alone along the water, failure to make it to the gym—or the fear that lurks in unexpected places. It screams out that my efforts are in vain and that no matter what I do I will always be a prisoner to that me that I do not love, that I can not escape, and that I cannot overcome. It demands attention be paid to the pages of the calendar that are long past, but on which memories are etched in blood, sweat, tears and more tears.  It plays faces of dissapoint over and over in my rouges gallery of love thought right-- certain that the "successes" of the past are as good as it will get.

It seems that all my efforts to throw off my challengers, both those from the self and from outside, are futile.  That I will never escape the things I have done that I regret, the people I have known that have dragged from my pedestal into the wallow of the mud. 

Or perhaps it’s like the song.  A journey along a river, to a place of refuge, joined by that past… my proverbial “..child of my first marriage…”. For me the reminders and memories of all that came before haunt me. The person that never left, that is still there, and that always will be.  In the beautiful film A River Runs Through It, the voice of Robert Redford offers this: “I am haunted by rivers”—they represent for him the best and worst of himself and his life.  This is a feeling I know—for the inner me represents the best and worst of me. 

As my journey to Graceland—or my own imagined place of holy inspiration and divine connection to all knowing power—(not really Elvis for me, but for many he is) I am left to wonder about the reality of the metaphor.  That along this road we can never escape that which we were—and are.  For they are truly one person.  If the field of physics is to be believed, the past and the present and the future are all wrapped up into one tube.  Einstein and Faulkner and every spiritual guru who ever walked, coalesced into an oneness that spans time and dimensions.

I know this to be true, for that is what is revealed to me on the good days and the bad, which are often no more than a moment apart.  A memory, a future, a joy and a regret—all sharing one space—one time—one me. 

I know now, far better, how foolish it is to ever think that I have any chance of fighting away the parts of me that I don’t like or wish I could ignore.  I realize that the angels and the devils will both live on my shoulders as long as I will live.  For all of us the choice is a simple one.  To lean toward the angels as much as we can, but not roll away in shame when the part that we don’t love or like calls out for its time in the sun. We don’t have to embrace the darker nature, but by understanding it—and loving it—we control it in the only way we ever can.  To war against our own selves—it’s the height of foolish.  You might as well chop off your own arm after a paper cut.  But to embrace it, to understand it, grow from it—that is our challenge and, perhaps, the reason for both our competing influences in the first place. 

I have often wondered about the ability of people to act against their own best interest.  Whether in terms of choosing politicians to vote for, smoking, drinking to excess, or dropping out of school.  Why is it that some fall prey to the fear and the self defeating choice while others work around and through and above it?  The animals don’t do this.  They follow one course—instinctively—to do what is right for their situation. 

It comes down to this choice.  How to get beyond those competing natures?  How to live like the river, flowing with everything mixed in—shrinking and expanding, but moving despite what it’s made of.  A river challenged by a rock—given the chance— will always win.  It may take time, but the perseverance is pre-ordained.  That which focuses on its purpose can overcome the obstacles.  The river does not fight the rock. It does not attend therapy sessions, read self-help books, or cry to friends on Facebook.

It simply flows.  Perfectly content to have as part of it all that it passes by and absorbs.  Good.  Bad.  Indifferent.  The rest of the story is written in places like Niagara Falls or the Grand Canyon.  Beauty is created from the wearing down—from the persistent flow—and the rock becomes part of the river.  Carried on to someplace new, to form the foundation of something different than what was. A new place for life—a river delta—where once there was nothing but water. 

If the rock were to fight—what would become of that?  If the river were to fight?  Instead, as part of a natural order the resistance is slowly worn down—and all becomes one.  The same is true for us.  When we accept and learn and forgive—we grow.  And growth is the whole point isn’t it?  “Loosing love is like a window on your heart”—and so is how you choose to look at your own rivers path across the barriers in our lives—watched over by all the parts of us—good and bad, saint and sinner.  All part of one life—one soul—one universe—never to be fought or battled—only acknowledged, accepted, and loved.  That is the true growth, the true creation and the only way to move past those bumps in the night that so often distract us from our power and our potential.