Latin for “remember you have to die.”
This crosses my mind. I had just reread The Icarus Deception by Seth Godin, and he discusses this principle. Art is transitory, all things come to an end, etc. etc.
I’m telling myself this as I look at the cracked face of my new Fossil Q smart watch. It’s a small crack. I banged it on the corner of a keyboard while I was at rehearsal. It is irksome, to say the least.
My first inclination is to send it back (actually, the warranty might cover it, and I’ll certainly check it out). But after the first few moments of discomfort over a broken, fairly-expensive item, I get to look at it from a higher elevation. Memento mori – remember you have to die.
We all die. Everything we know ends. Even the seeming permanence of stone and mountain is but a transitory state, eventually eroded away, though we will certainly be long gone by the time the great mountains have been made flat.
Things of beauty are beautiful because beauty cannot last.
There’s a piece I’m familiar with, a song called Art Is Calling for Me, lyrics by Harry B. Smith, music by Victor Herbert. It’s a fun sort of song, for a soprano (maybe a mezzo). Every once in a while that music will pop into my head. I first heard it in a concert, sung by a young woman who would enter and, after several years, leave my life. I think of it tonight.
I’ve grown fond of the yoga studio where I practice, as well as the people there. Once a month they do an open house, with live entertainment, food & drink, and, yes, artwork. It reminds me of setting up exhibitions for Orange County, back in a previous occupation.
In my seclusion, or self-imposed monastic existence (as I’ve taken to calling it), I’ve forgotten how much was a part of my life, and just how much I enjoy it.
Picasso was probably my favorite, and I did have a chance to see original sketches when curating the exhibitions. While in Amsterdam, I visited the Van Gogh museum. This is one of his that I really enjoyed.
Mostly now I read and write. I go to the movies maybe once a week, or every other week. But, slowly, I’m reentering the world of the arts. Visiting museums. Seeing shows. Listening to music that for a long time was painful to hear. Singing music that I hadn’t practiced in a long time. I guess art is calling…