Showstopped

The Muse is a sordid, lovely mistress. I hear her whispering, even when I lack the capacity to extol her blessings forth, she still haunts and nurtures equally. From all accounts, as soon as the fair lady wins out and you reach artistic fruition with fans clamoring in your wake, it's tormenting and validating, joyous and depressing. You either want more or less of what you have (fame, accolades, chances, pressure), and the battle claims a life. Some of the greatest artists the world has known have lost the battle and moved on to entertain on another plane of existence, what/wherever that may be.


I've been watching a slew of dramatic/tragic movies lately, ones that I meant to watch closer to their respective cultural relevance, but that rarely works out with my budget/time constraints these days. It falls under the "they happen when they need to" theory I have about movies, especially intense dramatic ones. They will pull a revelation out of you in a timely way.

La Vie En Rose, is the stand out so far. I know it came out three years ago and much has transpired since then. Critical acclaim, Oscar dresses, much deserved awards, all that jazzola. What struck me as I watched wasn't all the hype of a bygone year though. Marion Cotillard was able to breathe retrospective life into a real life person, she had her mannerisms and her feisty spirit nailed down, yes indeed. She most importantly captured the anguish pursuing a dream can be, how even when you feel so unworthy to even do so, the thing you were born to do finds a way to keep you in the game. Every creative person knows that feeling. Every person in general, knows that feeling, if you let it in.


I was a blubbering mess by the end of it (accordingly from the first 30 minutes on, who am I kidding) but it shook things loose. Afterward, I sat gazing over my balcony at the palm treed horizon and was utterly thankful. Thankful for that which I have (love present and past, a good head on my shoulders, a wonderful family, my health to name a few) and for that which I don't (debilitating ailments, too much too soon, a lack of backbone or empathy or understanding). After I said my thanks to the night sky, I thought about how tortured people make the quickest and brightest stars, and why that is. Those destined for greatness are also destined for such great pain, it seems.


What could possibly be worth all the noise and fury, why do those with true art to share with the world even bother? Then The Muse whispered in my ear again and I smiled and thanked her too. As long as you do it for yourself, all pain and strife are worth it. If you connect with others and help them feel better in their own skin, all the more worth it, even when that inspiration tosses you to and fro. Each choice made, each tear shed, each resolution to keep going and do what you gotta do will help cleanse or help deteriorate. Maybe those who check out early or in shocking ways want nothing more from life. They've already had a chance to shine their story to the darkness, but it wasn't enough to seek the light for longer. And that's their business, not ours. At least we have them in our hearts still. Even in death, we glean inspiration from their work, how precious it is that they fought to share.

The words non, je ne regrette rien come to mind.