Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts

2013/05/16

THESE WORDS


Yves Saint Laurent once upon a time told the following phrase to a fashion journalist, who asked him what the perfect dress should look like: The most beautiful clothes that can dress a woman are the arms of the man she loves. But for those who haven't had the fortune of finding this happiness, I am there. Should this be love? In a down to earth way – maybe. Yves seemed kind of overmodest but expressed contemporarily his deepest thoughts in this great quote. By hiding his own light, no his life he expressed in designing phenomenal pieces of garment, under a bushel only saying that love described in a metaphor of two strong arms is more worth than his central point of his very own life, he puts the love issue upon nearly everything. I ask myself if he ever was that lucky to experience this feeling and will I ever do? How many unreturned love stories do we have to pass through before finding the other half or will we end like the great master of French fashion alone and secluded? Would we be worth less without someone next to us? In fact it seems not a matter of worth but one of the own appreciation. How do we feel by staying alone and are we happier with it? Do we finally need someone who waits for us at night?
Actually I do adore evenings all alone with myself. Today is one of them. Thinking about the love issue more profoundly, while examining all the Nighthawks of this mild night in May sitting next to my window, I had to note, that we lie to ourselves that often concerning our emotional state of mind. That cool and calm folks we would like to get across isn’t exactly what we were made for. We were made for kissing, loving, struggling, crying and maybe it should happen as often as possible simply reminding us that we are besides all of our daily boast still there being able to hear the words we sometimes wait too desperately for. I am sure that regardless how often somebody told us her last goodbye, knowing she can’t come back, these words still stand up. Regardless how often we got disappointed, standing back frustrated and depressed it was and will be that important to have known somebody, who stood by you loving unconditionally, no matter if the story ended up in disbelief.
Love – curtain of the past, revealing an extraordinary future.

Cheers

Lorax

2013/05/06

THE STORYTELLER


He lives the story – not his life. This might be the résumé of two hilarious and rather inspiring hours in the sun together with one of my most heartily friends, somewhere in the museums quarter on a creepy Sunday afternoon. Why I came to even this issue about telling stories, depends on a guy the both of us were talking about. A guy who might have perfected the way of living the life as a beloved or maybe even dreamed story he built around his very self. I admit that I don’t know him that well on a personal level, but in every of our always occasional getting together he symbolizes, and not only to me the belonging to another time of the 20th century. It’s primarily about his style but all above about his eloquence bringing you to the idea this man has boarded a time machine some when in the golden twenties and has left all those great intellectuals and artists, from Ernest Hemingway to Salvador Dalí simply to get faced to an epoch his soul seems lost in. Last time I saw him, he was passing by on his bicycle, vintage of course, with a pair of gorgeous cognac-colored-calf-leather brogues, shoelaces in red and his steady companion, a tweed jacket – the accomplished Francis Scott Fitzgerald look. I often wonder if he ever gets connected to our world and our style. He sometimes seems thus affected in projecting his own understanding of an ideology to the rest of his entourage he might forget the story he lives. But are we ever able to change the story we were giving to get along with? Can we even tell a story of life while we are actually still living it? Maybe we try to display a perfect image of ourselves by telling stories we might never have heard of, by blurring the own imperfections away. But can any story be told were perfection is found? I think it was Harvey Weinstein, one of Hollywood’s most famous storytellers who brought it to the point by saying, that we are mostly fascinated of what we do, but over all we love how people look at it, that’s why we might love doing it perfectly. He also said that people love a true story, so what should we give the preference at least – the truth or a variation of it?
Later that day I began thinking in a story telling context, what we might want to achieve by telling some. I mean besides the fact of putting some records straight it remains an entertaining issue, it doesn’t matter in which range of story we are delayed: Opera – Film – Art. All of them want to tell a story in order to might letting forget the own conditions we are located in for a certain while. Perhaps we should understand our own told story more as an artistic act, in order to let us forget what we actually are having sort of a showdown with. Never complain, never explain – that’s what I was told last week and I admit that it fits even in our story’s coherence. So why should we bother about living the story while forgetting to live, when living is nothing but a story to tell.

Cheers

Lorax 

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