Aspire to Deserve to be Heard
May 1, 2023
My Mother’s Timeless Wisdom
July 5, 2023
As much as I enjoy reminiscing about days gone by through the lens of middle age, I don’t obsess about the future. Perhaps I should. Nah, there are way too many variables.
Sure, I set goals, plan, and know where I want to go next, but figuring out the best way to get there is what challenges me to keep moving forward.
Aesthetically, one of my favorite works of art is a painting by René Magritte that hangs in my office (shown here), titled La Clairvoyance. Magritte is known as an artist of the surrealism period, which began in the late 1910s and attempted to harness the “unbridled imagination of the subconscious.” What intrigues me most about surrealism art is how it communicates in a dream-like state. Much of the imagery is recognizable, yet bent or warped or in an illogical place. One of the most familiar paintings of the surrealism period is The Persistence of Memory, by Salvador Dalí. Remember the melting clocks?
La Clairvoyance, on the other hand, is a self-portrait of Magritte, who is seated and staring at an unhatched egg; however, he is actually painting a bird. One definition of the word, clairvoyance, is the ability to perceive matters beyond the range of ordinary perception. Magritte, in essence, painted himself painting his perception of the future.
Deep, right? This will likely not come as a surprise, but many artists during the surrealism period were influenced by the psychological theories and dream studies of Sigmund Freud. Consequently, the organized Surrealist movement in Europe faded with the onset of World War II.
For years, I was intimidated by future’s unknowns and the tendency for my perceptions of the future to never go to plan. But I settled down once I took control of and accepted responsibility for my destiny. Some of my most productive time in recent years was focused on self-reflection and declarations of not just who I am, but why I am. Those who understand me best know I don’t exist to conform. Thankfully, I’m finally comfortable with that.
For example, I am a matter-of-fact realist who is no longer infatuated by things I don’t have. What a relief. I have plenty of stuff, and much of it is intentionally timeless. The walls in our house are painted in colors that range from deep lavender to navy blue to royal blue to peach to coral to silver and gold. Like surrealism, the color scheme doesn’t make logical sense. More than one visitor has quipped, “I would never think of putting all these colors together, but it’s so you.”
Bingo.
