love colored by gunpowderpublished: 2012-12-01
Today, I found myself staring at a painting of Malevich. What thoughts had passed? Many more than a minute can possibly capture. What the hell was I staring at? A war. A Russian war. With fields and bayonets and skies colored by gunpowder, sand and smoke. Blood too. I could almost hear the slaughter, smell it’s death.
I leaned over to read what the painting was called: “Improvisation 1.” Not even a hint of war.
It had been my art-teacher who once explained that what was being depicted here, was a war. I was fifteen and I’m sure I must have sneered. Yet now, this is what this painting means to me. I have no idea whether my teacher was right or wrong, but it doesn’t matter.
Later today, I saw the film Amour. To me, the film was about failure. Failing to stay in that one, special relationship for over fifty years. To know almost everything about each other. Almost. After all those years, there were still new things to discover.
To the young couple behind me, it was about hope. After the movie, they crept into a corner and kissed. To the friend I went with, it was about loss. She had cried. I hadn’t.
When I came home, I listened to my voicemail. A friend had spoken to it in an optimistic, lighthearted and convincing voice: “I have a really good feeling about you. You’re going to be ok.” I know what his words mean to me. They may mean something else to you.