i am a preservationist.
as soon as he said it, my whole body took the word in for a split second before saying yes. this is right. this is good.
preservationist.
these five syllables strung together in a line articulate the underlying current connecting so many themes in my life: my ability to recall so many details from my first memory onwards {i believe the beginning has now been identified at around 9 months?}. the way i tether a finite period of time in my life to a certain object, image or place. my compulsion to use the objects i have from my childhood in artwork {most notably appropriating family photographs}. my relationship to journaling and blogging - to possess, capture, savor a particular event, emotional or physical. the list goes on.
all these things are about holding on to things. preserving. possessing. i can see that i did these things. i lived in these spaces. and the results of living the beautiful, expansive, vividly colorful process of my life is contained in these objects {be it writing, art, photographs}. it's a way for me to take the ephemerality of my internal experience of the world and make it physical.
this serves a dual purpose:
the physical presence acts as a conductor, transmitting the energy of my experience outward. to share it. to establish connections. and to create resonance in others.
it also serves as evidence. i was here. i lived and felt things things. and. it was beautiful. it was good. it was true.
the irony of this revelation is that just last night i was going through my closets, redistributing boxes, and in the process putting away some photos of myself that i had torn from family albums earlier in the week. in the process i went more carefully through a few of the albums and found a particular place in myself for these stories. a newfound attraction and curiosity to the memories. then suddenly: a desire to have jaimini sitting next to me and hearing my earliest and most tender stories flooded to the surface. and i was able to think of him with a softness toward both him and myself in relation to him that i haven't really felt since the breakup. and most surprisingly, even in the face of such a hopeless desire to have him there with me, i maintained a softness for us both.
as i let the feeling fade, i realized that at the core i just wanted someone significant to share the stories with. eden. a newer friend. someone who could resonate with me. before me was the elegantly battered pages of countless vignettes: the magic of the many pets we had. the loneliness of our living room. the smell of the simple pine furniture. the feel of alabama winter from inside my blue coat with embroidered flowers. the sound of water falling from the hose into the pool and the lines of my father's record collection standing at ease on the shelf.
i want to share these stories, expose their hidden poignancies that a casual observer might not see. and i need to have someone else resonate in my stories with me. prove to me that they are what i feel they are.
somehow, resonance on my own is not enough.
which isn't always true though. when i truly am living a moment of vivid existence, i never feel lonely or that it even needs to be shared. the whole sigur rós event, from the drive down to the concert, was alone. i chatted a bit with my neighbor (who's name i never learned) during the break between the opener and the show, but that was it. i was on my own and when the first surge of sound completely enveloped me {song three}, there was only self and the sound. no breath. no thought. no movement {beyond a smile splitting my face}. no distinction even where i ended and the music began. just a simultaneous being that filled the entire concert hall. where is the emptiness/loneliness in that?
but at the end, i need someone to decompress with. in person. a person to mirror. and again, the idea is to somehow confirm my experience. and celebrate. maintain the rush. and when i don't have a person, writing about it is the next best thing. actually, in the case of sigur rós, i think i would have preferred to have had an hour or two writing on my own before speaking about the experience with others, but at the same time, i recognize the benefit of the conversation in the midst of the post concert wind down. but always, in the end, i have to write when things move me so that i can capture {preserve} the things i lived. the cycle continues....
the importance of nailing my {still} work in progress radiohead blog and also of finishing my sigur rós entry are now laid completely bare, particularly the former. i've said it before, but the way i navigated the three radiohead shows is the biggest story i'm carrying. still. and the fact that i can't materialize it makes me angry. desperate. longing-ful. i must get a hold of it. own it. put it in a frame and hang it on a wall. for keeps.
preservationist.
and what is the threat if i don't tell the story? who will miss out the most? you? hardly. maybe. me? excrutiatingly.
and it all loops back eventually to loss. fear of loss. fear of acknowledging loss {grief}. etc.
but that's a topic of another night's musings.
currently listening to: forgive - burial; the great escape - patrick watson; candyland - cocorosie; the storm begins - jennifer haines; grey - ani difranco.
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