Revesmecaniques - LOIN D'ICI

I’ll take a bruise I know you worth it, when you hit me hit me hard.

#enough #love

These, for me, are the two most depressing paintings in western history. They were painted by post-impressionist Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec, a man who, due to inbreeding, was born with a genetic disorder that prevented his legs from growing after they were broken. After being so thoroughly mocked for is appearance, he became an alcoholic, which is what eventually caused his institutionalization and death. His only known romantic relations were with prostitutes. And then he paints something like this which is so beautiful and tender and sentimental. It seems like the couple in bed really loves each other—cares about each other. Wakes up happy to look at each other. And I see that love and passion and I wonder how lonely he must have been. I wonder how he could paint something like this without it breaking his heart.  Maybe they say artists should create what they know, not because its unbelievable when they extend themselves beyond their experiences, but because when they pull it off with such elegance, it’s so damn unbearable to look at. I hate thinking of Lautrec, wondering about the lovers he created and knowing it was beyond his experience. Creating something that he knows is beautiful and knows he’ll never really understand. 

“He transfixed the crowd with his misaligned eyes and playfully demonic smile.”

In this painting Saraswati—the goddess of learning, arts, and music—sits upon her lotus throne that rests in the river of knowledge. Surrounded by sinuous lotus offshoots in a sea of springtime yellow, she plays the vina, a classical Indian instrument. “The Goddess Sarasvati,” around 1850-1875, India 

Forgive me little girl, I have failed you. Forgive me as I'm not yet the person you dreamed to be.

She was just looking for a spot in the world, to develope all this potential she had in her mind, this little and naive child who didn't know how visicious life could be. I hope she forgives all the broken promises she'd made in her mind. I can almost feel her pain, for I have not shined as bright as she promised. I hopes she forgives you for letting yourself get caught up in the routine, to allow her to be dragged into that mundanity she was trying hard to escape. I hope she forgives me for being everything she promised she'll never be, for becoming her biggest fears. She promised she will not let herself go, cause she was a fighter, but I've let her down so many times, many of those dreams are forgotten and undone now. Time has pass and others seem to be racing harder, better. I'm sorry she promised she'll never be comfortable in the numbness of simple things, she'd always dreamed of greatness and I'm just sitting here craving for simplicity. She was hungry for the world, convinced that she could do it all, and here I am, breaking her soul with this awful contentedness I've learn to love. I'm sorry little one, for not trying hard enough, for letting you down, for being this warm hearthed Jane doe.

Forgive me darling.

P.S at least I love you more than you'd ever loved yourself