i love how one piece of art draws on another piece of art in its creation. like how coldplay’s chris martin was inspired by mexican artist frida kahlo’s painting viva la vida to create his own viva la vida, the song.
the painting viva la vida shows a bunch of watermelons. i really don’t understand it. chris martin may think it’s dark and all and it gave him so much inspiration to write such a masterpiece, that timeless song i still can’t believe coldplay came up with, but all i see is a bunch of watermelons. i think i appreciate the song much better.
but the point is. i’m just right now so in awe of how true communication transcends all our humanly limitations, notions of time and space, physicality and logic. how do you look at a painting from 1954 (or 1952, some contest that she painted that much earlier but inscribed the words viva la vida a few days before her death, presumably through some kind of prescience. and this would be because the technique of her still life portrait hints of more energetic times in her life; she was weak for some time before her death. i don’t know how people find pleasure dedicating chunks of their lives studying someone else’s life. see, that’s the beauty of how we’re made.) – how do you look at a painting from the 1950s, by some very anguished woman (for most part of her life. aren’t they all? tortured artists.), from another part of the world, so completely different from you, and then feel such a kind of emotional and creative response?
i don’t understand. but i have had those. and it’s actually more beautiful than freaky. the way it wells up in you. overflowing. like a g6. ok see where did that come from.
it really makes sense though. when you think of how God sees our events. we may be trudging up this linear glass capillary (like how water being sucked up a straw must follow a path from bottom to top, one point to the next), but he is outside of the capillary looking down at everything happening at one go. linearity means nothing to him. he sees the past, present, future in an instant.
i would like to think maybe some part of us remembers this transcendence. the part of us unsullied by consciousness, therefore unrestrained by earthly notions, physical impossibilities. when we reach deep down into that part in moments of clarity, we understand the things it tells us. time and space is nothing to us, we understand without knowing because we already remember. we understand what this other person is saying with his art, even though it may be that he doesn’t consciously know what he’s saying (i mean it’s just watermelons right and maybe she just thought of the phrase viva la vida and inscribed it on the first of her paintings lying around. but the point is it all adds up in some mystical tapestry of meaning.) and we have a reply to him.
and we burst out and manifest it creatively.
that’s how you see a bunch of watermelons and formulate an audio response like that. it’s really a divine conversation.
* it is freaky, how reading this post after publishing it, i realize i drew a top hat for the guy like what The Observer wears in Fringe. and Fringe used this exact analogy for that kind of being.