THE WRITING ON THE WALL
"The wind is rising. One must try to live."
Back in August, my husband and I had a vacation in Spain. As we walked home to the rising sun after our first night in Ibiza I saw this writing on this wall. It was in French, which I couldn't read (goals: one day), but I have an affinity for messages on walls, pavement, etc, and keep a photo collection of such things.
Two months after my Spain vacation, I was ready to tackle the sorting of the 2467 photos from the trip. I came across this photo. I love how strangers will place messages around that mean something to them. I wondered if this was some romantic, bohemian poet, who loved the club scene, who wrote this. Natural curiosity led me to find the meaning, and to Google translation I went!
It translated into, "The wind is rising. We must try to live". I thought—Wow, I don't know what that means. So, being that I'm not immune to narcissism, why not make it about me.
My take on this is—it's about making the most out of life. When I came across this writing on this wall, I was in my fifth month as a full time artist. In March, I had abandoned my 10+ career in advertising, which was a big jump. I took Ray Bradbury up on his advice to, "build your wings on the way down". It's been touch and go scary ever since. But I wanted a life where I loved every single day. Not just the weekends, holidays, or vacation days. I chose my art over the comfortable. So for me it was a—Life has struggles, keep going, sort of message. One of those things that I think everyone can use hearing, every once in awhile. It made me think of a gust of wind and that feeling of excitement you get that reminds you of your connection with the earth and this life. Do you know that feeling? That feeling is what I always want my life to be like. And I get that feeling after painting. Don't wait to fully live.
After more research, I found that these two sentences, were indeed, not about me. Nor were they written by a sexy, bohemian, club rat poet. A French poet, named Paul Valéry wrote this poem in the 1920's called "Le cimetière marin" (The Graveyard By The Sea), and this was a line from it. You can read the poem in its entirety (both French and English), here.
That's all for today and this week. The weekends I'd like to keep for myself, and I will not be writing. Thanks for listening and bye for now.