Evensong of Gold & Geese

When I visited with Matt in Birmingham, I had asked him to explain defining the “inner essence” as a “dark void in your soul,” something I remembered from his TEDxBirmingham presentation.

"I think a lot of what, a lot of the interpretation that we’re involved with in terms of the aesthetic and then this desire to make the bike feel like it looks is about what could be called a void or the negative space. Like the negative of a picture, or the negative film or...   

We have been inspired by a lot of Caravaggio’s paintings. Which were, really - he was really the first of the Renaissance artists that I consider to be a true rebel. In other words, to really challenge the church and to see the indoctrination that was going on. 

And they would ask him, ya know - he’s the greatest painter ever, and they would ask him to paint fruit. And he would make it look real ugly. And he always used darkness, and he used black. He was very - his real narrative in terms of his paintings - is from the use of the void space, the black space. 

And one of the windows, of the transparencies, that I think the bike - the screenplay - the bike looks through (and that everyone has to do with their lives) is that it’s important to take a look at what would have been in terms of the opportunity costs of the decisions that have been made. I’m always - I guess - impressed, disappointed, surprised about humans inability to look at things in their lives from the perspective of the negative side.

Like it would be important to say, to really understand yourself you have to say “well what if I did stay back in Georgia? What if I had married that guy, ya know that was the guy that loved me, and what if we had three children or four children right now? And what would that be like?” I mean without the noise of the ego always saying that whatever you do is the right thing. Without the blinding light of “whatever I do is always right.” Ya know we all, we’re all guilty of it. Certainly we all see it in others."

I thought it was interesting that he had assumed there was a guy. "That guy." I didn't find his point elusive. I just wondered if he would be surprised to know that the detail he had imagined is so contrary to my experience. I didn't correct him. I suppose, at the time, I preferred his version of hindsight. Every now and then, someone sees you in a light that is incorrectly romantic. It can be flattering.

That day, I wanted to know more about Matt's guy: Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio.

On the "sixth day," I found him at The National Gallery in London. I spent some time enjoying the rain from the portico overlooking Trafalgar Square (which, by the way, is delightful even with it's current state of undress) before I ducked inside.

The Supper at Emmaus was my first. His Boy Bitten by a Lizard pleasantly surprised me and I thoroughly enjoyed this post.  I sat there for a long time, thinking about the opportunity costs of the decisions that I've made.  I was able to mourn them, in a way, without forgetting for even a moment that there was no other circumstance I would rather be in than sitting on that bench.  Something so beautiful isn't possible without understanding the depth of both.  Mourning and Gratitude.

Both left me wanting more.

However, no more to be had, I made my way to 84 Charing Cross Road, which I thought would be the proper place to cast a New Year's wish for a correspondence of the hand written letter variety. This would turn out to be a kiss-blown cosmic appeal that would haunt me throughout my stay: by way of They Call Me Naughty Lola and Liberal Arts, the in-flight picture show that addressed age differences, a subject that came up in Alabama.

"Yeah I’m not really a fan of May-September. I just, I don’t know, I see a lot of wealthy guys that get with younger girls. And I just, I don’t know how. . . that seems like pleasant fiction. That screenplay, in my view, cannot be - It can’t be organic. It has to be about money."

Matt remarked.

The book and the movie, respectively, take separate corners in that debate. As do Mister Chambers and myself. If he's correct, then I'm painted a gold digger - couple of times. If he's not, well . . . we're on such opposite and incompatible sides of the debate - I just don't see how anybody wins. So I'll stop myself before I go any further. The bottom line is:

Concerning matters of the heart, we stand on opposite shores.

Concerning matters of MY heart . . . that night it was a-flutter for the fellow attending the door at Veeraswamy. I don't know what it was in particular. I just know that, in general, he was darling.  Duck, duck . . . Goose!  Bumps that is.

In fact, everyone there was darling! "How was everything?" inquired one of three waiters that had attended to me. "It was just so wonderful" I beamed. "And so are you" he replied, looking into my eyes with a with a degree of civility that I have come to believe might just exist in that dear city, and in that dear city alone.

On the short walk home I replayed the day in my mind, like a chorus that is certain to get stuck there occasionally, and put a glow on my face now and then, for - well - forever:

Trafalgar Square in the rain, my first Caravaggio at The National Gallery, a puckered-up wish made at 84 Charing Cross Road, Evensong at Westminster Abbey from the "Bibliothecarius" (Librarian!) seat amongst the choir, Gaiety Is The Most Outstanding Feature of the Soviet Union at Saatchi Gallery, Fox & Hounds, and the brief moment I had with the cutie above when he stopped me and said "Hi. It's me. From the door." The moment before I lost my nerve, blushed, and made myself scarce.

I took the long way home before I tucked myself in tight, rocked soundly to sleep by the lullaby that was The Sixth Day of Christmas.

Tomorrow, this Swan would arrive in Paris. Thanks to London - I was already swimming.