I've never been particularly materialistic. I like security and the ability to have my needs met. Everything after that is considered the Spoils. I have pretty simple tastes, but most of all I crave the peace of mind that comes with knowing the bills are paid and I have no debt whatsoever. I crave experience and knowledge more than "things," to be honest. About the only material things I care for in life are my books, movies and music. I don't care about the Joneses, mostly because I'm too self-centered. If I have what I need, and I have what's important to me, the Joneses have absolutely no interest for me.
So, I'm here to write about my latest life changing experience and how it has brought me to a place I thought I'd left far behind.
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| Detail from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel |
I've met another lefty who has me questioning so many things, I hardly know where to begin. I guess it's easiest to start with how I view people in general. In my lefty brain, I compare people to paintings, as I tend to think in pictures and paintings are much like individuals, at least in my mind. Most people are Mondrians at the peak of the neo-plasticism movement: a lot of black lines, white space, with the occasional block of primary color. Most people are abstractions, not much to look at or listen to or think about. There's nothing wrong with Mondrian, but he doesn't exactly thrill me visually. It's the same with most people. They're there, but I don't think or feel very much about them. I've met the occasional Matisse, a vibrant, Fauvist, colorful person who brings me happiness and adds color and depth to my life, but they're few and far between.
I'd say my best friend in the world is a Francis Bacon painting--dark, mysterious, troubled, more than meets the eye. She knows me better than anyone on Earth, but even she only knows about 75% of my mind and heart and soul. I'd say the average close friend knows about 30% of me, if that.
Now, the lefty I've met is...the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. I do not say this lightly or merely to impress you, Dear Reader. I can usually size the average person up within minutes. If you're better than average, it may take a few conversations for me to gauge your depth, but I'll have you pretty much figured out after that and will have decided whether you're worth my time. Honestly, I'd rather be alone than spend time with most people, as I find the kind of small talk that most people tend to engage in a taxing waste of time. Sure, I can talk about the weather and politics and current events until the cows come home, but why bother? My brain has much more important things to do and common discourse bores the shit out of me. Some of the people I work with can waste hours discussing what to have for lunch. It's lunch! It's one meal of thousands you will consume. I don't have the time or patience or brain space for that.
The frescoes on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel were painted by Michelangelo between 1508 and 1512, after much negotiation with Pope Julius II by the Master to paint what he pleased. There are 343 figures on the ceiling, comprised mostly of scenes from the book of Genesis, including God in the act of creation, a scene that was painted in a single day.
Why do I compare this lefty to the Sistine Chapel's ceiling? Well, I suppose it has a lot to do with Michelangelo, a lefty, whose influence was both Biblical and Humanist. There was a movement towards Classicism in Florence during the Renaissance that included studies of Plato and Socrates, which conflicted with the Catholic church, but which was supported by the Medici family, with which Michelangelo had spent a large part of his childhood. By the time he'd started work on the ceiling, Michelangelo was 32 years old and an established sculptor. He'd sculpted the Pieta at age 24 and there was no stopping him from doing whatever he wanted to do. I believe his decision to paint the ceiling was due in part to a lifelong desire to bridge his two worlds, and I think that's what I see in the lefty I've met.
All lefties live in a world made for the right handed and all of us have to adapt. Some do it better than others. Some lose their minds trying. Some excel beyond all expectation, bridging the gap of existence in a world that's not made for us by creating their own little world, earning fame and billions in the process.
The potential for actualization of this sort is what I see in this lefty. I see a billionaire-in-the-making, but so much more. He's a lefty like a Bill Gates or a Lewis Carroll, which is to say he's much more of a "math lefty," like the aforementioned, but there is something of the Old Master there, some "thing" that I can't exactly put my left forefinger on. It's that mystery that has captured me, one that keeps me up at night trying to figure it out, thinking of our conversations, analyzing each word and glance for what it is that makes me know, with a feeling that I can only describe as intuition, that I'm in the chapel watching the Master at Work. I'm most definitely an "art lefty," so I guess that contributes to my conundrum, and perhaps to my fascination. I see math as an abstraction and I see art and imagination as concretes. For most, it's the other way around.
The planning of a masterpiece like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel took mastery of both math and art. There is finite space in which to tell a story of imagination and creation. Michelangelo used a grid to map the ceiling, and then made the art fit into that grid, with passion and color and depth and heart breaking, mind blowing beauty.
What does one do when in the presence of a lefty like this? How can you inspire them, or can you even touch that? My tendency is to the slavish desire to wash his brushes and bring him whatever he needs to make his day easier, just to be in his presence, to watch and learn, in hopes that something will rub off. When I'm of a higher mind, all I want to do is gush with praise and affirm his brilliance, though I feel he would turn away from that. I haven't felt this way in a long time, if ever. In me a feeling has awakened that I thought had long died, a feeling of wanting to express my deepest desires, to open myself and shed the shell built of pain that has hardened me over so many years. Can this feeling supersede the fear? That's the biggest question. Can my insight into another, and my need to know this person, and let them know me, break down my wall?
In all my moments of distraction and doubt, the question that lingers is always the big picture, that of what if this person is meant to do something for the world, and what if I can somehow foster that, just by letting this person know that I see this potential for greatness in them? That's not to say that I have any great power, but what if they just needed to know that someone else sees it too? Why should my affirmation mean anything, but then again, why should it not?
All I feel I can do most days is close my eyes and think back to 500 years ago, to that ceiling that was once a night sky filled with stars, before it became the imagined story of the creation of the universe, before it was realized into the masterpiece it is. I think of the man, who we see as a master, but who was at the end of the day just a man. He probably ate lunch and talked about the weather and politics. Perhaps it's the simple things that inspired, like the clouds above him in the sky as he made his way to the chapel to work each day, the way the light was in the morning, and the everyday people who surrounded him. Perhaps my approach to this man needs to be the same. Just make him stop and see, and remind him that inspiration is all around us. The idea is already there, he just needs to work and make it real, and know that he's supported, encouraged, appreciated. I think I can do this...
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