Mathieu Laca, Awakening, 2009 When I started to be genuinely interested in art, the first great artist that haunted my days and nights was the unrivaled poet, Jean Cocteau. The fascination that became a real passion over the years never faded. Of course, I was very proud that our names were alike; I saw that detail that might sound pretty trivial to everybody else as some kind of a sign; a sign of what, I didn’t exactly know, but that sign made me happy and that was enough.
So I started to read everything he wrote, at least everything I could find. Later, I started to discover his drawings, his paintings, his sculptures and his films and finally, I read every biography of him I could find. Nowadays, I can’t read or look at one of his works without being intensely moved. “It is one of the privileges of the poet to be able to resurrect, at any moment and in any circumstances, the fabulous creatures that lurk in our collective unconscious, without anyone being astonished at his taking such a risk,” wrote Annie Guédras in her book Jean Cocteau, Erotic drawings.
I must confess that, for one, seeing those “fabulous creatures that lurk in our collective unconscious” being “resurrected” is a need I wouldn’t be able to live without. I must live surrounded by fauns and elves, among fairies and gargoyles; I can’t resist enacting my life with angels and devils, and I know very few human beings as fascinating as the least of all chimeras. I love when that life of mine is nothing less than a wild dream.“The privileges of beauty are enormous. Its power is felt even by those who seem to care the least about it.” (Jean Cocteau, Le Livre blanc)
As far as I am concerned, great artists don’t create beauty; just like Jean Cocteau, great artists ARE beauty for they are a living source that gives birth to all those creatures that make our lives bearable if not permanently happy.
I envy artists. I am always wondering what their life might be. I guess I’ll never know. But, sincerely, I don’t really care. I have that immense privilege of living the second best life after being an artist. I live with an artist. Every night I go to bed, and every day I wake up, I thank whoever might be responsible for that blessing I didn’t even have to ask for. This is the kind of blessing that makes your life a dream and allows you to go through years without ever fearing death because you know you’ll eternally be part of “your” artist’s everlasting fairy tale.
(P.S. Yesterday, I celebrated my seventh wedding anniversary with “my” artist)
So I started to read everything he wrote, at least everything I could find. Later, I started to discover his drawings, his paintings, his sculptures and his films and finally, I read every biography of him I could find. Nowadays, I can’t read or look at one of his works without being intensely moved. “It is one of the privileges of the poet to be able to resurrect, at any moment and in any circumstances, the fabulous creatures that lurk in our collective unconscious, without anyone being astonished at his taking such a risk,” wrote Annie Guédras in her book Jean Cocteau, Erotic drawings.
I must confess that, for one, seeing those “fabulous creatures that lurk in our collective unconscious” being “resurrected” is a need I wouldn’t be able to live without. I must live surrounded by fauns and elves, among fairies and gargoyles; I can’t resist enacting my life with angels and devils, and I know very few human beings as fascinating as the least of all chimeras. I love when that life of mine is nothing less than a wild dream.“The privileges of beauty are enormous. Its power is felt even by those who seem to care the least about it.” (Jean Cocteau, Le Livre blanc)
As far as I am concerned, great artists don’t create beauty; just like Jean Cocteau, great artists ARE beauty for they are a living source that gives birth to all those creatures that make our lives bearable if not permanently happy.
I envy artists. I am always wondering what their life might be. I guess I’ll never know. But, sincerely, I don’t really care. I have that immense privilege of living the second best life after being an artist. I live with an artist. Every night I go to bed, and every day I wake up, I thank whoever might be responsible for that blessing I didn’t even have to ask for. This is the kind of blessing that makes your life a dream and allows you to go through years without ever fearing death because you know you’ll eternally be part of “your” artist’s everlasting fairy tale.
(P.S. Yesterday, I celebrated my seventh wedding anniversary with “my” artist)
Comeau
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