I am a full on Monet.
I came to this realization while getting ready for Christmas with my in-laws. As I applied my usual layers of makeup, I took two steps away from the bathroom mirror and appraised myself in it without the aid of my astigmatism-correcting glasses. I looked pretty good. It's not until I moved closer to the mirror that the big old mess comes into focus: clogged pores, flaky skin, chin hairs, unplucked eyebrows and the other usual aging woes.
I had just enjoyed my last lazy morning of holiday vacation; a beautiful morning of tea and pumpkin oatmeal, Anne Lamott, and my sleeping husband and step-child, all half-lit by Christmas tree lights and the morning sun sparkling off a fresh skim of icy snow. Then everyone else in the house woke up and things came into focus; my step-daughter's irritating indecision and low-level bickering with my husband that escalated into squabbling and hurt feelings. A big old mess.
I suspect there are lots of people like me. People who are okay from far away but seem more like a big old mess the closer you get. We feel much more comfortable keeping people at arm's length and being slightly out of focus if it means we seem okay. It is rare to find someone who allows their big old messes to come so sharply into focus. It makes sense, doesn't it? We all want to reflect the beautiful impression of ourselves that we sometimes glimpse in the golden morning light.
I am lucky to live in a city with a great art museum. It has full on Monets and other Impressionist works, too. I notice that lots of people like to bask in the perfectly lit, parqueted floor Impressionist room. We all take two steps back and change our focus to catch the beautiful idea of the thing that inspired the artist to pick up his brush and make a big old mess.
I've also noticed that fewer people seem to linger in the concrete-floored modernist expansion to the neoclassical museum, especially in front of this painting. Heineken by Idelle Weber is a beautifully executed sharply focused painting of a big old mess. The thing that inspired this painting is a wreck. It's irritatingly, squabbly, hurt feelings-y messy. It's discarded and worthless. It's trash. But thanks to the artist's keen eye and steady hand, she elevated this big old mess into something valuable--treasured, even. Every time we visit this museum, we are drawn to this painting. I appreciate it because it is a big old mess rendered so sharply in focus that it becomes beautiful.
What if we all could share our messes just as they are? Isn't there beauty in that? At times, I get inspired glimpses of my beautiful mess: artfully arranged bed head, mascara smudges so perfect they look like they were applied by a make-up artist for a mid-1990s heroine chic fashion shoot, bruises that look like Monet's version of a stormy sky at night.
It's easier to find beauty in our exterior messes than in our internal ones. But I'm slowly learning to claim those messes, too, and render them in ever-sharpening focus. While I don't necessarily feel more beautiful when I say things like "I don't know what that means," or "that hurts my feelings," or "I'm so frustrated and overwhelmed I don't know what to do," I always feel better after I claim the mess. When I do, I inevitably learn something about myself, my loved ones, or the world around me. And that is a beautiful thing, no matter from how far away or up close you look at it.
