Gorgeous

I know that beauty is subjective. But on a statistical level, there are certain measures of beauty that are objective. I am not the most beautiful person in the world. Not by a very long shot. And I know this. I don't pretend otherwise. But I do acknowledge that I possess some measure of beauty, and I think that's valuable.

Because I know people who are drop dead gorgeous. And they may know they are attractive, but they almost don't seem to appreciate it. Maybe being THAT attractive really is more of a liability than an advantage. I know that it has to be some of both. But it almost seems a waste to me.

I would KILL to be that beautiful - and I would know what to do with it. (Including a number of things society forbids me, on account of my sex). But I'm stuck with what I've got. I've put a lot of work into making the most of it. And I think I've done exceedingly well on that front. Much better than I ever would have thought possible at an earlier stage of my life.

But even with all that effort, the returns are but a pittance. And even the smallest change of being born female would make an astronomical difference. In fact, that accident of birth would count for far more than any amount of effort a human being could ever expend. And that hardly seems fair.

But even with my dedication and commitment, and the eye for beauty that I've honed over years of practicing my craft, I still feel like I'm unable to express my aesthetic feelings, and put my talents to work, because of a cultural sensitivity that's been developed around placing value on the way people look. For better and worse. Better for some, I'm sure. In my case, much worse.

"You're gorgeous. All I wanna do is take a picture to remember you by. Does that make me a villain?"

David Hamilton (an oft misunderstood artist who was, in the end, condemned to death for his passions) once wrote, "if you are on a beach and you notice a face, or a body, that stands out from the crowd, the sight of which makes your heart leap in your breast, then stop. If your feeling is honest and sincere, it will help you find the right words. Who knows what could then come from such a meeting." I hold that quotation as a guiding beacon (it has hung in the sidebar of one of my blogs for many years), not because I live by its wisdom. I am not so bold as that. But because it expresses a possibility - an alternative worldview - that I find pleasing, and very much preferable to the state of fear in which I live. When I am out on the street, and I see somebody who is absolutely gorgeous, all I wanna do is take a picture to remember them by. Nothing more intrusive than that. But I can't do that. I can't even let on that such is my desire. Because I feel like that would make me a villain in the eyes of others.

And that reminds me of another piece of art that has stuck with me over the years: a sci-fi movie from 2002 titled Equilibrium, starring Christian Bale. But forget about the flashy "gun-fu" action sequences. It's the intriguing premise - embodied in the tragic fate of Sean Bean's character - that really speaks to me. In a dystopian society, citizens are required to regulate their emotions through mandatory medication. The justification (and not without some merit) is the belief that intense emotions are the cause of much struggle and strife - both on an individual level, and on a society-wide scale. But this sense of security comes at the cost of sacrificing the highs and lows of human experience - arguably, what makes life worth living.

So, there are some who, at great risk, opt to surreptitiously forgo taking their state-mandated meds, in order to experience the full range of human emotions - and in the process, manage to accrue secret collections of contraband in the form of great works of art: paintings, symphonies, etc. Of course, these outlaws must learn to carefully regulate their emotions, so as not to out themselves to their peers and, more critically, the authoritarian police force whose task it is to hunt down such enemies of the state (the punishment for showing "feelings... of an almost human nature" - in the words of Pink Floyd - is no less than death).

Imagine, if you will, hearing a song and being so moved by it, but having to suppress your reaction to it - in effect, acting as though it doesn't affect you, for fear that someone will suspect it does. I feel that way every time I encounter a beautiful specimen of humanity. I still have those feelings, but I've learned (mostly) to suppress my outward reaction to them, and act like it doesn't affect me at all. But in doing so, something important is lost. I feel a traitor to myself, nurturing a wound that's grown into my very soul. Is my admiration so odious, so harmful a thing that I cannot be allowed to express it? To make it known? That we have eyes, and aesthetic tastes - though, yes, sometimes running only skin deep. Is it so damaging to a person's psyche to be an object of adoration? Or so damaging to others' not to be that object, that we dare not single anyone out?

I could be dead wrong, but I disagree. I believe we stand more to lose by refusing to acknowledge the effect beauty has on us, than we stand to gain by ignoring it. But I don't think the rest of the world feels that way. Which is why it's so valuable to me - having the self-awareness to acknowledge one's own beauty, and the generosity to be willing to share it freely, as through artistic pursuit. But such a thing is so rare - so rare that I feel I may suffocate, as though lacking enough oxygen to breathe.