Here's how this works: I "spin" the wheel on my camera roll, so to speak. And blindly select a random picture when it stops.
I'm getting old. Yeah, I know...
- You're only as old as you feel
- Age is a state of mind
- Like a good wine - or cheese - you only get better with age
- You're not getting older, you're getting better
- Age doesn't matter
Except that: I'm as old as my driver's license says I am, so is my brain, I'm not fermented, I may be getting better but I'm still getting older, and if age didn't matter, there wouldn't be a zillion platitudes trying to convince me otherwise.
I'm not complaining. Not exactly. I'll be honest, there are some things about aging I could do without. I'm not fond of the aches and pains or the grey hairs. I could live without the lines and creases. Not happy with the thickening waistline.
Okay, I am complaining!
But there's also something surprisingly liberating about embracing the gifts of time. Even the ones carefully disguised as curses.
Old stuff has chatecter. It's worn and uniquely shaped. It has remarkable stories to tell. It's weathered many storms and experiences and is grounded in history, steeped in wisdom.
As an artist, I love to work with subjects and materials that bear the marks of time. Textures, dents and dings, frays and scars. These are the things that make them interesting. There is no depth in a flawless object.
And people are no different.
Decay is provocative. Decay is storied and intriguing. Decay means you didn't just get off the boat but rather you've been here awhile, survived a few beatings, you've learned and grown and done some things. Decay isn't smooth, it isn't pristine. It marks you. It brands you. It's a map of your history.
And while it's easy to pine away for the asthetics and polish of newness and youth, I'll take the richness of experience over that any day.
Out-of-the-box perfection may be indisputably and conventionally pretty on the surface.
But decay...
Deacay is deeply, immensely beautiful.