I watched a film the other night. I borrowed it from the library. The film was called the Tree of Life. This film was a Cannes winner. I did not know about this film before I watched it. The film is impressionistic and has been said to be more like a prayer than a movie. I have to agree. To me the film unpeeled layers of grief to reveal a deeply personal portrayal of grief. It revealed in visual form the nature of grieving. I would guarantee that The Tree of Life will not appeal to everyone. To me it was an unraveling of bewilderment and has given me a voice.
I feel as if I am waking up a little. To visually describe my position would take the form of the Anthony Gormley sculpture ANOTHER PLACE. I have been rooted to the spot when we first heard the news. From that point to this the world and life have carried on as normal. Tides rise and fall, seasons change and business goes on as usual. I stood still inside.
Initially the shock and fear sharpened all my senses. I saw things so clearly and started painting again. I recorded the things of now. It was as if appreciating the details of moments in time could somehow protect from the uncertain future. The brittle nature of grief needed protecting with a blanket of real things.
I was not in denial, but held in suspended animation unable to focus. Our fear has been tempered and our normal been absorbed. Grief is like breathing smoke everyday. In time, although it does not go away, it does learn to behave itself.
And so to the feeling of waking up.
It was Mothers Day yesterday.
I have a shift in perspective. I do not think the goal posts have moved. I do not feel as if everything has moved on around me so much now, I feel less disconnected. My shrunken world has become obsolete.
And I have no words for this…………
After all, the branches stripped bare give perspective, a better, clearer view. Structure is revealed.