Some of the best photographs, essays, poems, and explanations for living and doing are the best because they are simple. They appeal to a part of you, or me, or anyone because they are uncomplex things in which we would like to indulge. A photo of a meal, made only with tomatoes, grain of some kind, olive oil, and basil, served on a traditional white porcelain plate, perhaps pictured on a farmhouse-like table, evokes the strongest desirous emotions.
We want that plate of delicious, fresh food. And we want it in a gorgeous white platter, chipped though it is, on an older table whose patina has been contributed to by many a summer wine glass. A girl in vintage clothing, worn by many before her, stands in a kind spring breeze and owns an outfit you think you can never pull off. A bathroom window opens up to a beautiful countryside, but it is still someone’s quotidian view.
Will we always feel the grass in always greener on the other side, in some respect? Do we not allow ourselves to live in our present lives because we are concerned with making them simple yet beautiful? I don’t know one person whose life is both of those things all of the time. Life isn’t that way.
I so love things that are elementary and yet so instructive, as the word elementary might suggest. I do love to model whatever I can in my life after uncomplex, gorgeous things that I find, read, and observe. And yet, I don’t throw everything away to go live in the middle of nowhere and have a dock, a farm, an old “vintage” sink or bathtub—that, if I really lived there, would likely drive me insane because it wouldn’t drain properly or would take forever to fill or would get too slippery when washed. That’s part of the charm I suppose, but I think it’s rather a confusing juxtaposition for one to be in— to be in a city where they know they have friends and love and the best opportunity at a job, or to be the person taking those dream-stalking pictures in a magnificent setting.
I never want to yearn for a life I don’t have, because of course I’d like to be living the life I ultimately desire, but sometimes I think the 30-year-old, 50-year-old, 80-year-old me intercedes and contributes their characteristically strong opinion to my reality.
One day I hope to piece all of this together— what I want, what I have, what I need, and what I have earned— into a picture I am glad to see through the viewfinder.
