Like most people, I never write back on Substack, but this piece really moved me. I have been in permanent grief mode since Covid, which aged me in terrible ways. I had a certain invincibility before it that I don't have now. And I am no less healthy in significant ways. But I really know how online friends are real friends because I am still on Clubhouse. And I have been going through divorces and cancer diagnoses, and so on. But I did to to see the Taylor Swift movie and I could not believe the interaction between Swift and her fans. It's connection through art, as you way. Wish we still had G3.
I can't believe I forgot to include the ongoing grief over COVID...not just the illness and its impact itself, but what it revealed about our society...to my list of all that is dark about these times.
And yes, Taylor's movie showed that she too makes a sometimes diminished group (in her case young girls and women) feel elevated. It's powerful and beautiful.
I appreciate you commenting. I often say that this Substack is now my blog, but we've certainly lost the interactivity that old school blogging used to enjoy xo
This was beautiful, Elisa. Thank you for reminding me to seek and find comfort in the performing arts. Grateful for our online friendship and our community.
Dec 13, 2023·edited Dec 13, 2023Liked by Elisa Camahort Page
Thanks for the thoughtful post. The relationship between grief and the arts makes sense... grief is seldom a rational, quantifiable thing. It makes sense that such an intuition based thing like the arts are one of the most effective tools to explore what is happening within us. There was a Rabbi interviewed on a Podcast a while back who spoke of grief coming in waves... it flows in and flows out. And there was something powerful about looking at grief through that lens. Knowing that it will ebb and flow is helpful when I'm at flood stage. An old boyfriend committed suicide back in 1991 and there is a song that he'd written the lyrics out in calligraphy in a letter to me. Whenever I hear that song, I remember the pain, but I also remember the good things as well. Art can reach complicated, nuanced places that are inaccessible otherwise.
Thank you for sharing, Paul, and I'm sorry for that loss...losses like are definitely the kind that stick with us a lifetime. It's interesting that people often talk about smells bringing memories flooding back, but that has never been the case for me. (Perhaps because my lifelong allergies/congestion don't really afford me a great sense of smell.) Music, though? There are so many songs that I associate with very specific people and experiences. And I'm sure I always will.
It is funny about the smell thing. In general I am not triggered by smells, but there is a certain smell just before the rain starts that reminds me of melancholy childhood days... despite me calling it melancholy, these are positive nuanced memories... cloudy afternoons ready to burst with possibility. A rainy day has always seemed a time to be creative... to write, to draw, to make interesting toys to while the day away. I'm not triggered by many smells, but the smell of an overcast day promising a deluge always has carried an emotional resonance.
Like most people, I never write back on Substack, but this piece really moved me. I have been in permanent grief mode since Covid, which aged me in terrible ways. I had a certain invincibility before it that I don't have now. And I am no less healthy in significant ways. But I really know how online friends are real friends because I am still on Clubhouse. And I have been going through divorces and cancer diagnoses, and so on. But I did to to see the Taylor Swift movie and I could not believe the interaction between Swift and her fans. It's connection through art, as you way. Wish we still had G3.
I can't believe I forgot to include the ongoing grief over COVID...not just the illness and its impact itself, but what it revealed about our society...to my list of all that is dark about these times.
And yes, Taylor's movie showed that she too makes a sometimes diminished group (in her case young girls and women) feel elevated. It's powerful and beautiful.
I appreciate you commenting. I often say that this Substack is now my blog, but we've certainly lost the interactivity that old school blogging used to enjoy xo
Thank you for these words. 🙏🏼🙏🏼
Thank you, Susan. Love you xo
This was beautiful, Elisa. Thank you for reminding me to seek and find comfort in the performing arts. Grateful for our online friendship and our community.
Yes, so grateful xo
Beautiful, ☀️
Thanks Laura, love you xo
Thanks for the thoughtful post. The relationship between grief and the arts makes sense... grief is seldom a rational, quantifiable thing. It makes sense that such an intuition based thing like the arts are one of the most effective tools to explore what is happening within us. There was a Rabbi interviewed on a Podcast a while back who spoke of grief coming in waves... it flows in and flows out. And there was something powerful about looking at grief through that lens. Knowing that it will ebb and flow is helpful when I'm at flood stage. An old boyfriend committed suicide back in 1991 and there is a song that he'd written the lyrics out in calligraphy in a letter to me. Whenever I hear that song, I remember the pain, but I also remember the good things as well. Art can reach complicated, nuanced places that are inaccessible otherwise.
Thank you for sharing, Paul, and I'm sorry for that loss...losses like are definitely the kind that stick with us a lifetime. It's interesting that people often talk about smells bringing memories flooding back, but that has never been the case for me. (Perhaps because my lifelong allergies/congestion don't really afford me a great sense of smell.) Music, though? There are so many songs that I associate with very specific people and experiences. And I'm sure I always will.
It is funny about the smell thing. In general I am not triggered by smells, but there is a certain smell just before the rain starts that reminds me of melancholy childhood days... despite me calling it melancholy, these are positive nuanced memories... cloudy afternoons ready to burst with possibility. A rainy day has always seemed a time to be creative... to write, to draw, to make interesting toys to while the day away. I'm not triggered by many smells, but the smell of an overcast day promising a deluge always has carried an emotional resonance.
That's lovely. And I know exactly what you mean.
Thank you for this beautiful post, Elisa. I'm so very sorry for your loss.
Thank oyu Britt xo