Some days all I need
is your hand pulling me up
and away from here
Sometimes my husband is the ONLY thing that can pull me out of a nasty, dirty, stagnant funk. I’ve been in one of those lately, about my writing, about my body-image…maybe I’ve felt a bit anti-climactic? Move back from Alaska, survive several upheavals (most of which were happy upheavals), darling baby boy starts Kindergarten and astonishes us all with his spirit and soul, I sit and muse and get to work and…wilt a little.
My husband is an artist. His amazing vision and execution leave me breathless.
Here’s how I knew in the beginning:
When we had just began dating he was still in film school. Before I saw any of his work I was nervous I wouldn’t like it…I really wanted to like it but had been weirded out many times before by random film students in Dayton, Ohio and I really hoped his work stood out from what I had seen in dirty apartments and musty campus basement rooms. Wait…scratch this. I’m not being myself here…here’s how it was:
Now that Theresa’s memory is growing deeper and more cluttered with new images she sees their first dates as if through a stereoscope: blurry around the edges, shadowed in ambers and reds. She and Ben are sitting on his roommate’s sofa, Ben’s hands are nervously rubbing his legs; he’s fidgety and looks as though he might jump up into orbit at any second. Theresa has her legs tucked behind her on the scratchy sofa, which makes her look young. Theresa is young, barely twenty. Ben is young too, barely thirty.
They’re looking at a television, at a film of Ben’s. He’s nervous that Theresa won’t like the film, and his nerves are also reminding him of various doubts he has regarding his talents in the visual arts. Theresa is nervous she won’t like the film, she hopes it’s good. She hopes it’s better than good, actually. She hopes it blows her mind into zillions of atoms. Her hopes are high for this film, and so are Ben’s for different reasons of course, so they’re having the exact same emotion at the exact same time but by completely different catalysts.
From the first frame Theresa is impressed. Ben uses a lot of stunning images to symbolize memories that fuel the plot’s engine along. And it doesn’t putter, this film. It screams and moves and sails. The acting is well-directed and executed. There are even some underwater scenes and Theresa wants to ask Ben how he did them, but she also wants to wait until the film is over before she asks. There are reds and blues and sharp contrasts and some of the shots make Theresa gasp a little. Each frame is a perfectionistic display from a director who has thought every last flutter of an actor’s eyelash from wide open to blink to shut. It is very, very good.
When the credits roll (she recognizes some of the names on the crew) she tells him what she thinks, and he looks relieved. His hands cease their torment of the top of his legs, his shoulders relax into normal shoulders again. Theresa asks genuine questions and Ben answers them honestly and with restrained excitement. Theresa is already in love, and it’s only the second or third date.
(He still blows me away)
His photography is mentioned in my list of links – or you can find it here: