Paris reminiscents pt. 1
I remember the time I went to visit Père Lachaise cemetery, as any other good tourist in Paris would do. Of course I also passed the infamous Jim Morrison’s grave, but my focus was shifted towards other people’s memories that I wanted to be part of.
The first one was Frédéric Chopin’s, fully decorated with candles and flowers and letters from fans, contributing to keeping his memory in their hearts somewhere until the end of time, or at least until the destruction of all art and human civilization. The next grave I passed by was Édith Piaf’s. Elegant and chique, just as she was, decorated with fresh flowers and a bottle of perfume. Her favourite scent maybe in order to create the atmosphere of her smell when she would enter a room?
But the grave that touched me the most, was the grave of the italian painter Modigliani. First of all, it took me almost half an hour just to locate his grave, and when I finally did, I realized why it was nearly impossible to find it, for it was no richer, no more decorated than others around it, pehraps even less. “What happened dear Amadeo?” I asked him, but he did not seem disconsolated about that fact. Perhaps he preffered it that way, having his last remains somewhat hidden from the maddening crowd histerically admiring his paintings, throwing themselves on the floor in wanting just a mere piece and touch of them.
There was one rose lying by the tombstone, so I picked it up and layed it in the middle of the rough gray stone. I picked up the unlit candle, poured out the tears of clouds that had gathered in the smothering its flame. I took out my lighter and tried, and tried to dry the wax out, and after a while succeeded. I lit the flame and wished him a nice day, and a dazzling shiver went over my spine, as if hearing him wishing me back the same,
and it occured to me how human all these artists, and geniouses and mad people were. We tend to think about them as something almost unnatural, but they are in fact even more human than the most of us. They are the ones who never lost the connection to the primal universal being and therefore appear eccentric in their uncomformistic behaviour that our society proclaims as unacceptable and inapropriate. And yet no one is more human than he who is faithful to himself…