Beauty and paper

Jean Steffano
Aug 23, 2017 · 3 min read

I woke up to this questioning: What’s so interesting about me? Why would anyone ever bother to read one of my publishings?

As it comes to mind, I’m not actually the one interesting. It seems that words have a unique way of reaching out, of communicating. To communicate something, to communicate to someone.

So, I’m right. I’m not really interesting. My life is not that important, disregarding some cheerful fools who like to worry about it. One thing that came to me is that, when you write, people can’t see your face. When your thoughts are down on the paper, this is all they are: thoughts.

Thoughts may become words, and words may become art.

So what is it about art that makes us eager to explore, to discover? Why do I need to write? Why do I desperately need to put these words away? The truth is: the human heart longs for beauty. We were made to search for it. We were made by it, through it and for it. In essence, beauty is all there is, and all there should be. If we live along with beauty, if we drink of it’s cup everyday, nothing else should matter.

Writing these words down I had a complete sense of what beauty is. This one night I laid down on my couch feeling exhausted. I had just came out of a friend’s wedding, the head rang for pain and the body asked for shower. The moment I left the bathroom I just wanted to watch something on the tablet I bought the week before. It became unbearable. There, on the couch, staying awake was too hard a labor and keeping eyes open too heavy a burden.

And then beauty came in.

Clicking a few seconds into the web, I found that great video. Cello music, not just Cello music, three hours of Cello music. Music made with the sole purpose of putting a young lion’s will to sleep. It shot me instantly. I came to believe I had never felt as relaxed as I did. The nostalgia embraced me so hard I couldn’t check my notifications. There, I gladly fell asleep to the sound.

What happened after? I woke up.

I woke up. It was still night and the music was still going on. Deep, deep Cello. Strings ringing through my very soul. All I could feel was a sense of captivity. I could not move, I could not think, all I could do was listen, and I reluctantly kept listening. Easily and softly I fell asleep again, diving deep inside my own thoughts and dreams, still trying to find a meaning to the math, the equation behind the ringing of the strings.

The clock hit 4 a.m. I woke up again.

I did not feel tired anymore. The music had stopped replaced by the usual everyday noise: a smartphone. Someone decided it was worth texting late at night. Me, of course, just wanted to check on that and catch up with the busy life. I surrendered. Wasted all creativity into texts to some close friends. There, a moment past, something else was going on.

It was 4 a.m. and I did not want to sleep anymore.

It had been such a long while since the last time I woke up to the morning like this. I was just there, in the dark, all alone in my living room. Deep, soft shadows loomed all over the floor and the walls, casted by eerie lights outside my windows, curvy lights that came right through the gray curtains sitting closed upon them. Peace came in. Everything felt right in the world, everything was awesome, everything was perfect. Memories echoed across my mind as close as dreams echo over a sleeping soul.

Beauty had became everything, rushing in as a blank piece of paper. All I needed now was to write, and then write, and then write. Words came out on their own.

I had a question to lay low. And down it went.

)
Jean Steffano

Written by

Digital Marketing Consultant | Business Development & Audience Planning