That old saying ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ springs to mind this morning. I’m trying to revive an old skill for sketching faces, with very little success. I’ve so far managed some rather frightening, alien looking eyes, several stick people and a girl with terrifying eyebrows who in no way resembles the one I’m attempting to draw. It’s got me thinking about what beauty is, or isn’t, for me. It’s easy to see beauty in all children’s faces, in magnificent sunsets, in a serene bride or in a huge bar of Green & Black’s salty chocolate 🙂 The question I have is, is there beauty in everything? Is there beauty in war, beauty in death? Is there beauty in every lame dog and bedraggled cat? I think there is, or perhaps I’ve chosen to see the world that way. The beauty may not be the war itself, or the mangy hair on the stray dog, but surely there is beauty in each scene, despite the sadness or strife that is also included. Do we look for that beauty or choose to see it only in the very obvious? Have we become so groomed by advertising and society that that’s all we can see. Maybe I need to see that beauty, to survive in an otherwise harsh world. Of course we don’t all see the same things or people as beautiful and perhaps we sometimes think that others are ‘weird’ in their choices. I’ve come to the conclusion that we should all find our own beauty and our own weird and take no notice whatsoever of anyone else’s opinion in that search. Thank you for reading xx
April 1945 by Anne Elizabeth Bevan
She sits at the pavement cafe
sipping her coffee, inhaling her habit,
the dilapidated shop front framing her;
perfect pout, fiery red lips, firm and brave
in the face of wartime sounds.
Stockings painted on bare legs,
illusion coloured by lies;
a brilliant actress in a bit part.