There is violence in life. And beauty. They coexist. Complimenting one another. Serving as contrast. We see this juxtaposition daily, but are oblivious to the nuances in our own reflections. Life is violent. And so our lives are violent. The heartbreaks, deaths, arguments, slamming of doors. THE ANXIETY OF LIVING. This violence becomes part of us. Some internalize, others wear their scars visibly. And then there are those occasional rays of light which illuminate our worlds for entire seconds, moments, hours, bursting through with joy and possibility. The newborn. The look of love. The boyfriends. The girlfriends. The lovers who loved us back and meant it. The Yankees winning ... again ... and again. The smiles. These memories become part of us too, part of the nuances permeating our faces. Coexisting. Violence and beauty. You and I. Like light and dark. Like death and life. Like artist and muse. One cannot exist without the other; it’s contrast.
And in that moment: epiphany. To continue dancing meant a life of platonic exhibitionism. “How much authenticity can one abstract from a photo?” she pondered audibly. It was rather simple, looking back through the window meant breaking it. And with that shattered perception, an internal confrontation with who she was, is and appears to be. You see, she knew as did the others, that our souls were flawed. Nothing was ever as perfect as it seemed in the pictures.