As I get older, I see beauty everywhere.

It wasn’t always this way.  When I was in my teens and 20s, I had no interest in a natural setting.  I found no special enjoyment from a mountain or river scene, unless it was of the extreme Ansel Adams variety.

Canyon de Chelly, Arizona, by Ansel Adams for the National Park Service.

Now I can look at a lake and feel peaceful.  A waterfall holds my attention and an Olympic athletic performance keeps me riveted as never before. That change alone has added to my enjoyment of life.  I finally appreciate those things my parents and all the people around me have enjoyed for their whole lives.  The change has not stopped there and this is where I find things shifting to the absurd.

I now find beauty and interest all around me.  I still find some things much more attractive than others, such as the photo below.

Tribute to Man Ray by Guy Le Baube (1994)

When I look around, I see beauty in the random patterns of wood flooring, in a chaotic pile of driftwood, in a broken down desk.  I take joy in the artistic unattractiveness of an enormously fat person on a scooter,  smoking, with bad skin and stains on their shirt.  It makes me want to take a picture.  I find cheaply made items, broken golf clubs and plastic toys from the 90s and I want to capture the image.  I don’t even want to make a statement about them.  I have no message to send, just the joy in the image.  I want to see them for what they are.  In doing so, I enjoy them.  As my joy in the simple and unimpressive has grown, I fear I am becoming like that kid in the movie American Beauty.  He describes a plastic bag blowing around as the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.  I have ridiculed this for years and I disliked his character intensely.  Now I’m not about to call something like that the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but I understand what he is saying.  I have to accept this is the one way street my mind has chosen to travel.

If this continues, I will find beauty in a plain white light switch on the wall or in the dust bunnies on the floor.  I find if I stare at something long enough it starts to grow on me and I see it as artistic.  I never understood the appeal of distressed wood (why damage something intentionally?), but now I find it may add to a table.  Perhaps I will appreciate the modern art paintings of a red square on a white canvas in another ten years.  Maybe on my deathbed I will appreciate the unpainted canvas alone.  I have always looked upon this sort of art with horror.  As a kid, Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup paintings seemed a waste of time.  Now I love them.  Diane Arbus photographs of everyday people appeal to me now more than ever before.

Though my opinions of art have spread far and wide, I find greater beauty in specific wonderful pieces more than in the everyday.  The beauty of the truly stunning has become so great in my eyes I stand transfixed when I see it.  Put a couple of drinks in me a I have to own it, to make it a permanent part of my life.

De gustibus non disputandum est.

(Roughly translated, there’s no accounting for taste.)

Here is one of my favorites:

The Weight of Water, Part 3 by Tara McPherson, 2008

I have taken up making origami cranes, and here was one that, despite minor issues with craftsmanship, came out quite nicely.  I find them both meditative and enjoyable.

This weekend I rented 47 Ronin, a movie with some of the same characters as the famous story of the 47 ronin of Japan from a couple hundred years ago.  I would say it is based on the story, but really I would be lying to you.

Rotten Tomatoes, that movie review site, gives 47 Ronin a rating of 13% out of a possible 100%, placing it a solid 16% worse than Tideland.  Tideland was so terrible that it broke the cardinal rule of movies; a sequel to the original would excel it.  But more on that another time as Tideland deserves its own post.  Opinions can differ on many things, but the fact is, Tideland is worst movie ever made.  Ever.  Ever ever.

Keanu Reeves stars as a blah blah, half demon, yada yada, swords, witches, samurai, halfwitted stares into the distance, who cares.  Nobody has ever accused Keanu of brilliant acting, but he makes a fun action hero.  You want him to defeat evil and you turn to his movies for a good time, not for intellectual stimulation.  Go, Keanu, go!  Say your lines and kill the bad guy in cool ways.  Time for some popcorn.

All those reviewers who gave 47 Ronin a poor rating need to remember why the watched the film in the first place.  They wanted action and that’s exactly what they got.  If, as they stated, “…one dimensional roles” is a negative, why did Titanic get 88%?  (Ha, ha, I took a pot shot at Titanic.  Take that, American public that loved it!)

47 Ronin should have received a rating in the low 50s.  If you just want to see a bunch of samurai with swords fight demons (and a witch-fox-dragon-whatever thing) for honor, while facing certain death, buy some milk duds and rent this one.

Personal note: Milk duds happen to be excellent for removing any annoying dental work cluttering up your mouth.

Keep your expectations for 13% and this movie will exceed them with flying colors.