I've been thinking about everything. Really thinking, even when I'm trying not to. I do not know why I continue to be surprised by things, but I am with alarming consistency. I should take a page from Ez's book; his motto is 'Don't expect too much' - the sad but pale truth of a modern society which claims to be free and colourful but is really most often staid and pallid.
The whole white wall thing has gotten me down. Here we are in this beautiful space, windows open to the constant song of the birds chattering, singing symphonies for any ears willing to listen. The afternoon sun kisses the walls and warms the reddish hues of the floors and a breeze blows in with a hint of forest, a dash of the sea. Why doesn't anyone want it? We did what they asked - we painted it white and took away almost anything that had any personality one way or the other. I have neutralized all sense of everything that was us in this space, traded my golden shower curtain for one of alarming white, traded clay baked terra cotta for gleaming white - hell, I even changed the freakin' candles to white and somehow it's still not enough. And I can't help but think of this as somehow reflecting everything about my life, and now especially, my career.
I thought being an actor was creative, I thought movies and such were acts of creativity, of living and breathing truth into stories, but I was as wrong as blue walls and red candles. It is not creative, it is a business and as with the white walls, I seem to have all the wrong colours anymore. I understood long ago that I didn't quite fit it - I'm not gorgeous enough to be the babe, not strange enough to be the odd girl in (who has that spot? Is there even a spot for her?). I think maybe I'm too much blue and purple and red and even when I try to paint myself white for them, they see through and they see my colours and instead of thinking they are beautiful and creative, they scare the hell out of people.
I don't know how to be want people want - and frankly I haven't really wanted to be. I have always prided myself on being just that -myself- and I have tried to remain true and real and I think it just doesn't work. I think people are not creative enough to see things, they need sterility, neutrality - they need white walls...and I don't want to be white walled - I never have. I have always wanted to scream fuschia and red from the tops of green spiked mountains, to toss orange and amber into the blue true dream of sky. I don't know how to be neutral, how to appease the masses. I have a purple couch and furniture trucked over from India and I don't know why I should be expected to live in some netherworld of beige and ecru to please people I don't even know who don't live here anyways. Perhaps I am being bitter, but really - aren't there enough white f*cking walls??
I look at Nahanni, how she colours wildly outside the lines, how she refused to colour with anything but red crayon for the longest time and I don't want her to only know about white walls. I don't want her to be stifled because people cannot understand hues outside their own. I feel angry that being real and true and colourful is too much for the world in which we live and it simply makes me want to run away to somewhere more colourful, to do something that embraces the entire spectrum. I think of that old woman, in her 90's who when asked what she'd change said 'I wish I'd worn more purple' and I will never have to say that. And I sure as hell won't say that I wish I'd left my walls white (literally and figuratively). I get that everything must be doled out in moderation, I'm not a fool, but really, I thought people had more imagination.
The only thing that really surprises me anymore is the fact that any of this surprises me.
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