Wrinkles As Art-lines Of Life
ServiceSpace
--Jyoti
2 minute read
May 25, 2015

 

The cyber-genies of Bigdata seem to have figured out that I am a woman in my wisdom years, living in the youth-worshipping US culture, because my computer screen regularly offers me advertisements of miracle cures for wrinkles that will erase years off my appearance. How do I educate the algorithms that I believe that wrinkle lines are a thing of beauty? The youth-worshipping culture is but one aspect of the world I live in, the other being a deep respect for age and accumulated wisdom from a lived life. So far, no one has escaped aging alive.

Concealing the signs of aging or denying it does not stop aging, as it happens just as naturally as the earth going around the sun, for all of us. If you look carefully, the wrinkles on a person's face reveal and tell the story of their lives. Worry lines show that they cared enough about something to worry about it. The crows-feet at the end of their eyes remain as a positive testimony to their ability to laugh easily and enjoy the jovial aspects of life. The thoughtful lines crease up the forehead and reflect on the pensive nature of the person. The wrinkles at the neckline show how often and humbly they bowed to others in their lives.

To me it feels that erasing and concealing it takes away a little bit of the person's humanity, and replaces it with a mask that makes the authentic connection just that tiny bit harder. Each wrinkle line is a work of art by life itself. I embrace it for it tells the stories that I will never have the words to tell. When I meet someone who can read these, and that happens regularly, there is instant connection. We are in-the-groove.

My earliest recollection of finding beauty as a child are faces of three women, all in their sixties at the time: my always loving and immensely patient grandmother, my Sunday school teacher at the Ramakrishna Mission who told me stories and taught me how to chant, and a retired neighbor, who was always dependably there. Each of them was kindness personified and decades later, even their memory is beautiful. Beauty is beyond appearance and it never fades.  
 
Now, when I visit the elders in my life, I notice that the ones who are more caring also happen to have more artwork on their corporeal person. Maybe this is just a random coincidence or maybe the ones who are battling their wrinkles are too busy fighting that losing battle that they are simply not available for caring for much else. What is your experience with reading or concealing the art-lines of life?  

 

Posted by Jyoti on May 25, 2015


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