If a peaceful planet seems even more unrealistic today than it did when John Lennon imagined it, internal tranquility–that human condition sought after by all thinking mortals–may be a rarer prize, still.
The great irony of John Lennon’s life is that it ended in a burst of mystifying violence precisely when turbulence–a hallmark of his youth and mythic fame–had given way to a dawning mid-life of artistic renewal, domestic bliss, and something akin to a state of grace.
It is partly this truth–that a bright light was extinguished not at a moment of decline, but at a time of seeming rebirth–that has always imbued his murder with an uncommonly shattering overtone.
If it’s impossible to imagine John Lennon at 70, it may be because he left us with a memorably vital final portrait: that of an artist in creative bloom; an idealist still proposing a utopian vision of the world; and a man finally in possession of that most elusive of all mortal achievements–inner peace.
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This entry was posted on 12 October 2010 at 14:21 and is filed under art, commentary, music, New York, photography, words.
A SEPARATE PEACE
12 October 2010Share this:
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This entry was posted on 12 October 2010 at 14:21 and is filed under art, commentary, music, New York, photography, words.