Nostalgia

On Friday afternoon I was driving to Illinois to see some friends. I didn't have a deadline for when to get there and was moseying through town. "Do I want to go see the hippos again?" I wondered as I approached Forest Park. I really am enamored with those hippos. But I'd just seen them and my other best friend was going to visit with her daughter and we might go see the hippos. It was a beautiful day, and a shame not to be outside in the balmy November midwestern weather. But rather than another trip to the zoo, I opted for a trip to the art museum (just down the street from the zoo) to visit paintings that I have viewed my whole life that I love--an artistic re-centering of sorts.

I wanted to see the gigantic portraits of a husband and wife that were meant to be displayed side by side as each portrait points to the other. A black and white rendering of horse and carriage by one of my favorites, Thomas Eakins. A huge Chuck Close painting that looks like a detailed photograph. Georgia O'Keefe. Monet's "Water Lilies." Van Gogh. It was a delightful couple of hours.

But I started thinking as I continued on my drive, how would I communicate to someone how these paintings make me feel--this melding of an 8-year-old girl discovering art for the first time in a summer workshop with an educated officianado analyzing form and composition with a broken-hearted mourner wanting to connect with emotions through an artistic medium. I began to ponder what was the essence of nostalgia. If I wanted someone else to feel what I feel, the same resonance in my chest, how would I evoke that from them? Does nostalgia feel the same for everyone? How does one evoke communal nostalgia, especially, just for kicks, in the realm of film? Through a soundtrack, perhaps. Songs that were popular when I was in high school tap into an emotional reserve that transports me back to that era in my life. I recently saw a film that took place in the 60's and the fashion and cars may evoke nostalgia in a viewer familiar with that era, but for the most part, nostalgia is an extremely individualistic experience.

I have recently been realizing that communicating insights and lessons that I learn is a vital driving force to me. Whenever I discover something, I immediately begin to navigate how to tell someone else. So part of me is saddened that there isn't a way to communicate nostalgia, the power of my memories. Part of me is glad for the power of remembering that is solely mine....that no one else's journey through the St. Louis Art Museum (or the art museum of their youth) could compare.

I'm swimming in nostalgia in the face of attending my 10-year class reunion from high school this Friday. I'm excited to catch up with people, but can't find a top to go with black pants to save my life. Malls and department stores are overwhelming, and eventually everything starts to look the same. Perhaps I'll wear an outfit from the past, just to be nostalgic.