gemstones - noun - a precious or semi-precious stone, especially one cut, polished and used in a piece of jewelry.
In the past 24 hours, I have been reminded that although there are quite a few manufactured newcomers to celebrity who perhaps don't exactly qualify as feed for jewelry, there were and still are the polished few gemstones from the past that dare to shine on like "crazy diamonds." (Thank you, Pink Floyd.)
In the a.m. of September 16th, I awoke to my daughter's esoteric text that read, "Sorry for your loss." As I was completely unaware that I was missing anything or anyone, I followed through with "What loss?" Her response was "Just look on the internet. Mind you, it's a heavy loss." And she was right. Upon learning of the death of Hollywood's iconic matinee idol, indie film's grandfather, and Utah's environmental savior Robert Redford, my emotional blood pressure dropped to zero. Okay, I know. He was 89 and had lived a rich, successful life by anyone's standards, even Emerson's lofty ones, but a loss is still a loss no matter the age of the deceased. And what a loss.
Clearly, Redford was more than a movie star. To me, on the silver screen, he was male beauty and sartorial elegance personified, but he was also someone whose film characters got me through adolescence sans committing suicide, fratricide, or parricide. His movies allowed for escape from a tough reality happening via the 24-7 news cycle, or in the case of some of his more dramatic films (like Ordinary People or All the President's Men), he offered a connection to the difficult elements, which enlightened us teens in his heyday and led us to evaluate closely the world spinning around us.
On a more personal note, Redford's Sundance General Store, a modest gift shop nestled in a cabin on his ski resort of the same name, carried my naive art in the form of Torey the Turkey Goes Skiing, a thin, meagerly crafted children's picture book, when no one wanted to take a chance on it due to its rudimentary simplicity. I thank him for that albeit it is possible that he might not have had knowledge of the purchase. (I'm hoping that is not true.)
Another diamond albeit in the rough is the very much alive Neil Young. Last night, Bond and I said an unofficial goodbye to the summer by attending the classic musician's concert at the Hollywood Bowl, a venue the artist admitted that he had not played since 1966. Like so many of his musical contemporaries who thrived during the tumultuous 1960s, Neil's tunes are political, far left, but with an ironic bent, a sense of humor. Which so many in the political realm no longer possess. At 79, he may just have another ten years left in him, especially if he loses some weight. Yet his voice is as lucid and limber as when he performed at Woodstock with his band mates, Crosby, Stills, and Nash. The soprano notes of "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" in particular soared through the air like a dove carrying an olive branch. Neil's emotionally genuine performance of the song brought me to tears. Offhand, I can't think of one recording artist under the age of sixty who can do the same for me.
Like ageless gemstones, our pop culture icons from the past–whether dead or alive–linger on indefinitely through their artistic legacies. Although there has been much vitriol thrown at the internet lately, there is still much good, the aforementioned men's work preserved on YouTube, for example, an easy escape for a disillusioned society.
#blog, #blogger, #society, #Robert Redford, #Neil Young, #personal essay
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