A determined young artist, Maria struggles to make sense of what her life has become. As she faces unbearable losses in her life, her memories save her from falling apart. For what is a memory, but a piece of the soul that remains when all else is lost?
Existing the Moments is glorious and tragic – full of the delights of living, but also the desperation of the wounded spirit. As she replays the little factions of time that make up the filmstrip of her life, she sees those moments through her memories and rediscovers a life and love that can be compared to no other.
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It had become my religion but not in the spiritual way that would deem my indulgence into each and every aspect of the art, as it once had been. It had become the other kind of religion. The kind that preaches conformity in institution, redemption in ritual…it had turned into mindlessness.
I had completely lost my "self." I was white-water rafting through unforgiving currents, my raft breaking against the rocks of despair, of confinement, of platitude. I had drowned when I thought I was to soar. I had become a self-loathing seal in a sea full of feasting sharks. They closed in on me and stifled my work, my essence, and there I was left ravaged. I had suffered a tragic crisis that left no relief. The only other love of my life debauched….the only other outlet that had given me solace in this life had been cheapened by pop culture.
I had become the lounge singer of the visual art world, taking requests for Jimmy Buffet songs on a tropical island during hurricane season. It was uncharted territory to be so exiled, so disillusioned, and so I proceeded to drown myself in valium induced suicide attempts. I was bound and enchained in grief, in artistic anguish, in the masses of beckoning bribes that summoned me with false antics, with deadlines, and worse off, with parameters.
My soul was lost as the antichrist greeted me with daggers of hindrance. And so that is how it came to be that I put it all away in a closet…Italy!