Timothy WillardComment

Timothy WillardComment
  This caught me. The image, the verse. I’ve been considering the benefit of sadness and melancholy and how, in a strange way, both can bring a kind of joy as we move through them. Always there is movement, melancholy, into light, into contemplation. Perhaps “The Great Sadness” exists because there is, in fact, “A Great Joy.” And that is where we’re headed … though some get mired in the melancholy.  

  theparisreview : 
 
  The Great Sadness  
 You can’t look at yourself in the ocean. Your looks fall apart like tendrils of light. Night on earth. 
 — Federico García Lorca . Photography credit  Yale Joel .

This caught me. The image, the verse. I’ve been considering the benefit of sadness and melancholy and how, in a strange way, both can bring a kind of joy as we move through them. Always there is movement, melancholy, into light, into contemplation. Perhaps “The Great Sadness” exists because there is, in fact, “A Great Joy.” And that is where we’re headed … though some get mired in the melancholy. 

theparisreview:

The Great Sadness

You can’t look at yourself
in the ocean.
Your looks fall apart
like tendrils of light.
Night on earth.

Federico García Lorca. Photography credit Yale Joel.

Timothy Willard loves to sit with his wife by the bonfire and make up stories about Tom the Backyard-Badger for his three lovely daughters. When he's not carving up the Appalachian Mountains on his Salsa El Mariachi, you can find him busy writing a book, collaborating on a book, or reading a book written by someone dead and gone. Timothy studied beauty in the works of C.S. Lewis under theologian Alister McGrath. The author of five books, including Veneer: Living Deeply in a Surface Society (Zondervan), Timothy is currently finishing The Life-Changing Adventure of Chasing Beauty (Eerdmans, 2019), preparing his doctoral thesis for publication, and trying to find a publisher for his first novel The Tempest and the Bloom. He lives somewhere in the south Charlotte woods.