Self portrait in dressing room mirror, Pierre Bonnard, circa 1938-circa 1940 ; see more here
Let's talk about resurrections. And yes, it will also direct us to erections. Just think of how we get up, sit up, stand up, every morning again, if all goes well, to do the whole shabang of life all over again. When you're in love (with life) it's one thing, but when you're fighting flu, mourning a loss, or coping with Alzheimer's, that first stumble to the bathroom can be quite a trek through Eliot's Wasteland or Moses's Wilderness (or check out the totally genius Samantha Harvey and her novel, "The Wilderness", for the harrowing theme of dementia).
'It is not a matter of painting life. It's a matter of giving life to painting',* this is what the entirely effervescent Bonnard said about his art. From the 1930s onwards he painted his self-portrait regularly with the motif of the necessary mirror to do so prominently featured. In the painting above, it takes a bit of knowing the artist to figure out what is going on with his hands: once you know he worked from annotations of impressions (rather than proper or realistic studies), you can see how he has painted a snap-shot moment of himself taking down a note to self about the motif for his portrait, i.e. the mirror-image that such a portrait always is.
Knowing yourself is generally a snapshot moment, collected into an album of memory that might last a life-time or not (it doesn't entirely if you get Alzheimer's; it's like your house burned down with the photo albums in it/ or your cloud data-base evaporated). Bonnard captures like no other how the self is little more, on the whole, than an arbitrary memory of itself as begotten by the mirror. It is a veritable spontaneous birth, or Aha! moment of here I am, or "that's me!". But is that the me who will be reborn, ultimately, in the Heavens after death, in this after-life, some of us fancy we may well be headed for?
Bonnard, self-portrait with a beard; 1920-5.
Which self are you going to be taking with you, when you go? The one at 35 or the one at 65? The wise crone? the handsome adonis? Which you do you love best? Which will come most in handy? I suppose it depends where you are going. It must be like packing for your holidays: snow-boots or sandals? It gets trickier for Rome around Christmas: turtle-necks or not? Or what must a Fin wear during the monsoon in India, wet but warm: what in their closet suits that climate!? Where is later, ever, anyway?
An impossible task, most enlightened or fed-up gurus agree on, to plan for a life that is unkowable. Stick to the here and now, is their advice (notably the sedate K, but also the other more spicey Krishanmurti, U.G., smack one's languid brains wide awake on that note, again). If we give up on all tomorrows, stop worrying about the number of undies to pack (how long does eternity last?) then we are left to face who we are as we stand before the mirror.
In life there are mirrors wherever we go. That's why it's healthy to keep on rolling and not to gather too much moss by sitting behind your geraniums. Every hello, how are you, is a mirror. Hi, I'm fine, comes rolling off the tip of your tongue, while your bunions are killing you and your hangover reminds you of all the unmentionables you did last night. Sigh. You pull a wan corner of your mouth into the effort of a smile. You might as well unpack that emergency duffle-bag you hid under the bed, for lying won't get you through the pearly gates, now will it?
In the small window of free self-exploration, when painters loved to paint (and did not appropriate themselves the job of social educator) artists stared into the mirror most of their lives trying to capture the essence of who they are. Cézanne's favorite mirror was Mount St. Victoire. Degas had a thing for ballerinas....hmmm hope that was sound... Rodin made no bones about his steamy sexuality, Francis Bacon was another brutally honest reflector. It doesn't always make for pretty reading, but to see closely and frankly is to make the self real; otherwise it remains this illusive "selfie" which is nothing more than a water stain you spash up against the lens. It's obfuscation. It's distortion (touched up snapchat). It's another pretty little lie.
We don't mean to lie, we are simply not all such great artists. Suppose you went around being totally honest all day? Whooosh, there goes diplomacy and friendliness down the drain in one swift flush. We all need to whitewash the blemishes away a little, don't we? Well, no, I don't think it will do us any favours to live behind facaces and keep up appearances, but how many friends have I got!?
Therapeutically speaking, though, it's the only way back to your sanity for many of us, to "get real", "up close and personal" with yourself. Once you practice painting what you truly see when you get up first thing in the morning, you will come to a new kind of realignment to your mirrors. It begins however, by reflecting on the day you've just had, every evening. Scribble that off your brain, and come to the bathroom mirror the following morning with a tabula rasa - which is never blank, do not fear. If you do your exerices properly for an extended period of time, you will start to see a colourful world in your "neutral"/ sleep-cleaned mirror. This is the True Self starting to absorb the spirit or quintessence of being your human-divine self.
Then the topic of resurrection becomes approachable again, from a meaningful angle, the one of truths about yourself gathered in a Christmas-spirt of softness and optimism, transcending age or public opinion. Then a new portrait of your eternal self emerges in your co-creative acts.
And yes, then, and only then will your erections, and/or those of your partner's, inform you, with ease and joy, of the parts of yourself you cannot see always that easily in the mirror of your solitary meditations. Love is helpful like that. (Yes, in the mirror love can look like sex.) It looks you in the eyes, both of them at the same time.
Told you, erections come into the topic of resurrection, but the full ins and outs of that remain reserved to the artist at work in his/her studio.
*Footnote: Quote from description of the Bonnard artwork at top by Ursula Prunster, to be found at linked website.