Jessica Chastain in “Work of Art” photographed by Annie Leibovitz for Vogue USA December 2013
Frederic Leighton’s Flaming June, Henri Matisse’s Odalisque with Red Culottes, Félix Vallotton’s Le Retour, Anders Zorn’s Frances Folsom Cleveland, Gustav Klimt’s Ria Munk, Vincent van Gogh’s La Mousmé, René Magritte’s La Robe du Soir, Julia Margaret Cameron’s photography.
You don’t need another human being to make your life complete, but let’s be honest. Having your wounds kissed by someone who doesn’t see them as disasters in your soul but cracks to put their love into is the most calming thing in this world.
I am a Millennial. Generation Y. Born between the birth of AIDS and 9/11, give or take. They call us “the Global Generation.” We are known for our entitlement and narcissism. Some say it’s because we’re the first generation where every kid gets a trophy just for showing up. Others think it’s because social media allows us to post every time we fart or have a sandwich for all the world to see; but it seems that our one defining trait is a numbness to the world, an indifference to suffering. I know I did anything I could to not feel: sex, drugs, booze… Just to take away the pain. Take away my mother and my asshole father, and the press, and all the boys I loved who wouldn’t love me back… Hell, I was gang raped, and two days later I was back in class like nothing happened. I mean, that must have hurt like hell, right? Most people never get over stuff like that… I would give everything I have or will ever have just to feel pain again… to hurt… We think that pain is the worst feeling… It isn’t. How can anything be worse than this eternal silence inside of me?