Isn't there something so morbid about beauty? We love beauty while it lives, aware that it must die. We hold this death at the back of our mind: admire the short-lived maintenance of our subject. And yet what we consider "beautiful" contains the eternal; does not a painting, an icon, a building, a landmark of geography remain indefinitely, and be admired as such? Still the morbidity remains. For none of these are truly eternal, despite their immortality. Paint, memory, foundation, and earth could not be considered beautiful if they did not one day cease to exist.
So why is beauty so momentary? I believe that when we see something beautiful we can do one of two things: perceive and leave alone, enjoy the scene as a passive but enthralled observer; or - and this is the inevitable option - you step into the frame. You touch the picture and feel each hardened brushmark, marvel at the constituents that formed the illusion you enjoyed seconds previously, and then - only then - you walk away. How beautiful. The illusion is shattered. The illusion dies.
Beauty is momentary and lives only while the illusion remains upright.
The illusion falls. We admire what excites us, and the most exciting aspect of beauty is that it is fleeting. So: could beauty be described as anything other than morbid? The feeling is what is special; even feeling must die too.
© Crisp