Dear Art,

The other day I was remembering the first time I fully grasped what you are capable of, Art. It was in University, in one of Dr. Embry's lectures. He was a theatrical man, with lots of rolling r’s and flourishes of the hand. Each lecture was a monologue and Dr. Embry performed with eloquence and passion.
This particular class, when he walked into the lecture hall, a graduate student dimmed the lights. Dr. Embry began to speak of the Pre-Raphaelites and their desire to break away from the gloomy works of their day in favour of beauty, truth and light.
He then lowered his head slightly and Rossetti’s sumptuous Venus Venticordia suddenly appeared on a giant overhead screen.
Then Dr. Embry spoke about Rossetti’s relationship with Elizabeth Siddall, the milliner’s assistant who became his muse, and then Beata Beatrix appeared in all its glory.
Dr. Embry paused for a moment, letting the picture speak for itself, then raised his eyes
to the ceiling and recited a bit of Keats:

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

After a dramatic pause, Dr. Embry spoke of Rossetti and Siddall’s love for each other, their passion and jealousy, her death from an overdose of laudanum, his despair.
Then he lowered his head and delivered a one-two punch as Millais’s Ophelia appeared on the screen and the sounds of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde began to float through the room.
There were a few snorts from my classmates. But I was enthralled. This was Art. And I've been under your spell ever since.

Sincerely,
PC

Dear You,

I saw you yesterday. If only I hadn't. If only you hadn't been late for work. If only I hadn't stopped for a peppermint mocha. Then I could have kept on believing in fairy tales. I could have kept on believing that you were away traveling or getting well or finding yourself, but planning on one day, at some time, coming for me, coming back to me. I could have kept on believing that the silence from you would be broken, that it didn't mean what it so obviously did. But I saw you.
There you were, just as you always have been. There you were, not away, not coming for me. I saw you. I saw someone who had managed to get rid of something he didn't want, like an outdated cellphone or a bit of trash. It's a plot twist I had foreseen and been so afraid of, but when it was actually happening I managed to plop myself down into a different story, a happier gentler one, and pretended it was ours. But there's no avoiding the real story now. At least I know how it ends.


Sincerely,
PC

Dear I Wanted To Be Wise And Loving,

I'm sorry. I failed you miserably. You deserved better but I panicked and made a terrible mess. Though in my defense I Wanted To Be Wise And Loving, you didn't give me a chance. You held me at arm's length. I was capable of so much more.

Sincerely,
PC

Dear Heartsick,

I've come to know your cousin, Heartbreak, quite well over the years. When he shows up now I know exactly what to expect, how to handle him, and, like an unwanted houseguest, how to finally, mercifully, bid him adieu.
But you, Heartsick.
You're a different animal.
There's a deeper, darker element to you. A knife-in-the-gut wrenching. You're born from rejection, of course. But you require coldness and betrayal to fully take root. Then you feed off secrets and lies, misunderstandings and judgments.
But how you really flourish, Heartsick, or rather metastasize, is when the love that has been offered is belittled and dismissed. When with shrugged shoulders it is declared just an idea and you'll be fine. After all this. After all that. That is when your branches block out the last glimpse of light. That is when you do your worst, Heartsick. Leaving pulp and bones and tears. So job well done. Now please let me be.

Sincerely,
PC

Dear Hollywood Actresses (Actors too but mostly Actresses)

It's awards season and like every year I'm enjoying the celebration of that art form I love very much - movies. And, like every year, I have had my disappointment, my moment of being shocked by an actress's appearance and the realization that another one has caved. I'm talking about plastic surgery - the procedures you are willingly subjecting yourselves to in order to look less like yourselves.
I'm not judging but I am imploring - please stop butchering yourselves. It is seldom worth it and chances are you will end up looking worse. I won't name names because that would be cruel. Feelings of inadequacy led you to the scalpel, why contribute to that? But when I see Helen Mirren and Sally Field still looking like Helen Mirren and Sally Field, I applaud them. They are older and they look older. They also look real and vibrant and beautiful.
But I get it. I can only imagine the pressures you face. Unkind comments in the press. Perhaps a cruel remark from a producer. Blogs, Twitter, Facebook. So many ways for anyone in the world to point out that you are aging. I can guess what leads you to the decision. But human beings are ridiculous jerks. Why hack away at yourselves to please them? They don't deserve it.
So may I suggest a new role for you? It could be the role of a lifetime: the actress who grows old naturally and gracefully. Not everyone will appreciate the performance but trust me, enough of them will.

Sincerely,
PC