I'm reading a memoir Jean Renoir wrote about his father, the artist. Jean himself became a famous film director. I'm just in the beginning pages, but the tenderness of the tone of the book is engaging. I've been interested in Renoir the man since reading another book which portrays him as compassionate. During the first world war, although he hated war, he refused to have another man take his place and die, so he volunteered for the ambulance corps, and later ended up in charge of the cavalry horses. He tried the keep the horses from going into battle. He was kind to all beings. Many a time he helped Cezanne, who was probably schizophrenic, and who scared most people, but Renoir treated him with dignity.
Anyway, at my age memoirs have quite the appeal. Maybe it's because the summing up is what many of us do at this stage. We want to see what a life means. What has value. Yes, leaving great art behind for the ages is a great gift, but perhaps Renoir's nature was even more valuable. And, on reading these accounts, I realize that everyone's life is complex, with episodes that are embarrassing or worse, and high moments when we surpass ourselves and do something generous and brave and life altering. Everyone alters others' lives. I like that fact, though it implies a huge responsibility. We cut a swath across the world, whether wide or narrow. It's a good thing to remember, and give us pause before we act.
We're all equally important, artists or not, because our interactions have effect. And though only a few of us get written about, all of us have similar experiences. Perhaps Renoir's grandson Claude, to him, might have seemed like the most important event in his life. I like to think he was that kind of man.
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