Madeleine Moments
So, little Marcel eats a bite of madeleine in a spoonful of tea and from that, one of the greatest works of 20th century literature is born? What’s Marcel talking about, anyway? In Search of Lost Time (previously translated as Remembrance of Things Past) is a tour de force of observation and memory; observation not just of the physical world but of the interior world of thoughts and feelings, and memories not just merely what our minds can recall when we make a conscious effort to remember something but an unconscious form of memory. This is where the madeleine comes in. When Marcel tasted the madeleine, he was involuntarily, meaning without his conscious volition, propelled mentally back in time, to when, as a child, his aunt would give him a bite of madeleine dipped in tea. Perhaps a better phrase would be outside of time, beyond memory and to a greater depth than mere recall, where he felt as if he were actually re-living the event in full detail and with all of his senses. He could see his aunt’s room as it was then, smell the lime-flower tea and the flowers that were in her garden, and beyond that, the house and the town where he grew up; all, as Marcel says…”taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea”. This “madeleine moment” (the first of several such moments throughout the book and unquestionably the most well-known) is the first step down the path that leads Marcel (both the author of and the Narrator in In Search of Lost Time) to devoting his life to becoming an author and to creating this seven-volume magnum opus (for more about Proust’s life including the cork-lined bedroom, click here). Now, here’s the part where we get to share our madeleine moments. I’ll tell about one that I had and then you can be alert for one of your own to share with us. First, a little history. When I began painting in my early teens, I began with oils, on my own and learning from the book that came with the set. But at some point I switched to acrylics and watercolor, probably because they are easier to work with and clean up after and so therefore, are the mediums of choice in public school systems, where I began taking painting classes. I continued taking painting classes and painting on my own right up to the present, but only in acrylic and watercolor, not oils. This past Christmas I requested and was given a set of oil paints (Yes, Virginia…) but discovered that I was actually intimidated by the prospect of painting with them. Scared, really, that I wasn’t good enough to use them and they were difficult to use and I had no experience and had never been officially “taught” how to use them. I finally got a book that had exercises for a novice oil painter and told myself to just do the exercises and gradually I’d feel confident enough to paint a picture with them. So I sat down at my painting table, opened the jars of linseed oil and turpentine and squeezed some paint out onto my palette and… Madeleine Moment: I was a young teenager again, sitting at the kitchen table, painting a still life of some apples. The combined smells of the linseed oil, turpentine and paints had caused the scene to rise up around me, as Marcel says, like a stage set; I could see the plastic tablecloth design and the apples arranged on the table, I could feel the brush in my hand and the texture of the canvas through the brush, and perhaps most significantly, felt the way I did when painting with these oils. It was like being in two places, and two times, at once. An immediate effect of this experience was that my fear of painting with oils was gone, I felt as I did then- eager to learn and excited to create and not in the least intimidated. Of broader consequence was an understanding of Marcel’s madeleine moments and how they revealed to him a way of existing outside of time itself. “That explained why my apprehensiveness of death vanished at the moment I instinctively recognized the savor of the little madeleine, because at that moment the person within me was a timeless person, consequently unconcerned with the vicissitudes of the future.” Death becomes meaningless. Not bad for a little piece of madeleine. |
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