Western society is obsessed with youth - but we should be more imaginative about the gifts and possibilities of growing older. Ageing. Photo / 123RF
OPINION:
The US broadcaster Don Lemon was recently criticised when he said that Nikki Haley, a 51-year-old Republican presidential candidate who has called for mental competency tests for politicians older than 75, wasn’t herself “in her prime”. He went on to say that “a woman is considered to be in her prime in her twenties and thirties, maybe forties”. Lemon, who is 56, defended his statement by saying this was what an internet search would show. Naturally I googled “When is a woman in her prime?”; the first result now cited was Lemon’s.
Putting aside the patriarchal, sexist and ageist layers of Lemon’s comment, it’s not exactly news that western society is obsessed with youth. But it did get me thinking about the relentless and ridiculous insistence that women in particular have a shelf life. As Lemon’s co-host rightly asked: “Prime for what?” Each season of our lives has its own calling, invitations, gifts — so what might we all lose as individuals and a society when we limit our imagination about getting older, and ourselves fight against the natural process of ageing?
The First Wrinkle, by the Italian impressionist Federico Zandomeneghi, shows a voluptuous young woman squarely centred in the frame. She peers intensely into a hand mirror, examining her face; in front of her on her dressing table we see a jar, presumably filled with a cream of some sort. We are peeking at an intimate scene. Not only because we catch her with her loose nightgown slipping off one shoulder, but also because we are seeing her in a moment of private self-contemplation.
Knowing the pressures women face to extend their youthfulness for as long as possible, for fear of becoming obsolete or invisible, I can’t help but wonder what thoughts might be coursing through her head. At some point in our adult lives we might begin to encounter a dissonance between who we feel we are on the inside, and what we or the world sees on the outside. Ageing is unavoidable. Our bodies begin their wear-and-tear process from the moment we are born.
But mainstream western culture teaches that as soon as we begin to recognise the physical signs of ageing, it is time to worry. Rather than acknowledging the opportunities for growth that might come as we get older, the world encourages us to try to prolong seasons of life that are naturally running their course. Instead of thanking our bodies for getting us this far, and noticing and celebrating the advantages that come with ageing, we begin to wage a mini-war on our own bodies, fighting against ourselves in ways that are both physically and psychically draining.
I absolutely love Lucas Cranach the Elder’s The Fountain of Youth (1546). It is simultaneously a comic and a horrific depiction of the western world’s centuries-old denigration of ageing, and of the sexist and patriarchal standards by which the values of women young and old are set.
The scene takes place in an expansive landscape. A mountain range lies in the background along with a distant castle on a hill. In the centre of the canvas is a large shallow pool with a small narrow fountain in the middle.
The left side of the painting is filled with old women. They are being carried to the water on stretchers and on horseback, in carts and wheelbarrows. Some of the women are being inspected or undressed before entering the pool.
The right side of the canvas is full of young maidens. The old women have been transformed by the healing waters, emerging revitalised. Led into a tent, they are dressed in new frocks and find a variety of pleasurable and sensuous experiences available to them again. Some take part in feasting and dancing; we see one young woman being wooed by a suitor.
The painting suggests that if old age can be left behind, then our lives will be full of meaning, relationships and life-giving activities once more. This devaluation of the elderly has a strong echo in present-day culture, which teaches us to easily and unceremoniously discard things that we believe have outlived their usefulness, people included.
So much is considered replaceable: we are not a society that really values the long-term potential of things. We change our phones every year for the newer version. We cut down trees that are centuries old to build on every available green space. We revamp our wardrobe with each new fashion season. We ghost people we are no longer interested in. Sometimes it seems we are losing our sense of what it means to treasure something, and that spills into every area of life, from the environment, to people, to the unfolding of our own lives. It strikes me as both a crisis of soul and of imagination.
The aerial perspective of the painting and the sheer number of people on the canvas work to exaggerate the comic and tragic nature of this obsession with youthfulness. In our unwillingness to face the inevitable challenges that come with ageing, and the reality of our own mortality, we risk missing out on the parallel possibility for soulful expansion and deepened life encounters that are hidden in the vicissitudes of living. We mistake youth for perfection and mistake perfection for the good life.
If you look closely at the painting, you will see two old women on the left side, both partially wrapped in towels. One sits at the edge of the pool steps, her knees huddled up to her chest; the other has her feet dipped in the water, and is talking to a fully clothed woman who seems to be trying to convince her to fully immerse herself.
These two hesitant women are to me the most intriguing elements of the painting. Though already naked, they do not seem fully convinced that getting older is as limiting and undesirable as society has made it out to be. These two reluctant women may have gained the wisdom to envision the new freedoms and possibilities awaiting them in their later years.
Another work that speaks to me on this theme is Le Vecchie Comari (“the old comrades”, or “old wives”) by the 20th-century Italian painter Felice Casorati. Eight old women, covered neck to ankle in dresses, shawls and blankets, cluster together up to the edges of the canvas. One is turned away from us, her hand at her hip, a gesture illustrating the aches and pains of ageing. Another woman sits wrapped in blankets, her stern gaze towards the floor as though lost in contemplation. The other six women stand, some with the aid of a walking stick.
What I love are the expressions on the faces of the women who gaze back at us. A woman pulling a pink shawl around herself stares at us with a confident, self-assured smile. Another on the left-hand side peeks out with a gap-toothed grin, as if asking her friends what all the fuss is about.
But it’s the central figure, a woman dressed all in black holding a cane, who seems to sum up the mood. Her head is cocked and she looks at us from the side of her eyes, not fully giving her attention, but also with a knowing look and a mischievous, secretive smile. These old wives are content in themselves and seem to know things we don’t. Her smile intimates that we’ll discover what they know if we’re lucky enough to get to their age.
But in the meantime, she and her friends likely have valuable things to teach the rest of us. Part of the gift of ageing, of having cultivated some wisdom from life experience, is what it offers those of us still on our way, if we had any sense to recognise it. Granted, not all who age gain wisdom or even maturity, but a long life often holds valuable lessons.
I can’t help but think that older age, despite its challenges, holds its own invitation to discover a new unfolding of ourselves, and to embrace more readily the mystery of having not figured everything out. The hope is that as we age, we might enter that season gracefully, more equipped to sit with the uncertainties and complexities of life, with less of the fear and anxiety those things might evoke in our younger years. And with a deeper ability to catch the beauty hidden in it all: beauty being that which assists in expanding our imaginations and beckons us to more soulful reflection on living with ourselves and others.
Written by: Enuma Okoro
© Financial Times
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