Half of life: the years are already beginning to show, but you are more firmly rooted in life than ever before. Memories of what has passed are intertwined with aspirations for what is still to come. A dinner speech for the fortieth anniversary of Villa Grisebach

by Simon Strauss

When someone enters their fortieth year, they start to ask themselves their first serious questions: Have I met the right people? Have I talked about the things that really matter? Have I seen the most beautiful thing in the universe? People who don’t play an instrument now probably never will. Those who don’t already speak Spanish, will find it difficult to learn. At forty, some doors begin to close. But the windows to the world have not yet closed – and abseiling is still an option.

Forty is not an easy number. Its weight comes from the critical mass of experiences and their increasingly complex relationship to expectations. Before forty, age was mostly an illusion. In truth, it was hard to tell the difference between late twenties and mid-thirties. But at forty, the years start to count. Hölderlin wrote his poem “Half of Life” at the age of 33 when, afflicted by inner anguish, he had just returned to Germany from his job as a tutor in Bordeaux and begun to work as a librarian. The poem draws a line between what had been – the “yellow pears”, the “wild roses”, the “fair swans” – and what was to come: the “winter” and the “woe”. The last line of the poem is particularly poignant: “The walls stand speechless and cold. The weathervanes rattle in the wind.” No more hope of an answer, all words have been spoken, all rings have been exchanged. The wind is the last sign of life. It is a cold, icy blast that makes the weathervanes rattle and blows against the walls until they turn frosty. Back then, you were happily leaning against the same wall, the stones still warm from the midday sun, the lavender swaying in the breeze, and it seemed that life would be that way forever ...

At forty, you can say “back then” without it sounding odd because you have memories of a past that goes back twenty or twenty-five years. The recollections are tinged with sadness, and with sadness comes fear and worry that the warm, carefree years could be over. Now that so much has been settled, the path ahead seems clear: the great journeys and adventures are behind you, the first career steps have been taken, a house bought or a flat moved into. Perhaps there are children, perhaps the first attempts to nurture a relationship, to give it space to grow, to discover yourself. Maybe you’ve lost friends for the first time or your parents are in need of support and there are kitchen table conversations about money, inheritance and taxes.

That’s forty: not only half a lifetime, but also the burden of two lifetimes. Your parents are getting on in years, the children are still small – you are being pulled in two directions by two generations that need you. Yet you also have to look after your own body, which is starting to get out of shape. Drink less alcohol. Sleep longer. Start counting the miles. No more running off into the blue. There is always someone waiting for something from you. Demands. Accusations. Losses.

That’s one side of the picture. But there’s another side, too. At forty, you might say: you’ve already travelled a significant part of the journey. You didn’t give up despondently at the very beginning. Your journey will not be cut short. The rock slogan “live fast, die young” no longer applies. If you are forty, you can shout: “Let’s see how you manage!” Turning twenty is easy – there’s no effort involved in that. At thirty, it’s all about youth, ambition, and ideas for the future. But you have to make it to forty; you have to work for it, you have to earn it. Whether it’s a book you’ve written, exams you’ve passed, or parents you’ve cared for – very few people reach forty without having experienced something. At forty, you can rightly look back with pride on what has been and what you have accomplished. And for a moment, you can take comfort in this reflection: it’s been an achievement. You no longer have to prove who you are, what you can do, or where you aspire to go. Forty, means: You are someone. You have something. You can dream with more clarity. 

In the case of Villa Grisebach, turning forty can only mean you will be telling us a great deal more about your dreams. In the beginning, when you were still shy, your dream was reunification.

You secretly longed to become a place that drew artists from all over Germany. You whispered it as a child, then when it came to pass your dream became a promise, a promise that was kept – at least in part. Since childhood, you have had political adventures and adventurers on your doorstep. You have witnessed walls fall and chancellors topple, felt the highs and lows of the economy, and watched society – and moral conventions – transform. Not everything was always as lively and colourful as it appears in the pictures. Beautiful music didn’t always play in the background. There were grey days, feverish nights, in this wonderfully precarious city of Berlin.

But the most important thing was seeing how the story ran through the people and their art – how much of memory reveals itself in colour and form, across the turning of the times. The people who have come to you over the past forty years, have always come because they secretly hoped you would carry their stories in your dreams – and keep them safe there. Over the years, you have become a magical place; a place that draws people who keep their histories hidden in pictures, revealing them only to you. A place where they want to join you in remembering what was, and dream with you of what will be. You were always a little too young to say “back then”. Now you have earned the right to say it. But with the “back then” you have to say “ever”: Will beauty ever rule? Will dreams of art ever be worth more than money’s sleight of hand? Will time and freedom ever become one? Forty. Half of life. Between then and now. A tipping point. With the swing at the highest point. The view could not be better. There is no stronger move. You are only this rooted in life once. You only dream with such clarity once. You only have so much once. Happy birthday Villa Grisebach. May you always stand for all that is beautiful, valuable and inspiring.