Thursday, December 1, 2011

Lost Images

A man's work is nothing but the slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his , heart first opened.

Albert Camus
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Hello Bruce
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What was it I wanted way back then? After decades of living, years of joy and sorrow, success and failure, I sometimes wonder what it was I originally wanted, before I met bullies and friends, before I discovered girls, before I knew teachers, good and bad, when I was still innocent.

I remember sitting on the ground, with the warm sun at my back, arranging twigs into tiny villages. I remember hearing my first opera when I was six and having it become a life long passion. I remember seeing my first worm. I remember my first book. I vaguely remember my father. He died when I was four. I remember my first Christmas Tree.

I don't remember what it was I wanted way back then. That is a frightening thought. Was there something I wanted that would define me and described my life, and have all these years of living simply covered it up like layers of shirts or is it gone, dropped off along the way and down into some impenetrable Hades. Has the devil stolen my soul? It's a horrifying thought, but I don't believe in the Devil, so I doubt it. Beside I don't remember signing a contract with any Mephistophelean Monster.

I look at my paintings and my stories, I consider my career in the theatre and I wonder if all that work is pointing, not to the future, but back at something original. If so, what is it?

What was it I wanted way back before I became a vagabond, before I was a Beatnik, before I developed an appreciation for the ironic and absurd, before I displayed my talent for sarcasm, before I became rebellious and destructive? There must have been something there, some magic in the wisdom of the child, that enthralled and thrilled me and told me it would always be there. I do remember something was there, but I can't remember what it was.

Have you seen my Childhood?
I'm searching for the world that I come from
'Cause I've been looking around
In the lost and found of my heart...
(Michael Jackson)

I am on the slow trek through the detours looking for the true images that first opened my heart. It's a sad trip. Wish me luck.

Dana Bate - The True Vagabond
Never Give Up
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4 comments:

Geo. said...

I suspect there are some magical things about childhood for which amnesia is an accurate memory. As for finding them, Camus might wish you Bonne chance, mon ami! --and so do I.

Jon said...

I never really thought about what I wanted in life until I was about thirteen or fourteen - - and by that time, the brutally raw burden of life began consuming me, and later devouring me completely, until there was nothing left but wanting to survive.

Beth said...

At that young of an age, I don't think any child has a conscious decision of what they want. At that point, it's more about comfort and constancy, a fully stomach, and a warm place to sleep. It isn't until we become more self-aware that we really start to think about the world around us, what it can give us, and what we can get from it.

Bucko (a.k.a., Ken) said...

It differs for each person, based on their environment, their personality, and their attitude. I know I am in a better place now than when I was younger, with much more to look forward to.