| More real life, and art. |
[Jul. 6th, 2008|04:47 pm] |
It's been a couple of bad days.
Rhianna's funeral really got to me. I am an archaeologist, and I find osteology a very interesting subject, and part of me would still analyze things in purely scientific terms, but to see the small, small pile of little brittle white bones as I transferred her remains from the cheap standard cardboard box they came in to a more suitable ceramic urn was... hard.
That such a warm, sweet loving creature could be reduced to this, such a small pile of little bones - it was a Memento Mori like a punch in the guts. A brutal reminder that any time at all, something treasured and alive can come to such a pitiful end.
Just a tiny pile of brittle, broken bones.
It's when dealing with death you really understand why mankind invented religion.
So that really got me into a slump. I know I'm still oversensitive, having so recently made it back on my feet, but at least I still retain enough detached distance to know the difference between things being crappy and things seeming too crappy to take.
I thought about that on the bus the other night, and the outlines of a drawing appeared to me. It's rare that I draw these just because things, but it felt like an important thing to do, to capture and visualize how these things work for me.
Ignore the wonky proportions. I was aiming at a capturing a concept rather than correct anatomy.
Here's the deal.
The world is full of horrible things, many of which cannot be changed or affected. People are starving or dying of diseases, pollution is fucking up all life on the planet, species go extinct, crazy killers deal wanton death and politicians pass scary, horrid laws. Loved ones die. Families fall apart. People harass you away from things you really care about.
These are the little seeds of darkness that are always there. All around, all the time, and at times you just want to throw up your hands in despair, because there's no way of avoiding all this mindless, pointless BAD of the world.
But you light candles. You fight it, and battle it and do what you can to make things better, one tiny little bit at a time. And it works, mostly.
But then, occasionally, a cut just strikes too deep, and the seeds take root.
And they will bloom from within, and there's no way to keep them at a distance anymore.
That's clinical depression.
When there's no more defense between yourself and all that's rotten and wrong and hurting about the world. It's right there, and you can't fight it or get away from it anymore.
It's a poisonous, horrible state to be in, and dangerous because it seems so very true, the only truth - everything is rotten and there's no point in hanging in there, in surviving just to live through more of that purposeless pain.
Fighting one's way out of that is one of the hardest things I know.
You have to rip that seductive black flower right out, and it will yank parts of your heart out along with it, leaving pain and open wounds that take a long, long time to heal, even after the sickness itself is expelled.
I don't know what else to say.
That was the thought when I painted this.
I've ripped out that flower for now, but I still limp around with the sore wounds it left behind, and try my best to keep going, refusing to give into the rot again.
There is light, now, there is life and there are things that make life worth living, still.
And every day is a gift to be cherished, my beloved Rhianna, because life can be over so very, very suddenly. |
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silvestris's journal
