I didn't realise I would never see you again...
Old photos, fading memories and unfinished work
Stop
The phone clicks off.
For a moment, I am nowhere.
The rain is still beating against my skin.
And although I can tell it is there,
soaking into my t-shirt and bag
I’ve begun to forget where I am.
Stood
alone
in the street.
Bike in hand.
And all of a sudden
I know
I know I’m going in a different direction.
I’d just called to say hi.
A routine custom before I visit his studio.
It’s a weird experience.
When someone you don’t expect answers a phone call,
But a different voice tells you a lot.
His brother answers
As soon as I hear his voice.
I know.
It couldn’t be clearer.
Whatever direction I thought I was going
is no more.
It, is no more.
People die.
That’s the reality of life.
But I think we all live with the expectation
of having some prior notice.
Some signal that maybe it’s going to happen soon.
That we should prepare ourselves for it.
The monks have us believe
that expectation
is what creates pain.
Maybe that’s true.
But when we do feel pain
Especially the pain of loss
There are very few
who don’t wish
They had a few extra minutes.
Losing a friend is hard.
At some point.
It will happen to us all.
Unfortunately for some of us
it will happen more than once.
Not to say I’m used to it by now.
But there’s a certain nostalgia to it.
A space I recognise.
I know where I am,
and what this now means.
I just wish
that having gone through it
so many times
I’d have realised,
that any time
I meet someone
May be the last.
And that when I’m saying goodbye,
This.
and only This,
is what I think about.
You replay the moment.
You consider what steps you could have taken
for it to change.
But the reality is
there is nothing.
There is nothing.
We are left with the same vacuum
no matter how many times it happens.
Some learn to live with the holes.
The scattered psyche of places where the mind can no longer visit.
Others find ways to patch themselves up through work, play, and drugs.
Whatever path you take, good luck.
If I look back at the things I’ve been trying to say
over the last year here.
And how this sits
amongst the many other things
that happen
and must be done
to survive
and honour it
Well maybe,
If it’s not too glib
Maybe it’s an opportunity
To define who I want to be
in these moments.
How do I respond?
What is it that my mind and body choose to do?
And what aspects of this loss
are going to remind me
of the fragility of life?
Change
Without pain
it can be difficult to change.
The reality is
we are simple creatures.
And we only respond to growth
from incentives or threats.
Carrots and sticks.
And if the carrots of life aren’t enough
to make you do the things you want to do
Maybe the omnipresence of death
reminds us that we may never get the chance.
And that now,
Although it feels like there is a choice
It is a dwindling fragment of time.
Getting ever smaller.
Until it’s a choice no more
Melpomene
This is episode two of my series on the muses.
My first week spent looking at Polyhymnia
took me inward.
To reflect on the internal nature of who I am
and what I want to be doing.
I had wanted to finish it by having a painting.
Instead
I ended up with some internal compass.
This week
looking at Melpomene
and tragedy
I had hoped to reflect on what grief was to me
from afar.
I’ve tried to gather some stories of tragedy
alongside artworks
that not only reflect where I am now
but open a broader view of what tragedy is.
I’ve always been drawn to shadow work.
To embracing this side of the world.
But I know it is a luxury
only a few can afford.
Tragedy is not always death.
It is the sensation of being stuck.
Conflicted.
Pushed.
Sometimes crushed.
It can arrive from the largest of forces.
Or from a chain of panicked decisions.
And maybe the only thing worth learning from tragedy
is how to live inside it
without turning away.
Medea
I once heard of a woman
who killed her children
to wound their father.
Medea.
She had given him everything.
Her love.
Her loyalty.
Her country.
She crossed the sea for him.
Betrayed her father.
Left her home.
And when he left her
for another woman
for power
she made her choice.
Maybe she thought it was the only way left.
Maybe she believed
that if he could feel the same emptiness
the same tearing from the inside out
then he would finally understand
what he had done to her.
Maybe she wanted the world to see.
And maybe she believed
that in destroying what they had made together,
she could cut him out of herself.
So she did the unthinkable.
We rarely forget
what we cannot forgive.
Antigone
Tragedy arises when we are stuck.
Between family and country.
Between love and law.
Between tribes that pull us apart.
Antigone buried her brother
knowing it would kill her.
He was declared a traitor.
Condemned by the state.
Left unburied.
His funeral forbidden by the king.
Maybe she thought silence would betray her blood.
Maybe she believed
that if she obeyed
she would no longer know who she was.
Maybe she wanted the world to see
that sometimes there is no right choice.
And maybe she believed
that to act
even when every path is ruin
was the only way left to stay human.
Balance
Tragedy arises when two forces meet.
Apollo.
The god of order.
Form.
Clarity.
The mask.
And Dionysus.
The god of chaos.
Music.
Ecstasy.
The scream.
On their own they are incomplete.
Too much Apollo
and life is sterile.
Perfect.
But lifeless.
Too much Dionysus
and life dissolves.
Madness.
No shape.
The Greeks saw them as neat combination
Like cigarettes and coffee.
That was tragedy..
death.
rage.
grief.
inevitability.
All in a nice neat 2 for 1 package.
Nietzsche saw tragedy as the highest form of art
because it did not lie.
No promise of consolation.
No rosy escape.
It showed suffering as it is.
And still asked us to want life.
To see the beauty in the dark.
Because if you can find it here,
You can find it anywhere.
Melpomene
Melpomene doesn’t grant wishes.
She’s a Muse.
Less a focal point for worship.
More a partner in crime.
A kind of standing deal with the universe,
Artists, poets, and playwrights would ask her for inspiration.
Bringing with her
the language of tragedy.
That could mean grief.
Loss.
Conflict.
Inevitability.
She’s meant to show us the moments when things fall apart.
When choices trap us.
When we are pushed beyond what we can bear.
It’s trading comfort for clarity.
Tears that clear the mind
If she has a lesson to share, it’s that
Tragedy is never meaningless if we process it.
It can shape us.
Strip us bare.
Make us see who we really are.
give us the eyes we need to see the light in the dark.
Working with Melpomene
means accepting that suffering will visit you.
And to believe that what you create through it
can outlast the pain
.
Poets Corner
Untitled Melpomene
The beauty is in floating,
having survived
the sinking of a drown.
Everything else
is just treading water.
- Thomas May
Final Words
Bumpy week on my side..
But, I’ve got a few wild projects that are launching soon.
If you’re here from the Topshop project, I hope you enjoyed us taking over Trafalgar Square this weekend. Conventional stuff in an unconventional environment, I think we nailed changing the context window well.
I know I’ve been preaching about doing something different with art for a while.
I just need a few more weeks to get them over the line.
It’s going to be a wild few months.
Hope this week didn’t mess you up as much as it did me
If you’re going through hell in your world or stuff is crashing down,
Hopefully, you can get the courage to grab someone to talk to,
If not, I hope sharing my side of the ride got you a bit of space.
Enjoy the rollercoaster,
It’s the only one we have.
Peace and love,
- R