” Those midwives to history, put on their bloody robes”
David Bowie-Teenage Wildlife.
“One of the saddest lessons of history is this: If we’ve been bamboozled long enough, we tend to reject any evidence of the bamboozle. We’re no longer interested in finding out the truth. The bamboozle has captured us. It’s simply too painful to acknowledge, even to ourselves, that we’ve been taken. Once you give a charlatan power over you, you almost never get it back.”
A fellow artist recently noted , how prescient my prior series must seem, given the times we find ourselves in. Another friend charitably referred to me as a conduit.
Believe me, it gives me little comfort to see the turmoil of my inner landscape, reflected on any real one. And following that train for a moment, I should perhaps be more than a little unnerved, given that the new series is subtitled “the denouement”.
Except, as someone who see’s themselves as possibly more of an anthropologist than an artist, I’m no more unique than anyone who views history as just writing on the wall.
For instance, here’s a particularly unpleasant character whose been seeding her way through my sketches for quite a few years now. With her withering stink eye, I suppose she’s come to represent a certain, old, righteous indignation. A glowering factotum, judging disapprovingly at the viewers prying gaze from beneath her cowl, whilst yielding fealty to the most reprehensible of deeds.
There’s a lot of that about lately, given that a whole segment of society clings to the boast that 100,000 deaths would be the results of someone performing a very good job, whilst another sits blissfully deluded by the notion that C-19 is all just a conspiratorial hoax.
We should all be so lucky.
At any rate, I’ve no doubt that heat they feel, isn’t just from feet being held to the fire, but the dial turning all the way up to total hell unleashed on earth.
So whilst we wait for the full toll, I entreat everyone to stay safe, stay home and make a sanctuary of yourself.