Snip. Snip. Snip. With careful precision, the scissors bit through the glossy paper of the magazine I was holding, each cut slowly isolating the image in the middle of the page. The image itself was not particularly remarkable. It was merely that of a man sitting with his dog in the middle of an empty field; both pairs of eyes staring at the camera. The story behind this picture was something else in itself which intrigued me. Imagining stories for these people in the pictures was a pastime which occupied the majority of my existence. Every day, I would slice through page after page of magazine, plastering the walls of my bedroom with images which had no sense of symmetry to an outside eye, yet to my own mind there was a harmony in the stories I imagined threaded throughout the wall. I’ve read somewhere that through three people, you are connected to everyone in the world. False or not, this concept has always fascinated me and appealed to my artist’s ideals that all cultures are connected in some way or another. With a final, gentle pat, I left the newest picture in my collection to dry on the wall and pivoted to face the mirror which had somehow found an empty space to hang on my crowded walls. Gilded with shining gold leaf and silver decals, the mirror was a calm symmetry in the insanity of my space. Reigning in my focus from the frame, I focused in on the reflection. Staring back at me was a rather unremarkable round face, flat mousy hair, and eyes that couldn’t decide between a dull gray or kale green. Today, they were the green. Sighing, I turned away to climb the ladder in the small corner of my room into the crawl space which graced the area normally above my head. Inside sat my newest work in progress, a large easel with several slashes of bright color across it. If I were famous, I thought with a wry grin on my face, I could sell this as modern art. I picked up my paintbrush and gave the canvas a considering look. My instrument hovered above the art for a moment as I let the images fill me, inducing a strange, coma-like state causing my mind to block out anything my senses were feeding me. Finally, my paintbrush sprinted across the canvas, slashing and swishing in every direction. The final product was finally starting to form, though at this point I wasn’t quite sure what that was. As I watched, my hand began to translate the image of a woman onto the opus. Even at this early stage, I could tell that she was breathtakingly beautiful. But her mouth was twisted into an ugly sneer; her gaze directed at the crumpled figure of a man. He was on his knees and his back was hunched, the picture of sheer rejection. The final brushstroke, and my hand slowly halted, the paintbrush a quivering extension. The painted scene was clear now, and to my surprise I saw that I recognized the man. He was the same man who was drying on the wall of the room beneath my feet. I hadn’t even begun to think of his story yet, but now it all became clear. I recognized the woman as well; she was featured somewhere in the collage below. So they were connected! My subconscious certainly thought so. Imagination flying, I sat down and let my mind be immersed in the story. A man and a woman are holding hands and sharing a milkshake inside a soda shop. They are laughing and smiling, clearly in love. Another scene appears of the couple in an apartment. Arguing, the man clutches a small basket to his chest while the stunning woman throws up her hands in exasperation. A wet black nose pokes out of the cloth covering the blanket. Finally, the scene which was captured in time by a painting. The woman laughs at the man as she walks out the door, a cruel sneer on her face.She doesn’t seem so beautiful now. The man looks up from his miserable state and a young cocker spanielwags his tail and trots over to his master’s side, putting his head in the man’s lap. Shaking himself, theman rises to his feet to clip a leash onto his spaniel’s collar. Walking together, they go to a place whichthey think will be deserted. A sunny meadow careens into view, insouciant robins and twittering blue jaysflitting about. Side-by-side, they sit in the center of the peaceful oasis when they hear a noise. Looking up, a camera flashes, their momentary surprise caught for the future use of a nature magazine. Satisfied, I slowly come out of the imaginative daze which had taken me over. I carefully place the now semi-dry painting against the back wall of my own oasis. People often ask me why I never display my art, why I will never show it to anyone. But they don’t understand the chaos as I do, don’t understand how a glamorous woman could be connected to a homely looking man and spaniel. I do. The chaos which runs through my room and up into this little attic is mandatory. The much needed chaos before anything can really begin.
