Afloat in an Ocean of Time
I have a fascination with early 20th Century America or could it just be mid 20th century Mooroopna? It’s the whole feel of the cars, clothing, sense of community, the values and somehow that mid winter feeling that permeates the days and nights right now.
I made some toy cars out of pine about 40 years ago and my design was based on shapes that I imagine looked like the cars that were around in the 1940s. Two tone jackets, short back and sides, naive innocence peppered with dark secrets. I have abstract memories of being in a war, the latter part. I have a “feeling” that I may have been in San Francisco in the late 1940s. But it’s just a feeling. Not a certainty. There is just something comfortable about the apparent recall. Even the memories from this lifetime have a dreamy feel that might be embellished with romanticism. Such personal things aren’t they? Memories. They only matter to each of us individually but we all have them in common and they give us a sense of self. Where we came from. What might have influenced us.
If I’ve got it right I would have been 18 in 1940. I reckon my birthday might have been in October which means that I was 22 by the time the American occupation forces arrived in Japan. There are connections but maybe I’ve just manufactured a fantasy. But you know what? It doesn’t really matter because it’s all gone in some past moment and there really isn’t anybody I can share the memories with even if they are real. They are just a convenient anchor to give life a bit more meaning and a touch more mystique.
I suppose that it is just comforting to think that there might be some continuation. Sometimes I place too much importance on the future.
Do I rely too much on gut feeling? Probably. The skills I have are all inherent as opposed to pursued and developed on purpose. Maybe that’s being unfair to myself. I do develop the skills that I discover in myself, a bit like a lucky dip … but only for a certain amount of time, usually not long enough to hone them into something that I can feel seriously confident about.
As a young boy I had a sense that I wanted to draw. The act of drawing and doing calligraphy gave me great pleasure and a sense of creativity that made me feel special. But only toward myself. I didn’t reflect this specialness into the external world. Later music took over but once again I lacked the fortitude and confidence to pursue the hard work that I could have and should have put into it.
Wasted opportunities. Life has been made up of fleeting moments of creativity. Always searching for that one direction or pathway that will set the fires burning in my soul. Is that it? Am I going for a feeling? Maybe it is a pursuit of self satisfaction because most of the time I do it just for myself.
It sometimes feels like I am afloat on a benevolent ocean. Not having too much control on where I end up. Being hypnotized by the gentle rocking of the boat.
