Hell Hath No Fury
LA CHAISE, 1964 by JEAN DUBUFFET,
There is a twisted pleasure that the demon within me finds amidst times of global catastrophe. Yet, amidst it all, there is a sense of pity that surfaces for humanity. I pity those individuals who allow their personal crises to spiral out of control, their destructive ripple effects infecting the world around them. However, the most perilous among them are those who refuse to acknowledge the demons and shadows lurking within their own souls. They live their lives passively, conforming to societal conventions and seeking hollow validation. These willing slaves unknowingly walk the path of mediocrity and nothingness, blissfully ignorant of the bleakness and monotony that engulfs them. They will never admit it, not even to themselves. They perceive themselves as faultless, while branding those who accuse them as crazy and misguided.
I must confess, there was a time in my life when I was tempted to live in such denial. The allure of going with the flow and blending into the crowd was undeniable. They appeared oddly content, even in their discomfort. And I, filled with sadness and anger, attempted to bury these disquieting thoughts deep within me.
Yet, they found their way out, manifesting in peculiar and unsettling ways. The voices of Friedrich, Franz, Johann, Albert, Fyodor, Carl, Charles, Henry, John, Virginia, Sylvia, Simone, Jean-Paul, Joan, Vladimir, George, Ernest, Knut, David, Lord, Frida, Georgia, Claude, Wolfgang, Leonardo, Aldous, Vincent, Wassily, Henri, Emily, Charlotte, Jane, Nikola, Isaac, Marie, Rosalind, Jane, Katherine, Gertrude, and countless others resonated within me. However, the most piercing and vexing voice that haunted me was that of Lady D. I despised her vehemently. She would scream and shout, her words echoing in my mind: “Six, the earth did not live 4.5 billion years to create a lazy, dumb, and simple-minded animal like you. Would it kill you to get out of bed and face reality?”
She was right.
The journey to what felt like a bottomless pit was both arduous and fraught with danger. Despite my doubts and reservations, I mustered the courage to venture into the unknown. I refused to succumb easily to the forces of natural selection. I rebelled against my genetic makeup, the workings of my brain, and the impact of my environment. In that moment, I ceased to be defined by my mother, my father, or anyone else for that matter. I could barely recognize the person I had become. Anxiety gripped me, but amidst the turmoil, I felt every damn fiber of my being alive. Deep down, I knew it. I knew it. The greatest evolutionary edge I possessed was this profound consciousness that resonated within me.
VONT ET VIENNENT by JEAN DUBUFFET
The profound recognition of my consciousness serves as an ever-present motivator, pressing me to fully embrace life. It ignited an insatiable thirst for curiosity and creativity, propelling me towards boundless exploration. Life, I discovered, is an ongoing experiment and adventure, akin to losing oneself in a dynamic micellar solution, traversing amidst highly charged suspended colloids.
If only I had grasped the extent of my mortal powers earlier, I wouldn't have wasted countless hours confined to my bed, consumed by tears. I would have danced, painted, read, written, and loved with greater fervor.
But what good is this sense of freedom in the midst of a lockdown, you might ask? Remarkably, I do not feel imprisoned at all. Whether confined to my home, a prison cell, a mountaintop, a sandy beach, the vast expanse of outer space, amidst hunger or famine, amidst the busy crowd or in solitary solitude, I remain unafraid.
But what say you when this crisis is all over by October or November? What happens once we have weathered nature's purging? Newsflash. Things cannot simply return to the way they were, unless, of course, you choose to remain a passive slave, obediently following orders from a monkey. By then, you may come to realize the fragility of life. It would be the height of folly to revert to the old ways.
The real trial commences when the void left by the crisis begins to overwhelm you. But I say, let it. Let it fill you with grief and anxiety and nothingness. Only when you find a way out of your nihilistic and defeatist mindset will you be able to live vivaciously and without inhibition. And when the inevitable embrace of mortality arrives, your creations will serve as immortal testimonies to your existence. The joke is on death herself.
Consider the potential scenario of spending six or seven months in confinement. Perhaps you will have access to sufficient food, water, and medicine. Or perhaps you will find yourself lacking these basic necessities. Picture yourself like our planet–famished and undernourished. We are like its cancer cells rapidly proliferating and exerting immense pressure on limited resources. Our economy plummets while social unrest escalates. How do you escape from your hellhole? Will you give up? Will you succumb and allow nature to take its course, swallowing you without hesitation? She has been waiting for such an opportunity–for the weak to falter and the strong (or the privileged) to endure. How can you redeem humanity?
Humans. Homo sapiens, the latest iteration in the intricate tree of life, a product of billions of years of nature's artistry. What will the next emerging species think of ours?--Humans. The only creatures burdened by fear of their own heightened consciousness, knowledge, and creativity. Humans. Poor, stupid H. sapiens. They foolishly let these fears devour their species, failing to embrace the road to hell and the salvation that lies within their own inner voices and demons...