Requiem For An Artist
With the devastation of Alabama, Louisiana and Mississippi, I am reminded of another horrific day four years ago.
Only through duress did I reluctantly join the Internet Age. I had decided I would choose 4 sites and re-evaluate my reluctance in a year. The first site I chose was the BBC; current world events were at my fingertips. The second site was a modern radio station I could listen to whilst at work. The other two were sites for bands that I’d always enjoyed. One of these two band sites was actually a Yahoo Club; the other an official site. The radio station and the BBC sites I plugged into straight away. The Yahoo Club was distributed solely by e-mail. The fourth was a site where I was nothing more than a voyeur, attempting to establish the relevance of a message board: the need, the desire and the utter ridiculousness of it all.
The Yahoo Club (this was prior to the amalgamation into “groups”) was for AC/DC and one particular individual was apparently drawn to what I had to offer. We began pursuing a rather intellectual conversation regarding witchcraft, paganism and the profitability of leather trews.
On Tuesday, September 11, 2001 I received an email from Steve, a 28 year old single man from Long Island, NY. He had written what I still refer to as a “dissertation” about his unsuccessful attempt at conjuring a certain spell. Attached to the e-mail message was a wonderful rendering of a gypsy. He had drawn what he thought I should look like based on our conversations. I replied laughing at his failure but volunteering that his art was the most beautifully serene thing I’d ever seen.
I’ve no way of knowing if he ever received my response. I did receive an e-mail from his parents a few weeks later explaining that Steve had been within the walls of the collapsed towers. Although I’d been sympathetic to the losses, it wasn’t until I’d found out about Steve’s death that I was deeply affected. I’d hoped that he had simply not had time to respond, that the local chaos was overwhelming, that perhaps, he quite simply had no electricity.
I’ve nothing but the recall of text to remind me of him. I’ve no idea whether he worked at the Twin Towers or if he was Emergency Personnel. I did not have the courage to do anything but thank his parents for the news. I would stare lovingly at the artwork, but the virus that attacked Yahoo a short while later successfully deleted all our conversations. I had not been knowledgeable enough to print the artwork.
All is not despair. Since that time I’ve discovered the absolute importance of a message board. I sought solace on that forth site and have since developed some of the best friendships anyone could imagine. I’ve managed to bury the recluse I once was and have travelled beyond my boarders. I’ve yet to meet as engaging a person in certain pursuits as Steve was, but I’ve met the most interesting people one could expect.
Yes, the cowardly behaviour of terrorism enrages me, but they taught me that the energy rage produces can be used for self-actualization and movement. Now, if only someone can explain that to THEM.
Respectfully submitted,
drokka
by
drokka
