To aggravate the decrepit indifference to the past, one prescribed to discover old photographs. The only thing is that the sheet with the prescription had gone astray, and you came across it much later, accidentally, and absolutely fatalistically. For example, it happened while you were performing an autopsy on your email box that has been forgotten long ago and without being properly emptied. And the memories happened to knock at the door in rowdiness and petrify the ajar soul through a narrow crack. They are never peaceful and dignified, these reminiscences, always trying to crash all the inner fixtures and celebrate with a bang heard in all adjacent tissues.
Normally, you do not expect your brain to interfere with the unforeseen emotional swing: there is a solid line covered with luminous color between your cold wit and the gutless part of yours longing for the retention of the rusty past. Nevertheless, the most reliable thing tends to capitulate first: the master of compromise, a.k.a. grey matter, gets down to integrating a new bothering factor – the unquiet feelings – into your everyday life.
Basically, I am under the impression that the past does not exist in that modified formation which our brain derives from intimate talks with the soul. By existence I mean, probably, the physical realization of an idea at an arbitrary point of the timeline. The quality of being real and subject to corrosion, as well as being able to sense the hidden circulation of life-giving fluids. In this meaning, the past seems to be blatantly invented or even re-discovered.
Let us imagine: here is a person who is fond of old photographs or postcards. Well, we are not going to endow the character with dubious mania of accepting carrier pigeons only; the guy is rather present-day, but craving for something surpassing. What beyond the limits is easy to detect? Where to get the crude materials for a bit of eternal? In spite of the indisputable values of pure ideas – thanks to Plato – the human would be better off bumping into something material, though it is all because of certain narrowness in the substantial understanding of existence. And the easiest solution for a vigilant eye lies in the past.
Firstly, the past has already been dematerialized, leaving alone single artifacts of ancientry which bear a suspicious resemblance to some theatrical props. Generally speaking, the past does not need this article "the" because there are plenty of "a"-pasts – diverse, slanted, proven justifiable by nobody, but still valuable for their creators. And these creators grasp the common image of the past outlined with the help of history and build their own world on those foundations. By imbuing inanimate facts with the spirit floating among the ancient walls and in glazed eyes in frayed portraits, our character brings into being a new microcosm that gets swiftly declared an act of art.
Secondly, to revive something half-gone (well, of course, entirely gone, but having left a peacock tail of already mentioned artifacts) seems simpler than to construct something principally new – with the same effect but putting the person into the danger of sliding to prosaic sci-fi or miraculous universes in one case and deterring from this scenario in another. As a result of such artistic resurrection, we obtain an image of the world which is shaped similarly and recognizably but felt differently. We are in favor of this: the extraordinary discovered in the ordinary has the ultimate power; being transformed vice versa, this link turns out to lose the influence.
In this way, art becomes more like an act of resurrection: of reinventing the past, extending theoretical ideas or looking for new forms of those ideas. Can it be the other way? Or creation is inevitably destined to reflect, comprehend, and only so move forward? Looking back... Can a person step into the future without keeping a restore point in their past? But if to advance constantly looking back, the advance will not be any different from the retreat, one says. The only thing is that art, probably, does not have an attack as a supreme goal. And neither does life. Otherwise, it would be as strange as the presence of two suns in the absence of the second moon.