Sweet Oblivion
Only by forgetting
the primitive world of metaphors,
only by congelation and coagulation
of an original mass of similes pouring forth
as a fiery liquid out of the primal faculty of human fancy,
only by the invincible faith,
that this sun, this window, this table
is a truth in itself:
in short only by the fact
that man forgets himself as subject,
and what is more as an artistically creating subject;
does he live with some repose, safety and consequence.
If he were able to get out of the prison walls of his faith,
even for an instant only,
his “self-consciousness”
would be destroyed at once.
On Truth and Falsity In Their Extra-moral Sense by Friedrich Nietzsche, trans by Oscar Levy
Yesterday a comment was left in response to my reflection. Civilizations, including our own are built upon ideas which despite the appearance of solidity, are a fragile composite of assumptions. The comment pointed to the imagination, our ability to conjure connections, to impose meaning upon sense experience. In this quotation Nietzsche observes that we live in a bubble of forgetfulness. It is necessary that our faculty as artists, — taking from imagined visualization, from sonic possibilities, taking from what we believe we can do with matter, — that our agency be banned to forgetfulness.
The sun, window and table, everything which the objects mean evaporate apart from human imagination.
Our imagination exceeds our ability to appreciate its power. In fact, to live with a modicum of sanity, we must forget that it is I who have constructed everything which impacts my life personally, individually. The same can be said for everything that now passes as the culture of the West. All now living, with past generations have arranged these lines, and these colors just so, upon the canvas that we call “culture.”
An old friend of mine, after recounting something seen or heard with an ironic twist would say, “You can’t make this shit up.”
Yes you can.
