originswebOrigins 21x15.5” mixed media

The latest in the Renascence series and the thoughts that inspired the piece.

Imagine: We plunge down into the deepest recesses of the mind, squeezing through the narrow canyons between nerve cells to reach places undisturbed for millennia. We seek a collection of ancient memories, buzzing fragments of thought passed on from one conscious being to the next, which have inadvertently been ejected, thrown off as they jumped the open synapses of our brains. We plan to sift through them, acquire a core sample, and then playback the collected slice of flittering electrical pulses as if running a strip of film through a projector. We will watch the assembled images flicker by on the glowing blue screen and peer into mankind’s past, observing a reverse chronological unfolding of our evolutionary journey. We’ll witness images of a species unraveling, transforming backwards, growing cruder simpler, until, eventually, we will reach the beginning, the starting point of man, and our true origin will revealed.

We reach our destination, a diaphanous, glowing fog. Gently pulsing, it hums with a billion billion prehistoric recollections. It stretches into the distance as far as we can see and runs as deep as our imagination. As we approach we create a breeze and the wisps of past thought gently float away in fragile eddies, their distant murmurs swirling through the air.

Extending an arm we kneel and attempt to gently scoop a sample from the radiant purr. Contact is made and immediately we smell the acrid warmth of a million prehistoric sunsets, catch glimpses of swift moving scales and flashing teeth, hear the pattering of rain on hard, cracked earth, and feel the low vibration of eruption. The experience is nearly overwhelming and we’re overjoyed at our potential success. But the elation departs as quickly as it arrived, for as we touch the thrumming wisps of thoughts long past, they wither and die in our hands and their light fades away. An inky black rapidly bleeds through the once glowing fog until it dissipates entirely and we begin to wonder if it ever existed at all. We stand and look down at our empty hands . We’re enveloped in a cocoon of newly created darkness, and in the distance we hear the silence of extinguished memory echoing off the bare canyon walls.

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