I hadn't ever even heard of the man, I had no concept or knowledge of his life or work, but after watching a PBS documentary about this man, in conjunction with the utter massive amount of time I've been spending writing term papers these past few weeks-- i feel i am become Henry Darger.
For those you like I (the former I) who don't know about this man, check out this site http://www.saraayers.com/darger.htm to give a brief overview however, Henry Darger was an extremely reclusive janitor in the early 1920's he had no friends, spent all of his time working, or in his apartment talking to himself...and working some more. A few years after his death, a 15,000 page story was found, complete with elaborate drawings and music, an entire fantastical world all his own creation.
Now I defiantly don't have 15,000 pages and i can't draw-at all, but all of this writing, all of this engagement in what is essentially the same artificial world, the world of dreamscapes and storylines, has left me seamlessly transcending between the realms of fiction and reality.
A lot of people seem to pity Darger for his seemingly empty life, and while that may be true, how can we dismiss the unfathomably complex and beautiful world in which he chose to live, chose to create.
Now for the safety of my well being i think its important for me to make a clear distinction between these two worlds, but the deeper that this class, these books have taken me the hard that becomes.
To draw some more poignant words, i turn to Borges--for he has consumed me as of late, in one of his short stories The Zahir in which a coin (the zahir) has taken over his thoughts, his life his "reality" this concept of dual worlds, consumption, knowledge... "others will dream that i am mad, while i dream of the Zahir. When every man on earth thinks, day and night, of the Zahir, which will be dream and which reality, the earth or the Zahir?"
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