The Madding Crowd
When I came
up with the title, I was so sure. Finally, this three-worded string managed to
capture my feelings when I was creating it.
Unlike most
art I make, this project was driven by anger, rejection, pain, despair, fear,
subjection and sadness.
At times I
felt like I was creating a collective, a paper revolution. I felt hope as I cut
out the faces. How powerful can an individual be in a collective. The crowd is
fighting for a brighter future.
Other
moments I would feel watched, observed. Not by a collective but a collection of
individuals. Each their own judgement, their own reflection. You never know
what they might think.
It’s a
crowd of individuals, each with a unique print and pattern. Each with their own
thoughts, logic and morals. How can we then ever become one to make a change?
I was
running out of paper. I started cutting multiple faces from one page. Of course
I tried to have them as far apart as possible. For composition’s sake.
Now when I
look at my wall, I feel like God. Plato said that soulmates were one creature,
but cut and divided by God as a punishment. I took the pairs apart and tried to
mix everything well. I bet he tried to do the same.
There are
groups and factions in the crowd. The red ones don’t like the blue ones. The
floral ones believe, the fashion ones don’t. The modern art ones are leftist,
while paint smudged ones are alt-right. Interieur design are queer, the newspaper ones have "traditional" preferences.
But you
see, none can be described just their pattern or just their beliefs. In the
crowd they are divided by colour and the rest of their facets are forgotten.
But even if
I, as God, would hear their prayers and cries, I could never grasp how rich and
dimensional they can be. That idea equally pleases and terrifies me.
More than a
hundred faces hang on my wall. Each of them I traced and cut and stuck to the
wall. I’ve touched all of them. Does that make us family? What more is family
than a promise and a personal touch?
Whether a
unified collective or a collection of strangers, the madding crowd will be
watching me. Maybe they are my god.
