The idea of levitation, of an apple suspended in mid-air, of an angel serving up doses of happiness, is an idea too tempting to refuse as a concept for the annual Catmasutra exhibition. Imagine taking a wrong turn and you find yourself walking down a dark alley. The stone slabs you're walking on echo the sound of your heart, and you realize it's the only thing you can hear. Your shadow grows long and short, skips and shimmers from leftover rain as you walk past tall street lights... You're running away from something, you need a place to rest, to forget. It's a dark alley and there, around the corner, there's a light from an open doorway. You are drawn towards it, away from the darkness. You approach the bar counter, a cat (of the Russian Blue breed) greets you with a permanent grin and asks you what you would like to have. You say "happiness", and without hesitation, the blue cat serves you a cocktail as if it's the most common drink in the world. You take a sip, and the apple levitates... (What's with the apple anyway, you may ask; Well, apples often appear as a mystical and forbidden fruit, or the "original" sin depicting the fall from Eden. In other isntances, the apple has also been used as a symbol of love and sexuality [often attributed to depiction of Venus in secular art]. The apple here is cut into half, and hence its ability to levitate, from sin to love... hahaha connections, connections...)
There’s a duality in everything - from the reality that we’re in and the way we think about things, between our spirituality and reality, our emotions and reality - a tiny gap where live wires meet, creating sparks that bridge the two worlds. This gap opens up the world of myth and fairy tales and gives reality its distinct colors and flavors (depending on how you look at things) haha and the blue cat pours you another drink...
The art of levitation dwells in that little gap, probably got stored away somewhere in my sub-consciousness when I picked up Mr Vertigo some years back. A strange little book (by my account although it's really a regular-size novel). Perhaps, the cover art attracted me as much as the title. It’s a story of a ‘pus-brained’ boy who was persuaded (or tricked) by a quasi-religious master from Budapest to learn how to fly. Came across an interview with the writer, and it reminded me why I like this book.
It talks about “the contrast between what you might call the mythical and the everyday, how they combine and live side by side in the same world” and most adequately put by Peter Brook, a theatre director whom the writer admires, "Without the everyday you can't be touched, and without the myth you can't be amazed". What he strives for is the closeness of the everyday and the distance of myth… Haha I think I’m high enough now to levitate (perhaps I should pour myself a whiskey and coke)... keke