The Forgotten Dancer

Handcrafted

 

ALTER EGO

The Forgotten Dancer is a recreation of myself – a handcrafted alter ego – fabricated with the tangible twines of art.  I gently illumine this character to life from its dark dwelling, deep inside my imagination, and mould it to life with the eclectic fusion of my works, thoughts, perspectives, and anecdotes. Basically a personified collection, this character is forged with the desire to preserve my diffused thoughts and works in one place and so that I can be virtually recreated in a time when I myself am conquered by time and forgotten.

So, here is just another forgotten dancer at the end of time, striving to be remembered.

…that Magnum Opus

“Many artists envision a grand portrait that, they dream, will be their magnum opus. I am one such artist, dedicated to creating myself, and the forgotten dancer is that magnum opus.”

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THE BIRTH OF THIS CHARACTER

as a vague idea in my imagination

It was near midnight, about a year ago. Some unnamed disturbance had stolen my sleep.

 

In a while, it was discovered to be the half-familiar urge to release a thought that had outgrown its chrysalis and sprouted restless wings. My conscious mind was asleep, but the words stumbled out from somewhere where the mind isn’t involved – I knew it first, like a song without a rhythm.

 

I didn’t know what I was going to write, but the words tumbled down, anyhow. A couple of seconds later, it read-

“It scares me, how inconsequential our lives are. // In the end, we are all just forgotten dancers.”

 

It was done. The unease that had been settling for a few days then, had suddenly aborted. A strange lightness descended again and sleep rushed in to reclaim me.

 

I didn’t know it then, but that night,

something had began.

…but that night, something had begun

Subconcious

Those weren’t words formed in my conscious mind. But somewhere deep in my subconscious, I believe, it had stirred up as an answer against a question that had been throbbing within for a while then. Ever since the question had arrived, the unease had started to settle, for I began to realize the answer even before I knew it.

The question was that which had piqued humanity since the ancient days –

 

WHY DO WE LIVE?

“It scares me how inconsequential our lives are.

In the end, we are all just forgotten dancers.”

.

From huddled tribes that wandered the woods, fearing the fall of night and the wrath of nature, to the first proud men who had ignited a spark of hope by discovering fire, the journey of this race began. Ever since, that flame has burnished only stronger amongst us, in the form of passion, curiosity and the urge to do something. From that iconic moment when a world-changing discovery was made, we have today, a world entirely remade by the insights and discoveries of our fellow men. Together we have created a dynamic society full of possibility and colors, and freshness for tomorrow. With the augmenting of time, both as a race and as individuals, we have started understanding ourselves deeper.

 

But even amidst all this transformation, one tradition has remained unchanged. And that is our ardor in seeking a meaning for our lives. Where once the meaning of life was curbed to mere survival, an explosion of diversity has, today, made it possible to find a definition for ourselves in different realms. But, this only makes it all the more necessary for us to find the right definitions for us.

 

Between laughing, eating, indulging, and living, we want to do something more, something important. We want to be someone who matters. We want to be a part of the making of this masterpiece called ‘the society’. But…

 Broken 

Meanings…

         But,

Epitaph

What if our lives remain remembered even a thousand years from now… Is it worth living it then, just to leave behind a beautiful epitaph?

…even as we build the world like children building careful sandcastles, the waves of time delights in unmaking what we made. Struggling to establish ourselves in a fleeting society and hustling to grow the money that can build a mortal palace, we walk forth. Further and further down the corridor we advance, chasing the hologram dreams that illumine our way and steer us away from the dark corridor called the loss of purpose. But a day arrives when the illusion begins to wear and its opaque facade fades at the frays. At that moment, it slowly hits us that the illumined corridors have been walking us in circles… that what we imagined was our life had only been a ruse to escape a dark secret…

A

 

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S

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An hourglass encases us. The top half of the hourglass is the horizon of our existence, each day, gently dwindling. The bottom half  is our character – layered and deepened with time. While each cascading speck in the hourglass garnishes and shapes us, it also quaffs us draught-by-draught…

 

…And in the end we are all just forgotten dancers.

Each of us have a story to tell. Each of us have struggled to design this life for ourselves. So, don’t let the years wither in vain. Between living and trying to live, do something that matters too much to settle like unused dust after your days. Create a space to leave behind your legacy, to preserve the purpose of your life in posterity.

 

a space to leave behind my legacy…

… is why the forgotten dancer was born.

What seems a forlorn beauty when alone, vibrates with an unconquerable power and weight, when joined together with other similar forces.

 

Similarly so, the million unconnected pieces of work, sedulously woven with  devotion and sweat, scatter like motes of dust when the winds of time rage. But what if they were all anchored together into one momentous body… united, will they not hold each other and endure? 

 

But for them to hold together, one current must flow throw them all – one central underlying theme of which all these are parts. The works aren’t sundered pieces, drifting arbitrarily. They are parts of a bigger story – they tell something deeper-

 

 

Together, the works are a reflection of their creator.

 

But while these oeuvres/ works are only the shallow outer layer – a meager reflection- a deeper inquest into the artists personality and mind must be preserved alongside the works so that, when the pieces are assembled together, the artist can be virtually recreated.

 

The Forgotten Dancer is this personified collection that is left as an epitaph to time.

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