There’s a deep dark hole in the centre of myself. I try to fill in but all I can do is hiding it. I drink alcohol, I smoke, I collect a lot of things, make art, look for the company of people, go to church, go to a psychotherapyst, change my jobs, my hobbies, my appaerance, try different new things, but everything helps me just for a short period of time. I’ve lived with it since my childhood. In my fantasy I’m fine but I can’t spend much time there.
It’s not an easy life. Madness always grins in the depth. Sometimes I lose my mind and hear voices and words of invisible beings. At these times I have to take medicine. The Ripedon blocks the hallucinations but sadly, my imaginations too. When I take it, I lose my motivation and very hard to say no to booze.
The world of dolls is a great illusion. They don’t get older, don’t get sick, don’t have financial or private problems. Their existence is full of beauty, diversity and joy. When I play with them, I fall into this inpossible universe. Plastic girls and boys, plastic smiles and hearts, there’s no pain, no sorrow. Their biggest problem is what clothes to wear and how to pose in front of the camera.
Philip K. Dick wrote a novel: The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch. In this book, solitary settlers lived on a distant planet. The only fun was that they projected their minds into the residents of a dollhouse. It was really amusing but empty a bit. Then came Palmer Eldritch and offered a much better game. Don’t play with dolls! You can change the reality! And this was the beginning of total insanity. Who tried the new game, changed forever.
So I balance myself equally between the gentle dolls and the fateful parallel worlds.
This is Palmer Eldritch, one of my old drawings.
(2012, ink on paper, Adobe Illustrator, Wacom Intuos 3)
I hope the dolls will win.