Nonfictive pursuits, relative truth, and whatever else strikes the fancy.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Lord of the Gallows
I made the above oil pastel a few semesters ago for an art class when I was deep in the throes of an obsession with the film industry's need to poke out Mads Mikkelsen's eye. He plays the one-eyed Comte de Rochefort in the recent remake of The Three Musketeers. He is the cloud-eyed Bond Villan Le Chiffre in Casino Royale. He is THE Odin-esque One-Eye in Vallhalla Rising. And if he is fortunate enough to start out a role with both eyes intact, that may not last. I don't want to spoil it too much. But try not to fall in love with both of Mads' matching central heterochromatic eyes in Danish television show Unit One or Danish film Adam's Apple. I guarantee you will be heart broken if you do.
So what does it mean to take away the eye of a character in a story? If an eye is a window to the soul, then to take away an eye is to shroud the character in mystery. A missing eye is a sacrifice, a story in itself. What consequence or revenge lies dormant in a person whose eye was taken from them? And even then there is another story beneath a missing eye. An eye given, like the eye the Norse god Odin tore from himself in exchange for knowledge. A given eye, sacrificed willingly in noble pursuits marks a hero's journey. The absent eye is a tale of vast and terrible knowledge.
The characters in these stories are not so unlike real heroes. War correspondent Marie Colvin wore a patch after losing her eye covering the Sri Lankan civil war. She once said "What is bravery, and what is bravado? Journalists covering combat shoulder great responsibilities and face difficult choices. Sometimes they pay the ultimate price." Marie Colvin died in February of this year while covering the siege in Homs. Even with one eye, Marie brought back to the world the things only she saw. Hers was a terrible knowledge. The loss of her eye was the mark of that knowledge. But like Odin, she never ceased to thirst for more.
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I agree, there is something mysterious about an eye patch. I think that those masks that fall over your eyes (like the one zorro wears), have the same effect. zorro in spanish means fox, and foxes have mysterious eyes; I think it has something to do with the thin black borders of the foxes eyes that may have channeled this idea when the legend of zorro was created.
ReplyDeleteFor me though the raccoon is much more mysterious and crafty. There eyes can't be seen in daylight because of the black blindfold that they carry. They only come out at night and they use there front paws (more like hands) to eat and clean food and steal things right from under your nose. These conniving critters are similar to pirates who sneak, pillage your property and plunge craftily using there little dagger paws. At least this is my experience with the cute little demons.
So whether you have an eye with a patch or a natural mask over the eyes there is a terrible knowledge, a missing gateway to the soul, or maybe now no soul at all. Who can say they haven't sold their soul to a demon for a vast and terrible knowledge?
Great piece of art I must add; Well done. The man's pain is exhaustingly evident in his upward gazing perspective. The mystery and curiosity is also apparent. The background sets the mood well; Perhaps a dark past or an uncertain future.
ReplyDeleteThanks Thomas! :)
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