| Freedom, the artist, and iMac
There was a time when I swore I would never use a computer. After all I was an artist, not someone like my brother. It was through him that I was given my first impression of computers.
The day that happened, it was one of those crisp sun filled days. You could see the delicate veins of a leaf from across the street. There was static electricity hidden just around the corner. The air was like highly polished glass, poised to change with a flick of a butterfly's wings.
The rustling of the leaves tossed about by my cat did little to disguise the sounds emanating from my brother's lair, indicating his consciousness arising from the depth of his odd little world.
I peered into his room, curious as to what storms would soon develop. A black monitor began to run thousands of pale green numbers and letters. Row after row after row after row. Endless. Just about the time that I was about to leave in pure disgust something different happened. The screen went to a shade of off white. He fiddled around and began loading something he called Lotus. A barrage of muttering and at last, the thing I had been anticipating, a full blown temper tantrum, screams of rage.
Some would call my relationship with my brother sibling rivalry. I don't know what I would call it, but I did enjoy seeing my brother in a frenzied state. Undeniable pleasure was mine to revel in every time he turned that computer on. It was also a warning. After all if it could cause him that much angst time and time again it was certainly something that I should avoid.
The years flew by, we both went our individual paths, and my brother is still fiddling with his computers, refining his anger to a fine degree. Maybe it would have been different if he started out with a Mac.
It certainly was for me. When the time came, that is exactly what I bought. A Mac. Period, end of statement. What else would I get? I could never imagine owning a box that caused violence. After all a large part of creating is about facing violence and removing it. So a Macintosh it had to be. In those days I paid an arm, a leg, and two years of monthly fingers. It was worth it. Perfect timing was mine when it began its decline and right then the iMac was born.
The funny thing is that I don't feel like I am using a computer when I boot up my iMac. It's more like a friend. A link to other friends, new and old, through cyberspace. It's a journey every time. An unknown adventure. Sure I may have ideas about what I need to do, inevitably I end up somewhere else. Whether it is surfing, writing to a known individual, journaling, or discovering what Photoshop can do for my art, time slips away...
- It's a crushed pearl sandy beach lining a deep turquoise cove with seals playing amongst the tall seaweed trees. Gulls flying to and fro, calling to the ocean gods below.
- It's a slate lined fireplace guarded by Chinese dogs. Fire dancing to rituals long lost.
- It's a wooden floor polished by many, as yet another actor plays their part.
- It's tribal drum beats and the deep liquid pools of a panther's eyes ringed by bright green, set in midnight black fur that ripples like water. Anticipation.
- It's the skipping of a stone, skip skip p p skip across a placid pool with an old friend sharing memories and laughter in the silence of each others thoughts. Moss lined banks that meld into gnarled roots exposed at the water's edge.
Each one of these lines are fragments of stories that came about from hanging out with this computer, my muse. The one that hums away patiently as words flow from keyboard to screen. As they are they may not mean anything, but where they came from entire scenes were explored in imagination. It's what I love about my Mac. The freedom to revel in my imagination. The freedom to let it happen naturally. |
