Janus

We spend much of our days dreaming about the realisation of a dream. 

Much of the time, holding on to the mythologies we have mythologised through our lives, 

be that self imposed or external. 

A dream, after all, is all we have to move forward. 

Enter Janus, the god who builds the doorways. 

If each individuals decade has it’s own midnight, then every midnight we approach a new door. Every door comes with it’s own new landscape and set of joys and tragedies. 

We have not been taught that the transformation that happens between each door is beautiful and important…and whilst it comes with loss, it comes with gain. 

So I speak to you from about 10pm to 40, but I had been living in the space that occupies 6pm to 20. 

I have come to tell those who may be interested, that I was being hurt by my own dream and did not see that the breathing and shape shifting world has no idea that it even exists. 

I am bound to the addiction/pursuit that is to tell a story. 

And I believed so deeply and so truly that it would be received in a certain way. 

However, this belief entirely exists at 6pm to 20 and I did not let it grow and evolve beside me. 

I sit here, on a mountain of work and love and art, irrelevant to the world and to most people, with another stone I laid down, a little higher and a little lower. 

I did not succeed in provoking a response from anyone claiming to be interested previously, so you won’t hear me talking about it…not really to anyone. 

There will be no water from no stone. 

And the prophesy of it all- of constructing The Clown, may be that I already knew how it would all end. Perhaps that is the beauty of art- the fact that it speaks the things we can’t. It drags the truth out, kicking and screaming- and if we are lucky enough, the scream is beautiful and bright and alive enough that it just may reach a few people. 

So at a different midnight, the one on the 30th of March 2023, I sat in my bed for those last tender moments that my work belonged to only me and spoke to Janus- that god of doorways, of war and peace, of beginnings and ends, and asked what for.

We cannot be satisfied. We cannot be finished, for when we are finished…we are finished. 

So I had a thought, that we always are given what we need and not what we want. 

And besides, what we want doesn’t matter.

So, to my dream. 

To that childhood fantasy and to the gold I bury in the dirt, for being better off poor than hurt…

I await the next challenge…the next door.

And instead of dread, I feel excited for what story it may bring.