There are pivotal moments in life that set you on a particular path. I found it in the sleepout at my Nanna's house, Dad's room - the one that was too hot in the afternoon but, unlike the rest of the house, was full of light and didn't smell so old. I can't remember the exact title, but it was a 'boy's own' sort of book of Greek myths. It had belonged to my father as a boy and someone had kept it. It was published in the early 1900's, the cover was missing and several unknown children had scribbled their names on the inside. It told of the adventures of the Greek heroes, one of whom was Ulysses. It was so significant that as an adult I just had to claim it, left it in storage at my Nanna's house and then lost it.
I loved that book. Interspersed between the writing on the rough yellowed musty paper were generous sprinklings of pen and ink drawings. And then, jewel-like, extravagantly printed on only one side of the glossy paper, were the delicate Victorian watercolour illustrations. Those images fired my imagination and made me want to paint like that - they made me want to be an artist. And that is what I did.
Ulysses is also called Odysseus and his exploits are well known in traditional European culture. His journey was an epic ocean voyage during which he had to pass through a particularly nasty stretch of water, the geographic location of which is still in contention and doesn't really matter. Because his is a symbolic journey of the soul, the psyche. On one side of this strait was Scylla, a sea monster and on the other was Charybdis. This is how Bullfinch describes it in 1913:
She dwelt in a cave high up on the cliff from whence she was accustomed to thrust forth her long necks....and in each of her mouths to seize one of the crew of every passing vessel.....The other terror, Charybdis, was a gulf, nearly on a level with the water. Thrice each day the water rushed into a frightful chasm, and thrice was disgorged. Any vessel coming near the whirlpool when the tide was rushing in must inevitably be engulfed.
So many years after discovering that book, I am still absorbed in the psychological tale of Ulysses, Scylla and the Cave by the Sea. I have been doing artwork at our own 'frightful chasm' in the form of the Gap here on the south coast. I am still obsessed, possessed and it has taken on such a life of its own that I am making art about it, researching it and doing a doctorate.
And what of the book? It has ended up in storage at my father's home, in which he no longer lives, and which is resided over by a bitter and selfish woman who will not release it to those to whom it has great emotional significance. It is worth little in monetary value but I really want that book back because it has taken on an even greater significance now. I have nothing to remind me of who my father once was. Dad has systematically erased any material evidence of his life and by association, our inherited family history in the form of momentos because of the decisions he has made. I feel robbed. I never expected to inherit money and still don't, but I would like something concrete from our past together, something that played such an important part in my own life and contributed to a family lineage.
note: the painting is my own "Cerberus & Me" done around 2000
Scylla Lived in a Cave by the Sea
