2 represents the passage of time in mythology, the yin and yang the duality, the two people combine to create you in this world, the coming together of, the duel off, the fight, the mirror...
Childhood and the realisation that they are all different, there is no one size fits all although there are expectations on what this life should be like, it is not like that for many and then that disconnect from the world begins when realising their 'normal' is not normal. What is normal? Who dictates this? Society perhaps, your childhood, you? The constant evolution through the ages and through time, how can normal stay the same and why are we always trying to catergorise, control everything, a natural human characteristic perhaps? Or is it something deeper or more sinister? And when a child’s freedom is compromised what effect does this have. Many things being realised this week. Art is a language which isn't necessarily linear or moves in the same way as words or text, but can time travel and bring forth the past to be re created like your own myth or fairy tale, some of us are still using this tool to understand our state when so innocent to gain a sense of control and understanding whilst also making sense of this as adults. Perspective can act like a birds eye view, soaring above as time passes we are able to gather a new perspective for the time being instead of being apart of the story we are now the storyteller. The switch of character like a mirror from the reality to the dream like the fool to the hero. The endless archetypes and myths that are continulously played out. Im glad my parents read Brothers Grimm and swayed me away from Disney, I never wanted to be the princess until primary school when this was what most other little girls wanted. How easily our minds can be influenced.
A poem for you...
Its a way to see you
the magic within
using the darkness like a cupids bow
a machine of time like, Dr who
Remembering this show I loved as a child
you told me your childhood was red and black
a basement with one light bulb in pitch black
It clouded the yellow sun, that warmed you
to the same colour as the doorway, blackest black
A house of no escape,
Except though the ground,
Like the birth of a child through the mothers womb you came
And reprogramed your mind
yourself,
Alone.
