The Mystery of the Lighthouse
I found this drawing of a lighthouse in an old notebook I took to Rottnest back on my 25th birthday. I remembered every other sketch in the book, but I didn’t remember this one. It drove me crazy cos when I look at it, I think it’s nice. A drawing this nice is not like me at all.
I found this other drawing of the same lighthouse:
This one, I remembered. This one’s more like me. I can relate to this hairy piece of shit. :)
Anyway, it’s been a mystery for the last 24 hours. If I did draw the nice one, why don’t I draw these days, and why does drawing feel impossible now? If I’ve forgotten drawing this thing I now like, what else have I forgotten; what else have I discounted, then built upon its absence an inaccurate perception of my self? I wonder if it’d be like this if I lose my mind when I get old – seeing things I don’t remember fitting perfectly into the familiar.
It’s funny how a tiny thing can trigger lines of questioning, and how something innocuous can influence a person’s self-image. It’s like waking up, sore in strange places, not knowing how you made it home. That was probably like me too, back then.
Turns out my friend Martin drew the lovely lighthouse after all, so the mystery is solved. I’m disappointed that at no point in my life could I draw this well, and that my self-perception of only being capable of hairy lighthouses is correct. But oh well, it was a nice 24 hours of pondering. And a relief to not be crazy.