Yes, pretty colors. Creepy dude. Creepy shadows in the background. Nice sunset. Puny boats in the background. We get it.
But there is so much more to this guy than just what the eye can see. It's quite devastating because this man is losing himself. He is becoming a subject to the reality around him rather than pertaining to his own personal identity. The man isn't a figure with uniform structure, but rather a figure that is slowly turning into his surrounding. All the pretty colors and swirling of the paintbrush disguise the horror and panic the man feels. This man is actually turning into his background. What's worse is that the shadows of the men behind him are just shadows.. they aren't aid or help... just shadows.
How many times do we go through life being that shadow? Passing by a friend, family, coworker, lover... anyone, and letting them lose them self. Which is more horrific? Being that man who loses his identity or being that bystander who lets a man lose his identity?
Just because you blend into your background doesn't mean you stay transparent forever. You will always find yourself. Unfortunately, it's a continuous cycle of coming in and out of your surrounding. Even though losing your way is unfortunate, losing your reason to keep going is a fate more cruel. If you lose yourself, you have two choices. Find that person you used to be, or lose that person entirely.
But as a bystander, we aren't transparent. Rather, we are that sting of black shadow that haunts us forever. The piece of everyone and anyone that remains indifferent to the world. It's not purposeful or intentional, it's just who we are.
It's devastation in it's entirety.
It's a funny thing to think about... how fortunate we feel as a bystander. We all see those people who are homeless, ragged and dirty... and those who look like bums that we just walk past. We feel sympathetic yet high and mighty because we aren't in their position. We go on with our lives, looking away when they ask for money. Occasionally we'll dig into our pockets and pull out the bit of change we got from eating and plop them into their little cup. We think, "He's so dirty, he needs a job." or "No money for him. He's going to use it for drugs".
Even better, we think, "Why should I help him?"
Funny thing is, don't we all need help at some point in our lives? Maybe not in that particular predicament, but simply just during the daily chaos of our lives. Perhaps it's for moving into a new house, babysitting a friend's sibling, letting a friend cry on your shoulder, or praying for a broken heart.
Don't we all?
