Associated with me are 5 "vision cards" that describes different parts of my background. They are described below, with my comments, and answers to questions from my cousins, who have tried to learn to know me better.
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Vision card #2 "Three sisters"
Vision card #3 "The mad organist"
Vision card #4 "The owl must die"
Questions about the orphanage where I grew up
(a version of this card is available in my gallery)
A young woman
in purple and black stands in front of an easel, painting. The
figure she paints is herself, painting herself, on to infinity.
This is the favourite among my paintings. Some days I think it is
a self-portrait, showing my soul. (Of course I'm no woman, but
part of my soul might be.) I wonder what would happen if I had
painted that one as a trump?
Daeon asks: "Do you believe in reincarnation?"
"Maybe. I certainly believe that everyone has an essence,
you may call it a soul, that is more immortal than their body.
But what happens after death is still an unresolved issue, I
think. Why this essence should move into another body is not
clear to me. So maybe I don't believe that, no."
Three sisters ride forth from
a castle by the sea. The eldest rides a winged sapphire dragon
and carries an amethyst-tipped spear. The youngest rides a black
bear and carries a sack of seeds. The middle sister rides a giant
sea slug and carries a box of "Scrabble" tiles.
When my uncle Brand had taken me out of the orphanage, we went
travelling to all kind of strange places. How he had found those
girls I don't know, but they were wonderful playmates. One just
had to keep away from the bear.
"I'll have just a little wine, thanks." Brita says as she sits down to converse with Ossian.
"Oh, I can easily fetch more." Ossian answers as he
pours a glass full and hands it over to her.
Brita sips the wine and then sets the glass aside. She mentions
that she loves Scrabble then asks how long Ossian was in the
orphanage.
"So you love Scrabble? You know, we could play some evening,
over another glass of wine."
"And about the orphanage: I must have been there for at
least five years; I think. It's not like my memories are clear
for that period of my life."
Jerod asks "Which of the three sisters did you
like the best...and why?"
"They were really great all three of them, but to my taste
the youngest was nicest. The middle one was a bit too
intellectual for her age, and the eldest one always wanted to
show off. But the youngest, well, she had an eye for beauty and
humor, and liked playing make-believe. She also laughed a lot
more than the others did."
Lucas asks "What is an example of the games
you played with the young girls your Uncle Brand found?"
"Of course we played all kinds of games. But I remember the
one game they all liked...hmm at least they all liked to start
playing it even if they did not always like the ending. We
pretended I was a prince, and they were princesses...and I should
chose who of them to marry. Of course that always ended in two
angry young ladies and one happy..."
A massive pipe organ fills
the room. The wild-eyed organist, dwarfed by the towering pipes,
seems annoyed by an interruption, as if his deafening rehearsal
was somehow meant for his ears alone.
Brand wanted to discuss some matters of arts with this strange
man, he said. Although he was mad the man obviously had various
artistic talents. You should see his paintings!
Reid asks "Did you ever hear the mad organist
play?"
"Of course I did. When we entered the room that day he
played a really strange piece, not the kind you like when you are
a kid. The music kind of struck in your stomach, making you sick.
But over all the noise in the bass register, there was a delicate
melody in the highest octave so filled of sorrow that I started
crying."
Lilly asks: "Can you describe your favorite
painting by the mad organist?"
"Well, I don't know. Visual art is not all that easy to
communicate without showing it, in my opinion. The painting
showed some kind of stone surface with a large dark hole in it. I
never dared to touch the painting to see if the hole really was
painted, I was too afraid of being sucked in."
A woman clad in rags stands
waist-deep in a glassy lake, her hands reaching skyward. A snowy
owl chick takes flight from her outstretched hands. A man
crouches in the shadow of the trees on shore, his bow drawn.
Oh. I think I was in love with Lyssa at that time. But she was
too attached to that owl, so I killed it. That was the first time
I found out how affectionate women become when you have comforted
them.
Jovian asks "How did she react when she found
out it was you who shot the owl?"
"Actually, she didn't. She got very upset when the owl was
killed, so I volunteered to go and search for the hunter. Too bad
I had to kill a man so I could show her the body."
Aisling asks "Ever feel bad about hurting
someone you fancied for the purpose of manipulating her?
"Now when you put it that way... I guess not in this case at
least. Maybe I should. Actually I think there is a more
interesting question buried here, did I hurt her, or did I merely
inflict some pain? As when pulling out a bad tooth?"
"And she had hurt me, of course."
Folly follows with "Do you prefer being the
center of attention?"
"Not in the way an actor does, but of course I prefer when
people note me and what I do. Psychologists would say that this
stretches back to my orphanage days, where the kids got all to
little attention and appreciation."
"I am of course a narcissist."
A child sits at a table,
staring intently at an array of small, odd shaped pieces of wood.
One of the wooden pieces begins to move jerkily towards the
center of the table and an unfinished structure resembling a
tree, or a ship, or...
One day, when I was very young, Brand arrived with those strange
wooden pieces. He wanted me to look for the shapes inside.
Afterwards I have understood that he had tried to make trumps out
of carved wood.
"Did he, or you ever succeed, and if not what happened to
the attempts?" Paige wonders.
"Well, certainly I didn't, even if I try now and then. Look
here." Ossian brings out a small carving (is it castle
Amber?) from one of his pockets. "This is my last attempt.
Maybe if I.."
"Ah." Ossian tucks the carving back down into the
pocket. "Maybe Brand managed, I never learned if he did or
not. I'm sure that he would have to choose a bit less *living*
wood to make it, though."
Robin
laughs in delight at the image, clapping her hands together in
delight, a child's glee in her eyes. "Oh, Ossian! Fun! Why
is the toy moving? And what is that?" Pointing to the
structure.
''I think Brand wanted to find out which kind of art I was best
at. At this time I was working with some play pieces consisting
of metal rods and small magnetic balls. Brand brought them from
somewhere in Shadow, and encouraged me to build whatever I wanted.
It took me several days to complete that sculpture. I thought I
had created something truly original, but Brand laughed and took
me for a short Shadow trip, where he showed me those creatures
really exist: Giant living flying ships, probably some kind of
plants...''
''As for the moving piece of wood; I haven't been able to
reproduce it. Some days I think Brand used sorcery to amuse me.
The most probable hypothesis is however that he had almost
succeeded in carving a Trump out of living wood. I guess you know
that it is much more easy to carve fresh wood than old, dry wood,
Robin?''
''But carving a Trump out of fresh wood must be hard, the wood is
still slightly alive. It would be like balancing on a knife-edge
when the knife is moving. If making Trump carvings is possible at
all, that is.''
Solange asks "Did your Uncle Brand ever offer
you any explanation for why you spent your early years in an
orphanage?
"No, he didn't. He seemed to be angry about it, and told me
he had been looking for me for several years before finding me.
It was not the kind of place a caring father or mother would
place her child in, I think. Brand never told me why he took care
of me, but I guess it was of love for the family."
Vere asks "You were taken from the orphanage
by Brand, but do you have any memories from before you entered
that place?"
"No. My first memories are from the dormitory, at bedtime,
when one of the women put out the lamp(and . At that time I was
so afraid of the dark what the other children might do to me in
the dark, of course) that I didn't fall to sleep for a long time.
I must have been around three years old or something like that.
My guess is that I was put in there as a little baby."
Brennan queries "How did a scion of Amber end up
in an orphanage?"
"Ah, you are all interested in that orphanage! As I said,
Brand searched for me for a couple of years. Probably someone
tried to hide me away, either to protect me, or to protect
himself. My theory is that someone didn't want me to find my
heritage, but also didn't have the stamina to kill me. Luckily
your father found me soon enough."
Martin asks: "Back to the orphanage. You
theorize that someone put you there because they didn't have the
stamina -- or the guts -- to kill you. What about the
parents who let you be stolen or abandoned you? How do you feel
about them?"
"Let us put it this way: I do not know if I think parents
have any
duties towards their children. If you love someone you should
obviously take care of them, otherwise, why bother? I think I
have to
learn more about what happened when I was brought to that
orphanage
before answering you more than this."
Marius asks "If your brother Brennan were to
describe you, how would he do so. I understand that neither of
you has met, but I do not believe that will prevent you from
answering the question. And no, I do not need your visage
described to me."
[This is not fully IC, of course, since Ossian does not know
anything about Brennan. Let' suppose he does.]
"Now you have got something wrong. Brennan is Brand's son,
and thus not my brother, as far as I know. You might be my
brother, though, Marius. Anyway I think he would describe me as,..."
Ossian takes a deliberate pause, and adapts a theatrical look,
and tries a hideous imitation of Brennan:
"Oh, that boy. He is probably a madman since he got so well
along with my father. Ossian is a deceptive, egoistic, smirking
half-man. Why did my father spend any of his love on that
daydreamer? Has he ever done anything good for anyone?"
"Here is your question, Cousin." Conner
smiles. "What is the purpose of art?"
"The purpose?" first Ossian shrugs, then he seems to
change his mind; "In an ideal world there is no such thing
as art, or rather: art is everywhere in that world. But we are
not in an ideal world; birdsong is too weak and too dull, the
ladies are too ugly (no offense intended) and houses are built
for our bodies, not for our souls. We talk in a manner better
fitted to communicate factoids than to amuse each other."
Ossian sounds slightly bitter. "Art is our feeble tries to
patch the greyness of our reality with bright fabrics. It's
supposed to to give us relief from the dullness; to let us use
our whole range of feelings more often."
Ossian also offers a poem:
Recalling the way the frigate bird flies,
preserving its grace in marble forever.
Sharing the memories of a little girl's eyes,
just for a minute in the voice of a singer.
In a painting showing your nighttime fears.
Waking hate or laughter, anger or tears.
That is art.
This ain't
Or is it?
This page was updated 2004-01-25