Memory is the artist's curse as well as his gift. Memory serves to retrieve everything that has been lived and experienced so far, to recollect and revive the past, in seemingly beautiful ways that belie the pain and self-examination inherent in the act of remembering. Memory is the curse of those who rely on the past to demonstrate through art the follies and triumphs of the living man, the sunken depths and the soaring heights of his soul, the depravity and the transcendence of his mind. Memory makes the past a part of who you are.
How much more idyllic seems the life of the man who forgets easily, how much more beautiful appears his pragmatism, compared to the lethargy of forgetting. Take memory away and you are new again, everyday, fresh and alive to the incidents of today that will be forgotten tomorrow.
And yet, to me, forgetting the love, compassion, kindness and adventure I have today seems unimaginable. I could never forget. Not this time.