Introspective: In Pursuit of the Child of Memory
In order to make the ordinary come alive, one must have an eye for the fantastic, for the miraculous . William Lazos breathes life into ordinary objects using bright colors and a keen, playful eye. The first time I saw his painting I was immediately struck by the juxtaposition of a colorful center surrounded by the more subdued brown frame of the television set. The colors pulled me into a world that expanded slowly to incorporate what to me became the inspiration and enticement to write this poem—the television set. I set out to write a poem reflecting, in the ekphrastic tradition, remembering t he time when I was a little boy back in Romania during the 1980s and we only got about two hours of state-sponsored programming per day. And even that was in black and white. Large antennas dotted the rooftops to catch even that meager ration of entertainment. As the pilot in the painting is flying away or towards something, so were people trying to take flight in some way from reality. And then came color TV. I don’t remember how or exactly when, but I do remember that cartoons suddenly seemed more alive, more real. The imaginary had now found a pulse, the same kind of throb you can feel if you look at and feel the freedom in that small act of flying between borders. The ordinary wonder of everyday colors was now a miracle w e could capture at the click of a button. How amazing that must have felt for many people during those years. How like a dream, a fantasy to help you get through the mundane hours a little easier. Do we still feel that way when we turn on the television or our computers and have the world at our fingertips? Do we still breathe a little faster when someone not unlike ourselves is speaking back from the screen? I have memories of my childhood when I felt just that. But I also have memories that lead me into a state of melancholy. William Lazos’s painting reminded me that there were happy moments, ordinary ones that we tend to overlook, something so simple as turning on the TV and seeing the world reflected right back at us—differently yet the same. — ANDREI GURUIANU
