The Defenders of Virtue

by

Jack Vettriano

The Lost Art of Solitude

It simply is just being alone. It is the practice of centering yourself, gathering your thoughts, reflecting on your actions and evaluating your goals... or something like that - at least this is what it means to me... quiet moments to write and draw or to just listen to fine music and read... and is as simple and peaceful as just sitting in silence and looking up at the stars rocked by the sea or lulled to sleep by the sounds of the forest... it is time for yourself to create or take apart and rebuild.  It is time to plan and scheme and lay the foundations for the future.  It is time to remember and finding the strength to let go.  It is time for art. Time to learn. Time for making decisions.  It is time to create, to write and to remove the clutter and the chaos from your mind and your life... it is those moments that come at the end and just before the beginning... it is solitude.

I hear men talk about their “man cave” - I don’t live in a cave.  I live in a house and it is all my space, if and when I find a woman to share my life with I will be sharing my space... mine.  If she behaves and is a good wife she might earn a room just for herself - her space... but my woman will be busy with being pregnant and raising children and managing and maintaining my space and above all, making absolutely sure that my moments of solitude are not interrupted.

Men need space to be men, to converse with other men and explore new ideas among each other and alone as well.  It is just as important for men to explore their own minds and limitations alone at home and in the wild.  A man needs to learn to express himself in a productive way through art, through his creations, in a way that will benefit his society and beautify his surroundings.  Men need to learn to express their thoughts and emotions through words that will help others find inspiration and guidance. But a man needs time alone for these things, for everything begins in the quiet mind not in the chaotic one, and that quiet needed for creation and expression can only be found in solitude.

I have mentioned in these Deringer Files before that I have a hide out in a nameless city, and that I prefer to escape to the sea, but when I can’t get away to the forest or the waters and I am stuck in a place I would rather not be, I have my journal - a black leather journal that might seem chaotic but it actually is in perfect order to me... it is divided into sections of my own poetry and a section for quotes that I come upon and apply to my life, I write down my thoughts and ideas on life and women and manhood, spirituality and theories of my own, I stuff the book with lose sketches of the farm and village I plan to build and random lists, I do not include entry dates and just write as things come to be... but when I need time alone in strange places and even at home I take time to go over this book... and contemplate on its content - my goals and affirmations and my plans and sketches and poetry... it is a book I plan to leave behind for my sons... it is not only a part of me but it is in fact the development and progression of the man I aspire to be... the man I find in the quite and stillness of my mind... in the quite and stillness of my solitude.

purple skies

(another strange dream of battles in the sky)

The dream started out strange and I knew it was a dream I was in  -  the black basketball gave it away.

I had just arrived in a town that I think is Odessa, Texas. I have my ruck sack slung over my right shoulder and I am carrying my old guitar in my right hand and a black basketball in the other. I walk onto the basketball court in a school yard - I do not know this school but from what I see of it, it  is very modern and clean and surrounded by trees, it is not a school I remember from my days in Odessa..  I place my bag and the guitar down and I start dribbling the basketball - I am actually practicing dribbling the ball as if I was trying to teach myself how to do it, sometimes stopping to toss the ball through the hoop... I am wearing my blue running shorts and a long white t-shirt... I don’t know how I know I am wearing this, but I am... I stop my dribbling practice a couple of times to play with the guitar - I am teaching myself chords... I pluck at it and hold it like I was holding it for the first time... I am learning this instrument for the first time - I don’t know what that means... why am I relearning everything? When I go back to my dribbling I see that the black basketball is changing colors - it goes from black to gold to hues of green and back to black... it is black when I hold it in my hands but when I push it to the ground it changes colors... I stop and hold it with both hands and examine it... nothing.

I look up and I am standing in front of a hotel, it is crowded outside and looks like people are looking for lodging - it reminds me of when we first moved to Odessa in 1979 - there was not enough housing for everyone during the first years of that boom... but my room is reserved and I just walk in and settle into my space... there is a terrace on my floor and the residence gather there to talk... I  find my old friend Will there and I see a young man named Ruben that I casually know - a dark skinned Mexican with very white bright teeth and a muscular upper body - he is always friendly and happy.  I hear the people on the terrace gossiping and scheming as people do when new wealth has made its way into their lives... that oil money... but I go looking for Will... I lean over the terrace and see him making out with an old girlfriend of mine but in the dream she is a current love interest - I don’t really think much of it except for how rude it is that she did not come to see me - or perhaps she is coming to see me after she has been satisfied by Will... I am not angry at will - he knows I don’t love the girl but I am bothered that he is doing this under the same roof (so to speak) as I am in... I walk away and make my way through the crowd on the terrace back to my room - Ruben walks up to me with his big bright smile and just stands there looking goofy in front of me... I just start laughing at him... we find a place on the terrace with a view of the city and linger around with no purpose like the rest, my girl shows up and is friendly and affectionate... the whore... then Will arrives and starts talking about all the people and everyone starts telling the tales of their  boom town adventures... and I offer my own childhood experiences of Odessa from 1979 to 1983...

The sun is setting and it seems that more people have gathered on the terrace... Will, Ruben and I are smoking and drinking some beers... the setting sun has turn the sky shades of purple near the horizon and fades to blue above us - I make a comment about the stars being so bright and Will says it is still to light for any stars to be noticeable but I  point up and he looks and says that is strange that we can see them, but they are there and they begin to flicker... very far up in the sky blurry clouds begin to form... the clouds are on the edge of space it seems, but I can see the stars behind them for they are so bright even in the echoing glow of the setting sun. the image in front of us is mesmerizing and the crowd on the terrace all stop their conversations to gaze upon the horizon. 

In that silence I hear a boom in the distance... not a crack and not a crash but a distinct and recognizable reverberation of a distant boom... that trembles in the air... everyone hears it and we inspect the skies... one of those blurry clouds far up in the atmosphere begins to expand and becomes thicker and more defined... and we see a star fall from Heaven... I get a familiar feeling and every one just looks on in awe... as the cloud expands the stars begin to dance... they are moving around chasing each other... the crowd is amazed... but I start to remember the war... what war? I get the feeling in my dream again that this is now a memory and know that what we are looking at in the skies is a battle... I tell Will and Ruben we need to get the hell out and I run into my room and grab my bag... “meet me out side” I tell them but they think I am crazy and I tell them this is a war... we gather outside and they have their ruck sacks on their shoulders and we are dressed as if we were going on a hike... Will asks about my girl, I say - “that filthy faithless whore can stay behind to get what she has coming to her...”  Will looks down in shame - he knows I know... I put my hand on his shoulder and tell him now is a good time for him to prove himself to me... there is an explosion in the sky and clouds begin to change colors - it is from the explosions - purples and blues and greens and reds... the crowd on the terrace thinks it is fire works... but soon the clouds fade away and the jets come into focus... I start running and the  two follow me... I head for a residential area but only because I know it is the road out of town... will asks how did I know this was a war... how did I know what was happening... and who are we at war with... I only respond that I don’t think this war has anything to do with us - as a nation.

There is big pick-up truck in someone’s drive way that we jump into the bed of to rest and inspect the skies... and I begin to explain the war... but they look at me as if I am making it all up... which I am, because I can only give them my theory... of what is happening... and I am explaining to them the dreams... and I tell them that there is a very good chance they are trapped in one of my dreams... Will grabs my jacket collar and punches me in the face and tells me this is no dream!!!  There is an explosion and it shakes the truck and I begin to question (in my mind) my reality... Ruben pulls out a pair of ridiculously big binoculars with a light on top of it like a lazar but is white... and tries to get a look at the battle over head but the light begins to draw the attention of the jets and other strange ships in the sky and they begin to come toward us... Ruben puts his binoculars away and we run... stopping to take shelter in peoples yards as now bombs begin to fall on the neighborhood... we run and stop for shelter all night... the neighborhood is now on fire... we hear people scream... and demonic sounds from the sky... every time I look up the sky is a different color and the atmosphere flickers like an old television screen... and I know it is not a real sky but I cannot explain the jets and the bombs that fall from it...

We ran and hid all night until we reached the school... it was now morning but the light of day was hidden behind the smoke of war... the battle in the air continued and we are resting under a tree in the yard just outside the schoolyard where survivors have gathered... the wounded are left to rest and die under the trees...  I can hear people pray and cry and try to comfort each other... I hear fathers make up stories for their frightened children... but the explosions in the sky are getting closer and the ground quakes and trembles... the city begins to fall... and goes up in flames... I hear the sound of a plane falling from the sky... I look up and walk without noticing toward the school yard... the plane is about to fall on the crowd... the world goes silent... I breath in as it approaches...

I wake up.

The Shepherd's Tree

an unfinished poem

The stories have gotten bolder
As I have gotten older
Lost out in the blue of the sea
Of  the mystery and the magic
Events romantic and some tragic
That unfold under the shepherd’s tree.
I was just a lad
When that knight Sir Galahad
Came in from the wild on his knee
They say he found salvation
From dying of starvation
From the fruit of the shepherd’s tree.

It was echoed  far and wide
And it could not be denied
That angels could often be seen
Laughing and crying
At the poor fool slowly dying
Still charging away on  his steed
Lost in the madness and the gladness
His solitude and his sadness
Conquering demons only he could conceive
And when the sun set on his battle
And the knight fell off  his saddle
They laid  him to rest on these leaves.

It was rumored behind palace walls
Of the squire who heard the call
And picked up his fathers steel
But the invaders came like a tide
There was no place the boy could hide
The Hun pierced his armor and shield
But as all the kingdom knows
There’s magic where the daffodil grows
And the nymphs play in the field
And to the wounded brave
The kiss of fire they gave
And under that tree he was healed.

It was whispered by lovers at night
Hidden from the candle light
Of a ghostly moan and sigh
And you could chose to believe
The old which who says it is Eve
Howling when the moon is high
And on the ground she crawls
Clawing at invisible walls
Around the garden reflected in her eyes
And she can’t break the spell
And they laugh at her in Hell
Under the shepherd’s tree she cries.

 La Belle Dame Sans Merci 

John William Waterhouse