+Brave New Dystopia

Throughout the time I have been developing this new series, I have navigated numerous personal challenges, compounded by the broader societal issues that continue to affect us all. Engaging even briefly with the media and current events, it becomes all too easy to feel overwhelmed by the weight of it all. I had recently found myself succumbing to the idea that humanity is inexorably doomed, heading toward an inevitable dystopian future. While there may be some truth to that perspective, how one chooses to engage with such a notion is equally critical. By shutting off the news, disengaging from the incessant chatter of social media, and limiting access to external influences, I created a space for clarity and introspection. In the renewed silence, what arises feels less obscured and more deserving of genuine attention. This decision yielded immediate benefits, manifesting as causal synchronicities and authentic threads of unintended research that were impossible to ignore.

This reflection led me to consider George Orwell’s 1984, a harrowing depiction of a dystopian future rooted in systematic gaslighting. In Orwell’s vision, self-reliant and educated individuals were perceived as threats to societal cohesion and were compelled to submit to the collective labor of society, under the mandate to “love it or else.” This, in turn, brought to mind Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, prompting me to revisit an intriguing comparison of these two ideological frameworks. Both authors offer starkly different yet eerily complementary visions of dystopia, which continue to resonate deeply in light of contemporary societal dynamics.

“What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy.

As Huxley remarked in Brave New World Revisited, the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny ‘failed to take into account man's almost infinite appetite for distractions.’

‘In 1984", Huxley added, ‘people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure.’

In short, Orwell feared that what we hate will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we love will ruin us.”

-Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves To Death (1985)

I argue that both love and hate possess the potential to bring about our downfall. While it is true that we alone are the arbiters of our perspectives, adhering to dualistic modes of thinking is a perilous cognitive trap, one that ultimately leads to reductive conclusions. The concepts of good and evil are intrinsically linked—neither can exist without the other, and their significance is defined by this interdependence. As I bring this work on love to completion, I attribute much of its clarity to the insights gained through silence. True understanding does not emerge from external sources, whether they be perceived as saviors or oppressors, but rather from the inner workings of one’s own mind. Reality is shaped by the choices we make within ourselves; in the end, this is all we truly possess.

My understanding of love is grounded in personal experience. It has consistently imparted lessons of humility and gratitude, teaching me to value the present by embracing its inherently transient nature. Love, in its impermanence, reveals the beauty of what is fleeting and the profundity of what is momentarily ours. When I embarked on this particular painting, I was struck by the profound and almost ineffable nature of its emergence. Although I had already conceptualized 14 distinct ideas, this one arrived with an urgency and singularity akin to a comet, displacing the “next” concept to claim its place. In moments such as this, I find myself unable to resist the force of inspiration; instead, I surrender entirely to the process and allow the work to unfold as it must. What happens while the portal is open as I tend to each piece is noteworthy and I am very sensitive to what the process itself reveals well before time presents the full story.

Now I am sitting here wondering if any of the next predetermined works are right to follow this one up in the series, or if this is the bifurcation point of it all and I just didn’t see it coming. Today I’ll ask new questions and consult the desert sun.

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