The Collector by John Fowles
Life and Death, Expression, Beauty
Miranda as giver, but no-one to give to, no receiver. Overflowing with desire to create, love and express, but all of it goes to die, into the void as the void. Without change there is no life, without life there is no beauty (The Art of Loving - what is love). Beauty is also ugly, one requires both, yin can not be separated from the yang, to do that is to deny reality.
Ferd as taker, but no-one to take from, no giver. And he does not know how to receive, only how to take (“Do you take only when it suits you? Can you give when its inconvenient?”). He does not know what it means to express, to give, to see outside of himself. He asks the question of how the world exists to provide for him, how it benefits him, how he can take what he wants. He looks for objects to enjoy (to use the word love would destroy the meaning of the word), but he does not see the objects as themselves or as existing for the sake of themselves, but as something to take apart and use as needed. He sees Miranda/butterflies as beauty to capture and preserve in moment. He does not see life holistically, as a whole, in its non-duality, non-uniformity, unpredictability, chaotic nature - he sees it as something to optimize, to take apart, to control, to freeze.
To be frozen and preserved is to die (Corporeal Mime - GUILLAUME PIGÉ), to be in flux, constant change is to be alive. A butterfly in its habitat is true beauty in a fleeting present. A butterfly in a collection book is a supposed capture of this beauty, but perverted, destroyed and turned inside out, it loses its core. Sure you can still admire the colours and the body, its incredible variety compared to other specimens, but you lose all of what made it whole and alive, where it came from, what it lived for, how it flew, why it lived.
I had a period when I truly believed that in art the existed objective measure and that I could see and evaluate it. I focused on technique, mastery, expertise, I experienced and rated things on their measures. In this way I held art captive, not opening myself to the works, not seeing what they were expressing as themselves, but as something to compare and contrast. It came out of genuine curiosity to learn and understand the myriad of ways to express one’s self, but was perverted into glorifying mastery of technique instead of letting the content, the art in art, the expression influence me. Focusing on form instead of content is impersonal, safe. Connecting with art requires giving yourself to it at least in some parts, which I did not know how to do.
Individuality
The book is antithesis to the idea that people are corrupt, bad in nature, expressionless and unempathetic because of lack of money and time. Given enough time and money eliminates the stress of survival, frees both mental and temporal space, which gives way to boredom and curiosity, which in principle should lead to the development of individuality and expression.
Ferd was a clerk, strapped for time and money, repressed in every way. A lottery win gave him limitless time and resources to do anything. Yet it fixed nothing, it gave way to nothing except amplify what already existed in him. He did not gain respect or understanding with time and money. His repression was no longer chained and dampened by survival or everyday duties, instead it was brought to the highlight. He used time and money not to fuel his curiosity and exploration of self, it was used to fuel his repressions and self-deception in ever deeper ways. He wanted Miranda not for what she was, but as a fantasy that embodied everything he wished for: wealth and the social poise, education, self-confidence.
Miranda was driven to insanity by her tries to express anything, she tried explaining how she thinks of things, what she sees in art and her hobbies, she asked him about his hobbies, his thoughts, his feelings. At every step he avoided every possible chance to express himself, he feared his own thoughts, his own body, he panicked and broke down every time he had to bring out his self. He preferred staying in his fantasy where he had control, when he did not have to give himself to anyone in any capacity, where he could be the observer from safety and certainty.
I’ve often felt that I am talking to the void. There are a lot of Ferds walking around in this world. The amount of times I’ve been to parties, dates, other mostly social functions, which exist to facilitate expression and connection and found jailed minds unable not only to express selves but incapable of receiving either, is staggering. They ask how I am doing but they don’t care, they was what I thought of the movie but they say I am thinking about it too deep, they wish that someone would chat them up but they fear opening up, they brag about their bodycount but you can see the sadness and fear of their illusory-but-in-reality-unrequited-and-chained-love in their eyes.
Physical and Mental Captivity
It was clear that from the beginning that Miranda even in Ferds captivity was free, truly free in her mind. She loved herself, the world and she wanted to give herself to the world. She did not want to take from the world, she wished that the world would accept her so she could give.
Ferd could not control, shape, influence her thoughts. In fact his physical jail only amplified her person, she could see more clearly in the void who and what she was, what she wanted and needed.
Ferd was the opposite, in control of physical space but locked and chained in his mind. To even touch the chains was enough to startle and create fear. He melt down when Miranda, out of desperate pity to help him free, started forcefully breaking his jail.
Miranda was trying to break Ferd out while he was trying to capture Miranda.