Narrated by: A Voice in the Abyss
This is a confession.
I am no longer here.
I would ask of the father to forgive me, but to be looked upon as a religious hypocrite would be detrimental to both the truly pious and me. I do not ask for forgiveness but understanding. To whomever this portion of my journal reaches, I hope that my inclinations do not disturb your already structured morality. My intentions are to introduce, not invade. It is not my desire to leave a lasting legacy within your mental state, my legacy lives beyond the individual and is now accepted as an ideology.
I have made the human life a trivial thing. The fragility of a person, I have learned. I am a zealous believer of the insignificance of the human conscience. From trial and error, I have learned that humans exposed to the crude end of their final hours become animals. Unable to carry a cognizant thought and losing all dignity of a supposedly intelligent life form. Ethics and morals I have thrown out. I do not think this was an active decision I bookmarked in my timeline. I would assume it was a subconscious decision made for me in my childhood or perhaps my genetic code.
I am not escaping from judgement. Nor do I beg for pardon. I am in my shoes by desire and choice. I chose to stay in the state that I am. What was not available for me and my interest, I procured it vigorously. The subjects I needed were meticulously pursued and gathered.
The initial struggle is what makes my art so arduous. A little bit of anesthetics and white lies make the job less of a struggle. I rely on both heavily.
It amuses me how every single subject holds onto the single thread of hope so desperately. The white lies I tell become a beacon of hope, when in reality we are together in the abyss shrouded by black so black that it seems palpable. They are a guest and visitor to my darkness, for it has been my abode from the beginning of my existence.
When it is time for me to gather my sculpting clay, I routinely visit the socially disadvantaged and vulnerable. The outcasts of society are easier to forget. The acquiescence of their disappearance is what allowed for me to continue my art form for many years. With this I have an excuse to relay the blame aimed towards me to the cruel reality of society. Partially, the blame is also on you, you who is reading this journal. You can deny it all you want, but we both know where we stand in this cold hierarchical world.
Now I will enlighten you about how I carry my procedure. Drainage of the blood is key to achieving the luscious color of the blueish hue. The process may take up to 48 hours, depending on the size of the canvas being used. Early in my journey of sculpting, I used three strand sisal ropes to hang the blank canvases but soon realized that a blotch of blood and a heavier subject quickened the deterioration process of the rope fiber. Metal chains were a pain to clean up after; I also realized that the usage of non-disposable materials may hinder the coverage of trails if I were to be investigated. After sampling different types of ropes, I found that the double stranded nylon rope was perfect for carrying out my procedure. The strength and elasticity are clear strengths of the rope but the main usage comes from its resistance to chemical exposure. I shall refrain from disclosing any more of my tendencies for I believe true art should not be emulated but imagined and individualized.
Do I feel empathy for my subjects? That is like asking Shakespeare if he feels for the ink that is smeared for his writing. Does Beethoven rue over the intensity he has used over the black and white ivory? Subjects born with an innate dullness are embellished through my craft and become an art reborn for this grey world. It is a blessing I am willing to share without recompense.
I will continue in my expression. The human anatomy is a beautiful thing in and of itself. The symmetry and balance of the physique conveys nature’s universal pursuit of beauty. All I do is add to the intrinsic elegance and hope to satiate the world of its hunger for harmony. Sculpting has opened a new world of obsession for me. As it will be the case for everyone else who set eyes on my work.
You will find my work displayed in a warehouse located around Susana Road 313. Some canvases have been sold overseas for cadaver exhibitions; the most famous one being the ‘Real Bodies’ exhibition carried out by China. Some have been shipped around the world to many well renowned medical schools and hospitals as samples or for cadaver dissection trainings. Once again, I relay the blame aimed towards me to another section of society.
When the remainder of the bodies are found, you have my permission to do whatever with them. Assuming you have contacted authorities, I sincerely hope that this revelation does not discourage or corrode your mental fortitude.
But by in the off chance you, who is reading this, is someone like me who can appreciate true beauty… my legacy is left to you to carry on. If you are willing to continue my work, I have written a second journal only for the eyes of the likes of us. Written in the journal are detailed anatomical procedures and cautions when dealing with tools and chemicals. If you are lacking in knowledge and the skills, I recommend locating my second journal and dissect it thoroughly.
I have benefited from the facade of society. The art that I have created has left a mark in this world and I am satisfied. It is up to you, reader, to continue or to sabotage. What is done already cannot be retrieved but hemorrhages can be treated.
I wish you luck in all your endeavors.