Every year when Edward Gorey’s birthday passes, I reflect on
how badly I wish he was still around. How I wish I could save my pennies so he
might create a piece of art for only me. How badly I wish I could hang out in
his home town in hopes of a glimpse. How badly I’d wish for a kitten from one
of his many cats. How I wish I could have been his friend.
I have never been the kind of person who dotes on others and
collects autographs but his would be one I’d treasure. Once, I watched one of his ‘Little Red Riding
Hood’ pieces climb and climb out of my price range on eBay. How I wished
I was very rich at that moment.
Edward Gorey’s works move me. They are full of despair which
triggers so much emotion. When I look upon art, I want to feel something; I
want to see a story. His works do this for me. There is a twist of Gothic flare
mixed with everyday occurrences. Some are
a bit bizarre but aren't our lives all unusual at times. Don’t the unbelievable
things happen? Sometimes we are smothered under rugs. Sometimes bears do eat
us. Sometimes we find ourselves face to face with the bad guy, and sometimes
that bad guy wins. Edward Gorey takes us to the edge and lets our minds play
out the story.
Oh, the despair! Oh, the tragedy! I would have been a
perfect character in one of his books. I sometimes wonder what tragic end he
would have given me as child and I do hope it would have been disastrous. I
think he would have liked doing that for his friend.
