All the Things We Cannot See

 

Letters from the Falkland Islands 

There were three books left in this hotel room. Malvina House Hotel; Its artwork and its history, the Gideons Bible, and a Falkland Islands phone book. I’ve had a look through all of them, and while I quite enjoyed reading the adverts at the back of the phone book, and trying to figure out where Gandalf the Grey fits into the creation story, it’s the book of artwork which has held my attention the most. It’s full of beautiful watercolour paintings by Richard Cockwell, paintings of various landscapes from throughout the Falkland Islands. It’s a source of great wonder and joy to me, given that I have seen so little of this country with my own eyes. It’s also a lifeline of sorts – a connection to the world outside these four walls. I’ve taken to drawing a few of the pictures, and I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of this scenery when I board the ship on Boxing Day. It’s certainly a reminder, not only of the power of art, but of just how essential it is to us.

Right from the very beginning, amidst the often-brutal battle for survival, humankind have drawn and carved their stories into stone. Creativity is integral to us as a species; it is our connection to each other and to the world. We have language and all the power and beauty that is in words; but what of the worlds beyond that, what of the words we have never spoken, and all the things we’ve not yet seen. For centuries we have encountered the same problems, time and time again. You can look back to the words of ancient philosophers and wonder if we have learnt a single thing. Perhaps language for all its wealth is limited in some fatal way; how can we possibly think up a new vision without the words to frame those dreams. But there is art, and there is music, to show us the future and to speak those wordless things.

The book has also stirred some unexpected memories; at once both sad and beautiful. Some time ago now, a friend of mine produced a book of watercolours and other artworks. That same friend took her own life a few years later. As time moves on the things that remind you of them, the threads of life which connected you, can start to dwindle and fade. Life gets so busy, and I wonder if we should make more time to spend with our memories, make more time to tell the stories of those who are missing. Especially now, in a year where separation and disconnection are found the world over. Art was my connection to this friend – it was her book which brought us together, and it’s what I would love to still share with her now. There are many things we might wish had turned out differently, and there will be many more things in the years to come. But we will never know when the time has come around, and so, as they say, love the ones you’re with.