Art Criticism: Thoughts On Mime As Guide As Prisoner

By Bailey Booth

Deliverer of Soul

The mime elucidates that we are inherently enslaved by our reactions to the vicissitudes of existence. He articulates the immutable verity that the world, without external coercion, metes out punishment and compels reactions to events beyond our dominion. He posits that we are intrinsically enslaved to ourselves; ensnared in chains, we look with anger at our captivity, yet remain impotent to liberate ourselves. Paradoxically, despite our yearning for autonomy, we find solace in our enslavement, a testament to our profound entrenchment.

When struck by the caprices of fate — a gust of wind snatching currency from our grasp, ensnared in traffic, or lamenting life's purported cruelty — our reflexive outbursts serve as conduits for introspection. Delving into the recesses of our shared humanity, the mime employs humour consciously, coaxing us to momentarily unite beneath the banner of folly. Offering the hand of forgiveness and acceptance, he illuminates our innate desire for control, juxtaposed with our perennial failure to master fleeting moments of sensation and experience. Despite our intellectual skill and evolving roles, we remain subservient to the invincible forces of nature.

The mime beckons us to contemplate our place in the grand tapestry of existence, reminding us that we are not architects of our experiences, but rather participants in an enigmatic unfolding. Our reactions, the very crucibles of life's genesis and demise, belie our illusion of control. As a collective, we often delude ourselves into believing we can seize destiny, charting a course toward a fabled treasure. Yet, we find ourselves ensnared in cyclical reveries, steering astray into oblivion. He imparts upon us a sobering realization: our grasp on the present moment is tenuous, and the future remains a realm of uncertainty, bereft of certitude.

Engendering a mélange of covert melancholy veiled beneath collective mirth, the mime serves as a mirror, reflecting our innermost selves. The discerning observer recognizes this phenomenon, embroiled in a delicate dance of self-acceptance and acrimony. Buffeted by the mime's sagacious theatrics, one grapples with conflicting emotions, ensnared in a dialectic between embracing the self and succumbing to bitterness.

The mime, cognizant of the inherent limitations of language, elevates the body as the ultimate medium of expression. He espouses the primacy of the internal realm, contending that our outward demeanour often disproves our inner truth. Applauding his performance, we tacitly endorse his most poignant thesis: relinquishing the futile pursuit of control, we are implored to embrace silence as a conduit to self-discovery. In this silence, we confront the immutable truth: we are all voyagers adrift in the same cosmic vessel. It is not mastery over the cosmos that defines our essence, but rather a harmonious engagement with its turbulent currents. Therefore, we are exhorted to shed the shackles of self-judgment and view ourselves as mere marionettes of the soul, for in judgment lies naught but an echo of life's inherent enigma.

Prisoner of Imagination

As a spectator one can immerse oneself in the tapestry of the mime's performance, discerning it as a profound semaphoric tableau — a mosaic woven from gestures, movements, and reflections of thought. The mime, devoid of ownership over his identity, exists as a medium for the imaginative symbols revealed to his audience through the eloquence of his corporeal expression. His movements, imbued with vitality, evoke a kaleidoscope of identities within the spectators' minds, a testament to his ability to conjure a myriad of personas spanning epochs. 

In the realm of his theatrics, the mime assumes a role of profound deference to the annals of human history. Constrained within the parameters of silence, body language, and facial expressions, he transcends mere imitation to become a harbinger of human experience. His stage metamorphoses into a microcosm of existence, with the audience assuming the mantle of spectral voyagers, voyaging through the labyrinth of his performance. Bereft of tangible presence, name, or identity, the mime emerges as an archetype of humanity, every action executed with unwavering precision and nuance. He leaves behind a trail of enigmatic clues, hinting at the intricacies of our internal lives, meticulously crafted in the crucible of spontaneous expression.

Yet, in our fervent quest for self-imposed incarceration, we have unwittingly ensnared the mime within the confines of our collective psyche. His existence, a poignant reflection of our own spiritual captivity, exposes the dissonance between our outward facades and inner truths. His existence is inextricably intertwined with ours, his melancholy mirroring the suppressed emotions that lurk beneath our veneers of contentment.

In this regard, the mime's life remains a poignant allegory for our collective plight. Despite our best intentions, his integration into our societal fabric would be loaded with peril. The inexorable pressures of conformity would extinguish the flickering flame of his authenticity, consigning him to the ranks of societal automatons. His very presence serves as a catalyst for introspection, unmasking the deep-seated hypocrisies that lie dormant within our societal structures.

At which he will never be free.

The Mime and His Home

In Silence the world may twist

In weight of nothingness

Everything may be shown

To all that have the right eyes,

Out in the distance within 

mean heavy passages.

the solemn labyrinth 

dwells, unannounced 

and cryptic, the messenger,

his home – the muted auditorium, 

his musical statue 

Is a vast eternal network.

Bailey Booth, a Manchester writer, delves into bleak philosophy and social critique with chilling honesty. His prose mirrors existential dread, weaving poetic despair in essays, poetry, and prose on his blog. Drawn to live poetry readings, he finds solace in the shadows of human experience.