Henry Gatrell

The Break

He put his shoulder to the wind and walked through the lifeless streets. His mind raced, he wished to free himself from his suburban cell, to live quietly among hills and trees, to hear birds and rivers, to never again hear a siren or crash. He needed space to work, to create and think. His sensitivity often left him wounded by the modern world that valued production over feeling and appearance over sight. His day to day had become torturous to him, he longed for the world of Hesse, Goethe and all those who have lived life as art and thusly created art as life. He wanted to wander, to have no home, to be swept away in the rushing current of existence and the natural world. He wished to lay his head upon a mossy knell because he was tired, not because he had a job to rise for, he wanted to eat what he could forage and not what he could afford. He wished for the stars and the infallible pulse of the universe to be his guides, not the common mind of man that bid him work, endure, settle.