Spent an amazing day walking the ruins of Pompeii, buried in ash for roughly 2,000 years. The walls bear witness to the uncertainty of life, with Vesuvius standing as a warning not far away.
Some days you’re just living life and trying make your mark on the world, and your world just blows up. All you leave is a hole in the pumice in the shape of a human balled up in terror.
The old walls have been reclaimed now, a project begun largely to reclaim works of art. The bronze figures of Gods and kings crafted by sculptors. Elaborate tile work probably done by artisans and also slaves using in some cases millions of individual pieces. Paintings on plaster and stone.
Some remains at Pompei; much is now in museums. In some cases we know who created the work. In many cases, not. Perhaps a few were famous in their day, but I imagine many of the craftspeople were anonymous even then.
That’s a big reason I write. Sure, fame and glory probably won’t happen. But maybe someone will dig a flash drive out of the pumice one day and and put me in a museum. Not because everyone knew my name, but because it’s what survived.
Life is temporary. Art lasts.
Ron Prichard's Fictions and Fables 