Surely,
To attempt to put the controversy to rest — after all, Tonsure has become a saint to the Truffidians by virtue of his faith in the face of adversity — a delegation from the Morrow-based Institute of Religiosity, led by the distinguished Head Instructor Cadimon Signal, journeyed 20 years ago to the lands of the Kalif, under guarantee of safe passage, to examine the journal in its place of honor in Lepo.
The conditions under which the delegation could view the journal — conditions set after their arrival — could not have been more rigid: they could examine the book for an hour, but, due to the book’s fragile condition, they themselves could not touch it; they must allow an attendant to do so for them.
Further, the attendant would flip through
Their notes had been taken from them, and they could not remember any useful particulars about the page they had seen. No further examination has been allowed as of the date of this writing.
Thus, although we have copies of the journal, we may never know why pages were replaced in this invaluable primary source of history. We are left with the diffi cult task of either repudiating the entire document or, as I believe, embracing it all. If you do believe in Samuel Tonsure’s journal, in its validity, then your pleasure will be enhanced as you pass the equestrian statue of Manzikert I in the Banker’s Courtyard and as you survey the ruined aqueducts on Albumuth Boulevard that are, besides the mushroom dwellers themselves, the only remaining sign of Cinsorium, the city before Ambergris.
THE TRANSFORMATION OF MARTIN LAKE
A fresh river in a beautiful meadow
Imagined in his mind
The good Painter, who would some day paint it
If I was strange, and strange was my art,
Such strangeness is a source of grace and strength;
And whoever adds strangeness here and there to his style,
Gives life, force and spirit to his paintings…
FEW PAINTERS HAVE RISEN WITH SUCH speed from such obscurity as Martin Lake, and fewer still are so closely identified with a single painting, a single city. What remains obscure, even to those of us who knew him, is how and why Lake managed the extraordinary transformation from pleasing but facile collages and acrylics, to the luminous oils — both fantastical and dark, moody and playful — that would come to define both the artist and Ambergris.
Information aboutLake ’s childhood has a husk-like quality to it, as if someone had already scooped out the meat within the shell. At the age of six he contracted a rare bone disease in his left leg that, exacerbated by a hit- and-run accident with a Manzikert motored vehicle at age 12, made it necessary for him to use a cane. We have no other information about his childhood except for a quick glimpse of his parents: Theodore andCatherineLake. His father worked as an insect catcher outside of the town of Stockton, where the family lived in a simple rented apartment. There is some evidence, from comments Lake made to me prior to his fame, and from hints in subsequent interviews, that a tension existed between Lake and his father, created by Lake’s desire to pursue art and his father’s desire that the boy take up the profession of insect catcher.
Of Lake’s mother there is no record, andLake never spoke of her in any of his few interviews. The mock- historian Samuel Gorge has put forth the theory that Lake’s mother was a folk artist of considerable talent and also a fierce proponent of Truffi dianism — that she instilled inLake an appreciation for mysticism. Gorge believes the magnificent murals that line the walls of the Truffidian cathedral inStockton are the anonymous work ofLake ’s mother. No one has yet confirmed Gorge’s theory, but if true it might account for the streak of the occult, the macabre, that runs throughLake ’s art — stripped, of course, of the underlying religious aspect.
Lake’s mother almost certainly gave him his first art lesson, and urged him to pursue lessons at the local school, under the tutelage of a Mr. Shores, who unfortunately passed away without ever being asked to recall the work of his most famous (indeed,
We may think of the Lake who arrived in Ambergris fromStockton as a contradictory creature: steeped in the technical world of anatomy and yet well-versed in the miraculous and ur-rational by his mother — a contradiction further enriched by his guilt over not following his father into the family trade. These are theelementsLake brought to Ambergris. In return, Ambergris gaveLake the freedom to be an artist while also opening his eyes to the possibilities of color.
Of the three yearsLake lived in Ambergris prior to the startling change in his work, we know only that he befriended a number of artists whom he would champion, with mixed results, once he became famous.
Chief among these artists was Jonathan Merrimount, a life-long friend. He also met Raffe Constance, who many believe was his life-long ro mantic companion. Together, Lake, Merrimount, andConstance would prove to be the most visible and influential artists of their genera tion. Unfortunately, neither Merrimount nor Constance has been willing to shed any illumination on the subject ofLake ’s life — his inspiration, his disappointments, his triumphs. Or, more importantly, how such a middle class individual could have created such sorrowful, nightmarish art.
Thus, I must attempt to fill in details from my own experience ofLake. It is with some hesitancy that I revealLake first showed his work at my own Gallery of Hidden Fascinations, prior to his transformation into an artist of the first rank. Although I cannot personally bear witness to that transformation, I can at least give the reader a pre-fame portrait of a very private artist who was rarely seen in public.
Lakewas a tall man who appeared to be of average height because, in using his cane, he had become stooped — an aspect that always gave him the impression of listening intently to you, although in reality he was a
