Art of Dying Volume One | Page 17

The prospect of death has broadened my empathy with people and with the world .

ILLUSTRATION : HARRY NORTH
I would suggest to anyone in deep despair that they read Eckhart Tolle ’ s A New Earth — there ’ s not a wasted word . Peace and courage are in presence of mind and body : holding on to now ; not following the brain-train of thought-emotionthought-emotion .
The awareness of death nearby , that there is a given time limit , is a great awakener ; it helps me , it concentrates my mind , as we say , very much . Death enlivens me . Why wouldn ’ t it ? Okay , I ’ m ready . { Harry laughs } I ’ m ready .
HARRY NORTH
WWW . HARRYNORTH . COM • HARRYNORTH @ GMAIL . COM
HARRY NORTH
At age 77 , I have a mind of a 15 year-old . School friends would confirm that , but I hesitate to try getting in touch because they may be dead . I ’ ve always been conscious of death , even before school . It may have been the war ( WW Two , not One , okay !): blackout curtains , pitch-black , deserted streets , the mournful wail of the air raid warning , the air of foreboding people carried with them at all times along with their gas masks . Houses bombed , rubble in the streets , all that . I found the ending of the day was a sad thing for years and years .
My life has always been about why , why ? Never how ? When it comes to how , I am an amateur , bungling through ; being lucky rather than pragmatic . And I have been lucky ; born with gifts that I love to observe playing out . I know I do not own them , and I wonder , if I return , whether they ’ ll be given again . I hope so . But that ’ s something else .
At first I wasn ’ t lucky . My aunt with whom I spent the war was ... most uncongenial . My father , back from the war , was the same , and at school I was a dreamy mark for the bullies ( I ’ m still faintly angry with myself for that , but it too was a teacher ). An Outward Bound Course when I was 17 really opened me out ; I lost my fear on the mountain , I became funny and popular — amazing ! It prepared me for National Service in the RAF ( Royal Air Force ) where I affected to be a bit of a lad and was never challenged to prove it . The Officers and NCOs — many decorated in the war — were ‘ splendid chaps ’, I mean it , and photographic interpretation was actually interesting work .
Returning to civilian life I returned to bungling , I did a string of drudging jobs until 1970 brought my 31st year of going nowhere : frustration , depression , resentment : how can I change this ? I need a chance ! And a chance came . Taking my artwork around and around brought a phone call after two years . That caller , Dick Gregory , a comics editor , changed my life as my gifts blossomed . This is the first time I ’ ve thanked him .
Since then , I ’ ve drawn and to a lesser extent written and had a whale of a time , despite grumblings of depression , in London and in Paris and in New York . In all places I ’ ve made good friends that I keep up with and whom it is hard to think of leaving . The cancer I have now is a leisurely affair compared to the more aggressive forms there are available , and I have been given time to come to terms with it and with leaving this world of intense and gentle impressions — which we all do . Luck again , I guess .
VOLUME I | 17