How on earth can a clump of tissue possibly capture and store everything -- poems, emotional reactions, locations of favorite bars, distant childhood scenes? The answer is that brain cells keep one another on biological speed-dial, like a group of people joined in common witness of some striking event. Call on one and word quickly goes out....
~ Benedict Carey, The New York Times
(Pieter Brueghel, "The Fight Between Carnival and Lent," 1559)
* * * * *
When I rounded the corner of the medina and saw the man sitting there, a sensation pierced my brain -- I know this picture. The man, the blue djellaba, the massive slab of flesh -- I have a file in my head already that contains this image.
(Morocco, December 2009)
There was no time to tease out the origin of my long-dormant memory, so I quickly snapped a photo and hurried to follow my husband and son before they disappeared headlong into the narrow alleys of Essaouira.
(Morocco, December 2009)
For the next few days, the image nagged at me. Where had I seen it before? The clues I kept getting from my brain cells were scattershot and confusing: Bohemianism. Loucheness. Smoky pubs. And instead of beef, I kept thinking of bacon. Why were these words so insistently linking themselves with a photograph of a Muslim butcher?
Finally it came to me.
(Francis Bacon)
It was kind of stunning to realize that my brain had been on top of things (so to speak) the entire time, alerting my mental troops to harness any word or image I had ever associated with Francis Bacon. Sure enough, each clue led back to a connection I had made with him at one time or another.
Now whenever my memory is jogged, I think of Mr. Carey's description:
"Brain cells keep one another on biological speed-dial, like a group of people joined in common witness of some striking event."
From now on, I am visualizing my brain cells as villagers in a Brueghel painting, each one the possessor of a specific set of images and memories.
(Brueghel, "Netherlandish Proverbs", 1559)
When the call comes in -- "Alert! Need source image for Moroccan butcher!" -- they rally their neighbors and shout hints from the streets and rooftops, all trying to help the poor forgetful Gargantuan in whose body they reside.