I'd like to re-post this tribute from my DeviantArt.com webpage (
www.DaVinci41.DeviantArt.com):
RAY HARRYHAUSEN: A SALUTE TO THE MAN WHO SIRED A MILLION CHILDREN
What can one say about a man whose creations have launched a thousand careers? About a man whose name conjures forth a million thrills unleashed in the delicious cool of a million darkened movie theatres? For a man whose visions represent the power of American individualism at its finest? What words can set the record straight in a final tally and reckoning; to tie up the loose ends of things left unsaid that were too important for words?
Heady wine, that. I should know: I drank from the same cup that millions of other kids did. As Ray Harryhausen's beasts snapped and cavorted across the screen they set alight the revolutionary fire of a trillion synapses. And fires spread beautifully: consuming exponential tracts of mental acreage, clearing out the detritus of rigid ideology and dogma, until we are all set aglow with a passion for life.
The future special effectsmen and artists and writers and makers of culture, those whose minds were delightfully warped by Ray Harryhausen's creatures, affectionately dubbed him "Uncle Ray". And in a sense he was a doting uncle to every child who refused to grow up and shed a vital piece of themselves amongst the graveyard of things forsaken on the road to adulthood. Like his great friend Ray Bradbury, Ray Harryhausen was a champion, a paladin, for the cause of what was best in the human race. He was a white knight-errant for the cause of nurturing imagination and the courage to realize its fruits.
That, I believe, is the ultimate legacy any man could hope for: to know that his creative DNA is alive and flourishing in a million minds. We are the ******* children of Uncle Ray, every one of us. For my part, I am proud of our lineage, drawing it roots back to those flickering images conjured forth by Willis O'Brien and beyond . . . . soaring past the gothic engravings of Gustave Doré on an express lane straight to the caves of Lascaux. There, the protean images flickered too, only this time by firelight in a limestone proscenium. Our early ancestors imagined drawing forth magic from their elegant paintings and figurines, to animate them like so many homunculi. Who would have guessed that their children's children would one day make the vision manifest?
Men like Ray Harryhausen did and will continue to do so. Ray is alive and well and living in all of us. Let's give Ray our thanks by never allowing the clipped, pinched minds of the naysayers to deny our birthright to celebrate creativity, imagination and courage wherever we find it. We owe Ray that debt of gratitude. He showed us the way. Now we must beat the trail. As for me, I carry my own part of that burden into the future with a light heart and eye fixed on that far horizon.
Copyright 2013 © Curt C. Chiarelli