Short Description or Genre of work
I am unable to describe what for me is a constant process. The works you see here are the results of my attempts to enter into my own self and out into my surroundings. Art is its reflection that makes the paths within navigable and travel worthy.
I stand looking at whatever offers itself up to my gaze . Some I lay my hands upon.It may be a topic for my visual experiments. A flower, a smooth shiny little rounded pebble, an abandoned bird’s nest, a dead&dried up crab, fallen feathers... Things that do not lend themselves to easy consumption, that are not worthy of being assigned any monetary value …these find in me their viewer. Public lavatories stuck over with fallen hair and streaked with stains of dirt and shit, a dog with a blade stuck deep into its lower jaw scrounging for food in a garbage heap…My gaze is riveted and I come to a standstill. I do not give in to pampering pain by attempting to recreate it ,reason being it is not conducive to a peaceful state of mind.Yet everything I see, hear, experience affects the swells and ebbs of my energies and the way I function. Art enables me to dwell meditatively upon the reverse movements within manifest behavior and to travel inwards by which I can touch upon their source.
In preparing the ground, planting seeds and watering them so that they may sprout; In spreading grains of rice upon the winnow and carefully picking out the spoiled ones and the tiny stones: in sweeping the house and casting out little caterpillars with their itchy fuzz, there are very many actions in daily life that let me experience the process of Art.
At times when I sit with my paper drawing a flower, a leaf or a delicate thorn I sit for hours lovingly, tenderly holding them close to myself building them up using layers upon layers of colour. As I enter into their subtlest zones I fall apart in memory and imaginative reverie as I experience my environs as also myself within myself … About times I never happened to revisit, likewise people and their surroundings, about dreams buried beneath layer after layer of wild overgrowth , About things that once seemed true but later turned out to be not –true, the reasons for that…Things like this …The sense of I beyond the superficial title card that reasons that there is no past nor future but only NOW ? The recognition that the ‘I’ in myself is that trembling entity that wavers between what is past and what is to be. It is this engagement that keeps me linked to the process of life.
Yet there are also times when not held in tenderness or cherished, acted upon, merely used,I become a dirty used lavatory and turn to art to cleanse my own self. Often, even if I decide to look upon something with tenderness and bring it into my work, what results is unpredictable. Often I find that I have stumbled into some other line of process altogether and have ended up elsewhere. Sometimes the smooth delicate papers end up looking like eczema afflicted skin and overdrawn layer upon layer without any reason whatsoever. It often happens that what I put aside to work upon later often do not survive to be taken up at all.
Art enables me , taking into account the ebbs and swells of my animal nature within me , to become part of my surroundings through its processes and practice. As it opens the alleys within my being into paths that turn outward Art stays back within me , quivering .
Like a resonance