Saturday, August 8, 2009

Ruminations by Artist

I felt a new, resurgent energy. I put a new canvas on easel. The passion of winter sun, aroma of burnt grass, and the fragrance of Ruhi coursed sweetly through me. I painted with this happy feeling, of proximity to nostalgia of beauty. I painted on. When I looked out of my studio window, the evening sun was spreading its vermillion bounty on the landscape; families of cranes flew in formation back to their nests and waiting chicks. Slowly and stealthily with cat’s paws, the evening silhouettes were advancing to steal the lustre and light from the departing sun. It was a moment, a still, unmoving moment. A moment of nostalgia, pain, and craving, it was. It was a totality—an infinity in finitude, or so I felt. How fragile is the existent, hardly we become familiar with it that it vanishes. Fragilities are born incessantly and they die and enter the infinity. What if I could catch infinity through fragility or to have a glimpse of the eternal while fragility transmits itself in to the eternal? What was I looking for, eternity in the moment or a glasshouse full of inconstant images? I shut the window, cleaned my brushes, locked the studio, and stepped out in the street. The life flowed in the street, stray animals lazing oblivious to the goings on around them, people rushing with the business of life, hawkers touting their ware with loud shrill voices, children playing games, little roadside stalls offering hot food to the hungry. This was one frame, one painting of the fragile time. How would I catch the glimpse of the eternal from these vanishing moments? That was my search, and that's what I had to paint. Such big quantity of time had always been passing in fragility. Yesterdays were mere specks of memories stringed together, existing in, but emptiness

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