If inkling be a sound, it would be the sound of happy ink pitter pattering on happy things. Just like wind sparkling.

I really love painting, and it almost always gives me a high (not so sure if it is the turpentine). When I am stressed, troubled, or cannot get myself out of some wormhole, the painting process is like a portal that takes me to a different lalaland. I believe it is the focus on the stroke, and how each stroke interacts with the previous, and sets the stage for the next. This focus is so present in the moment – you cannot worry about the previous stroke because you cannot do anything about it; you cannot worry about the next stroke because you do not know what is upcoming – that every single moment is a very powerful one. There is no room for disturbance from the mediocrity of stress.

This is a chair I painted when I was held in abysmal depths. I picked it up from one of the site yards, and decided that it is a good place to air my grievances. It was a fun period though, I had access to so many weird stuff that I could turn anything into anything else. I had no intention of how I wanted to do it, it was plainly a canvas for something to emerge.  So I just sat on the floor and swirled the different paints around on the palette, and then swirled them around on the chair, stacking one stroke after another, and relishing in every peaceful moment of doing that. Feels like mindlessness, but there are times when mindlessness takes us many steps above conflicts and contradictions. This is another piece I never completed, yet I feel it is complete as it is. It would look like a joke if I venture any further than that.

Has it ever occurred to you that a painting is a byproduct? Just think about it: the valuable process has already been enjoyed by the painter. So, what exactly are you paying for?

😀 😀 Sunday brain teaser. 😀 😀 I hear a snort from Van Gogh. 😀 😀


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