Thursday, July 31, 2008

transience.


have you wished for a day,
have you spoken the moment,
have you longed for the breeze,
have you sung for solace?

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Lyrics.


a flame of stones,
the fire in the grass,
turning like embers,
the essence untouched.

Wind beneath my wings.

une fille.



As the day turns upwards and inwards, the 'cloistered virtues' of yesterday find new meaning. Spring summons the mountain glow. With rest comes new insights. The day that finds contentment becomes the softness of summer. The day that urges attributes is winter's ally. Do you envision the promise of autumn? The burnt shades of the sun, mingling carelessly with the wind. Une fille etait partout

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Monday, July 28, 2008

a home for the heart.


a home for the heart,
the soul will seek rest,
a feeling is like the sea,
the sands delineate the boundary.

a fugue.


cymbals and scores,
i flounder in trust,
there could be music,
but i reawaken their seasons.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

a bay.


a bay of moments,
the harbour untouched,
seaweed thrown to ankles,
hands that shape the sand,
where is the anchor?

intertextuality.


paint by texture,
colour of shades,
sharpened in form,
lightened by interplay,
modern by design?

Saturday, July 26, 2008

render.


render the thought,
render the flight,
render the feeling,
render the fruit.

into a moment,
into a cache,
into a screen,
into the history.

crimson.


a crimson arch,
follows the sun,
rests with the leaves,
grass on the pavements,
whiling away necessity,
cliffs that cling,
my friends of blue skies,
my philosopher in prose,
my guides of memory,
tomorrow is full,
as was yesterday.

a turn.


a turn of fate,
who leaves the stronger,
in verse for life,
the path cherished,
the stranger known,
the symbol unspoken.

how do they cry?
for the stranger of tokens,
a spurned moment,
turned fiery with a song,
we laugh to shadows,
I smile for the words.

Friday, July 25, 2008

each word...


as with life, the word is sown,
as with rain, the voices drown,
as with summer, winter has flown.

"Out of the cradle,endlessly rocking"

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Ink.


This is a variation of a shape I was working on a while back. I often rework some of my previous work. A form of relaxation but I also like the idea of something new or interesting coming forth. I am essentially what you might call an accidental digital artist. (Wow!) I have worked digitally for quite a while now. (They used to call me the website girl sometime back!)

While these shapes may seem novel to you, they often take shape with a few more strokes or words that explain or enhance. I like shapes but I love the fusion of colour, paint, digital attributes, shapes, and interesting 'footnotes'. I'd like to ask for comments and suggestions but then I might just cry so we'll leave it at that. ;-)

The paints and colours for these abstracts are derived from a very singular piece of work. See, when you go digital, you can really innovate. The canvas, on the other hand, is generously provided by Photoshop. The inspirations come from people - those are around too. As much as they would like you to believe otherwise, yes! we are still around. People, I mean.

Salut!



where once there was water,
now there is a pearl,
where once I was a spot,
now I am an oval,
where once we were a shell,
now we could be the ocean.

spoken.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

tomorrow...

If I feared tomorrow, the day would save me. Have you wondered why I relieve the past? Can we resolve the future and find our day?

As I tread those steps, wary of the boulders that are heavy - can the day rejuvenate me? I am safe in my assumptions. I revel in my inclinations. How will the day reawaken me?

The night falls silently. Evening has brought the incarnate. Shades from the day beckon me. Sparkles from the sky question and surround. As the night wanes, the wooden floors vow to keep. Unkempt rays finally shine on the stories.

Morning glory crawls into my windows. The lace is heavy with sighs.

After I arise, the day is full.

With the hues that heave, the morning arises with me. Can the brightness guide me? Will the lightness be true?


a being.


some say there is hope,
you say there will be more,
they say you are hope,
did I say you would be more?

reverberating...


an echo of a tear,
sounds of old silences,
reflections in a reverberation,
mirrors of a string.

an alley.


a twist me not,
a flower of porcelain,
a gale of senses.

a laden stone,
a path of rust,
somewhere in my soul.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Is this illusory?



a sharp twinge,
caught in a line,

trembling for words,

treating the dream.


did I miss the nuance,

did I forget the turn,

did we narrate without persuasion,

did I interact without meditation?


A choral note.

"This race and this country and this life produced me... I shall express myself as I am."

This was a key to understanding Stephen Daedelus in Joyce's book which has been celebrated by many.

A question was posed to me a few years back. Do people perfect themselves as artists at the expense of human relationships? That's quite a twister!

When the artist paints without thought of perfection and pretension, the works almost embody depth and meaning. Today, I walked in on an art exhibition that most would see as peering, absorbing, translating.

One of the frequently explored subjects is a house - a traditional Nepali house that seems to have given birth to so many more. Or at least, it seems to have inspired many more. The images, the patterns and the rhythm are almost unequivocally attuned to life here - absorbing the shapes and colours and seasons; peering into the lives and moments; and, finally, translating these into a canvas of hazy precision.

A word that might evoke the original idea is the word 'kibbutz'. Strangely metamorphosing into a traditional Nepali setting and bringing with this combination a unique sense of peace, serenity and community. The artist seems to have worked his way from the bottom of the canvas upwards. And this leaves a feeling of etherealness - the experience of transcending barriers and dimensions.

The exhibition is on at the Art Shop. I'd like to meet the artist and chat a little about his vision but then, we're just the sketchy audience.

"The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?
Is he waiting for civilization or past it and mastering it?"

Monday, July 21, 2008

Sealed with a twist.

If you wanted the verse, I would drive across the hills...with colours that would store a hundred skies.

It's a rendition of a song that my friends and I sang with such joy, you would not believe. We were granted muses even then, really! Those rainy days and us singing songs that never left our hearts. And the best part, they made us sing! I sang one about the ups and downs in life. Do you ever wonder why I seem so bent on fixin' and afixin'?

They also made an apple pie bed for me. Now, that you will have to figure out on your own.

There are days when I try to live independently. I wrote to a friend once about a myth that caught my imagination. As a student, I tried so hard not to spout fancy learnings. Now, I wish I'd made up a myth of my own.

In the dark coal mine of our forebears, there must have been the fire of warmth. Reading D.H. Lawrence, even passingly, gave me a jolt. I thought to myself - that's heavy stuff. But, at the heart of it, I think it was a call to life. As the experiences are passed down to generations, interpretation keeps us all safe sometimes. (Maybe I read too much into everything.) This morning I thought, hell, I don't even have a real job! And then, I tried some gradient work. Having been lucky enough to be a real part of the work force, I do often question the validity of a more self-sufficient life. Do I grow corn or maize, then?

I went shopping for fruit and came back with rolls and chutney!

a sieve.



as I watch the golden earth,
as I touch the silver strain,
as I tumble upon the carpet of greens,

I find the drop, the harp and the coil.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

a vale.


a vale surrounded,
a veil decorated,
a tale of two souls.

colour will enrich,
strength in the hour,
ardent hands of destiny.

cloudy days...




are you a cloud?
a storm?
a moment?

are you a note?
a jingle?
or a song?

are you my muse?
my gift?
or my ruse?

Saturday, July 19, 2008

when the doves fly...



softly they sway,
gently they fly.

wings and shards,
of broken paths.

feathers of peace,
have shown again.

Friday, July 18, 2008

rencontre


deemed a token,
redeemed by a word,

shaken and spoken,
the pledge newly awoken.

an edifice.


though time may play,
songs and strings,

in time you see,
through all the beginnings.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Radiance.

Walking.

I walk in the shadow of my senses,
I talk to the shadow of my spirit,
I live to fulfill,
I sigh to rest.

If you are my spirit,
I can be the shadow,
If you are my sense,
I can be the rest.

No cry now...



from the lips of the girl,
but a song of hope."

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

a tempest.

a waterscape.



water - I am light,
light - I breathe air,
air - I breathe water,
clay - I am moulded.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Poetry.

A few years back, I bought a collection of Zen poems. I was at a low ebb in life and have not read any of it for a while. Poetry, for me, was one of those things I studied and enjoyed as a part of my learning experiences. Maybe, that requires some re-working and re-orientation. Who knows?

The experience of being frightened of the unknown and unforeseen is so relative and also a part of our source of self-realization. The subjective experience of being unhappy brings with it the added burden of trauma and isolation. Compounded as these are together, I found little solace. Now, I'd like to put that behind me, if I can and move ahead. Where's that, these days?

People make me happy sometimes. The book of Zen poetry made me want to smile this morning. I think I'll wait and see what happens when I toss a martini into the air and have a shandy instead!

"Autumn wind -
across the fields,
faces."

The peacock's feather is a symbol of a very important tradition and toil.

The ink for my expressions often finds itself dry and unused for lack of inspiration. The book is a reminder why we should anthologize but not really epitomize or bare our souls. I could have done just that with all of this. What do you think?

Rekindle.


a flamenco in verse,
a boyhood word,
a satrap in chains,
guile agile and awhile.

wonder in form,
where is it rekindled?

"light my Lucky!"


"light my Lucky!"

so says the time,
so says the moment,
so goes the tune,
so sure of its rhythm!

my time is light,
my time is rhyme and reason,
my moment in the sun,
my sunshine and my rain.

who says we are,
so says we must,
who can be rhyme,
must also be reason.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Awash in the waves...


waves that cry,
waves that see,
waves they cannot be.

waves in my mind that I cannot free.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Climatiseur!

Would you believe me if I told you that life has some very fine surprises in store?

I walked into the Siddhartha Art Gallery this morning and the art on display just took my breath away. (Hyperbole serves a darn good purpose so please let me gush!)

Y'know, sometimes, you think life is so lacklustre and such a chore?

"Shape without form,
shade without colour,
Paralyzed force,
Gesture without motion."

I realized that those experiences are probably just the moratorium. What follows can be marveilleuse! The paintings on display were large powerhouses of bells, colours rich and red as well as forms that inspire. The first floor houses 'spiritual' art that shines under the glass panels. Beautiful colours - almost speaking the language of devotion and prayer. The celebratory nature of spirituality is rarely, if ever, overlooked but here, it finds a seminal expression.

The bells on some of the pieces stood out in the canvas with the slightest of paint and acrylic. I have always loved temple bells and, maybe, this is a good reason why. Another evocative subject was the early morning folks carrying mist and mirth over to the city - the black, white and red combinations should remind us all of the land and its revelations.

The canvas is so steady. The lines almost flawless. The colours, mysteriously full.

In asserting an artist's creative force and imagination, the deep-rooted artist's persona is like a layer of opacity or translucence. With every piece, I thought, the artist was trying to remember, enjoy the experience and the people yet again and, also, project a message of communion and celebration.

The theatre of the artist does wonders for the imaginative and sensitized amongst us.:-)

Gossamer.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Fragments.

From Milton!

"Occasions drew me early to this city,
And as the gates I entered with sun-rise,
The morning trumpets festival proclaimed
Through each high street..."

I wish I were, I wish I might...

You're probably tired of the endless gushes. I could celebrate my new-found wordiness.

So, how do we figure in a form? The downsizing could be phoney, I know, but I like to make claims to the realness of it all. Only thing, I'm kinda alone in this endeavor too. Nothing particularly and overwhelmingly new, but somewhat of a gate-keeper, in and of itself.

I was returned some gifts this morning. Not overly insensitive a move, but sometimes I kinda lose the innuendo. That's me!

The good tidings that I wish I could shower are mostly beyond my every-day grasp. I mean, if it's gotta be Tom Yam soup, where's the lemon grass?

Right! Back to Milton - occasions, sun-rise, morning trumpets and streets. Food and festival I can muster up, with prior notice, but the rest is up to the powers-that-be. (Who am I to complain?)

Thank you, John Milton.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Absence.

(This is going to be a very brief review. I'm scared most often that I might have stepped on too many toes or I could still be doing that with my writing and reviews. Please let me know when to put the fullstops and the rest of our pantheon of gate-keepers.)

Tucked away very subtly, the second Park Gallery was yet another discovery. Very unassuming and quiet, the gallery suddenly opens up to lights, colour, technique and an expressionist's paradise. With one gallery at the entrance and the other, the modern art gallery, separated by a smallish courtyard that invokes Ganesh - I could very well have been an intruder or a welcome friend.

The modern art gallery is just the kind of thing we minimalists hanker after - airy, spacious and well-lit alongside an absence of objectification, clutter and chaos. I have often wondered why I like the steel and art combination - maybe, one of those things that make up my understanding of modern areas.

The exhibition, itself, was very simplistic in subject while at the same time exposing complexities in colour, strokes and sizes as well as temperament. Looking closely at some of the pieces, I thought maybe this could be an authoritative expression of space and time as defined by the artist's imagination.

Saroj Kushwaha, the artist, must be very pleased with his work. I would be too. There is something inherently majestic and free about the works - touching upon the ubiquity of human presence as well as the need for alignment and space.

Saturday, July 5, 2008

A touch of colour...

"Texts, thoughts and things..."

"The wind so wild,
The heavenly child."

Call me a word woman or a bird woman, I like fine thoughts and expressions. This is, really, my 'I, me and myself' collection! Do I have your permission to make it a little more effusive?

The various phases in my life have ordered themselves in a unique manner. (You win some, you lose some.) But as I sit and try to think of interesting odds and ends about my life and sundry other pursuits - I really, really need to think about that peace offering just a bit more. You might say that this is my hit and miss all at once. Whatever happened to interactivity? (I heard that term and thought I'd found my raison d'etre. Luckily enough, they found me there too.)

As a part of the labour force, I was often engulfed in the business of earning my keep. I got to learn, interact and work on some fascinating ideas, issues and concepts. Projects, we kinda get wary of as soon as they veer into frameworks and all that good intellectual stuff.

As a woman, however, I cannot but help comment on the singularity of my 'progress'.

Does that mean I am somewhat different?

I could never really pinpoint my own characteristics as a part of my self-discovery. (They really know how to pack a punch, too.)

Alternating as the wordy birdy and the smart one can be fun. But, as I move into more 'mature' scenarios, I find I am either overwhelmed or just incredibly interested in things that are a little beyond the word, the bird and the cleverness of it all. How about you?

I love fine expressions. I just cannot tear myself away from the intellectual backbones that drive much of our labours. But, I'm not entirely averse to getting out there and digging trenches either.

"Texts, thoughts and things..."

Seeing is touching...


"Seeing is touching;
Eyes are limbs."

Thursday, July 3, 2008

It's cultural!

You have heard that super phrase before, haven't you?

Alongside such great revelations, I often considered the possibility of culture as a human factor. Why do we drink tea in the morning and enjoy it during the day?

I have found another fascinating experience. The wide open space that we now know and love as the media. The days that we don't appreciate it kinda tell us why we do need it. (Or not!) We live such complex lives - the churnings often seem so heavy and weigh us down. Right now, you could ask me for the shirt off my back and I would willingly and smilingly give it to you. (That does not happen very often!)

Living seems so much harder than it has to be.

So, I went out for some excitement and I bought a mug instead. I'm thinking there is something very mystifying about my life when I get all smiley. (That used to happen a lot but then, it lost me.)

You do know about tea in the morning. I thought it was a morning hath arrived ritual. It could be that and much more. I even glanced at the fresh vegetables near my home. We are a little mango crazy here and I keep wondering why.

Don't pay any heed to my babble. Do attend to the meanings and nuances hidden therein.

Somewhere...

Somewhere, over the hills...skies are blue...

Did anyone ever reach a true understanding of existence?

Y'know. The existential persistence of stones, broken tomes and the dear ones.

"Understanding is seeing;
Ideas are light sources;
Discourse is a light medium."

The person who wrote this must really have reached close to that goal or the essential philosophical underpinning that lies behind every human life.

I would have liked to expound on that a little but, since we are all existentially bound to our ways and means, I'll leave it to you to decipher, explicate and discover. Let me know your reactions and interpretations when you find them 'networthy'.

Deep

Vignette

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Tuesday, July 1, 2008