I was speaking with a friend yesterday who I am beginning to notice is becoming progressively fatalistic and narrow minded in ways of perceiving and interpreting life. It sort of made me do a 360 degree turn around to view why such attitudes seep into the positive spaces of thinking and corrupt us; and I am wondering whether monetary success alone in life finally moderates the philosophical core that is meant to shape peoples personalities. I would like to believe otherwise: that financial success plays only an incidental role in defining the choices we make about our spiritual inner selves, however I am forced to recognise that this does not appear to be the common view. Especially in the art world, I observe the cynicism that many an unfulfilled dream has produced; and the "money talk" which somehow always umbrellas conversations that are mixed-up ramblings of desires for critical acclaim and cheques in the mailbox!
Last evening at 7.30 a friend called up unexpectedly and asked if he could drop over. When he came by I opened the front door wearing my apron, and ushered him immediately into my studio where we chatted as I painted. He was slightly surprised that both Surendran and I were still working in our respective studios till late in the evening, and that this routine of many years still held us engaged in ways that were private and personal; and uncluttered by the trappings of "success". With the prior conversation of my friend still echoing inside of my head, I suddenly felt that making choices that are simple are sometimes the hardest ones for many to make.
It isn't the pursuit of money but the exquisite joy of the discipline and the power that painting commands from me; the energy and the challenge it requires, that makes my art practice the only territory I wish to be anchored to.
Each day something will unfold in my studio. Sometimes fantastical thoughts driven through nosing in the pages of books from our library. Sometimes failed hours of rubbished work that humbles. And sometimes orgasmic moments that are bursts of utter wonderment, known only to that inner self; and indescribable even to the closest confidant.
What many are loosing are these simple moments that are not trail blazing factors but like the quiet pulse beat, actually holding the essential rhythm of life. I tire of those voices that hold the unnecessary baggage of burdens that are irrelevant and petty. I find it futile and exhaustive and without the illumination of the light of truth. I prefer then instead, the silence of my studio, and to call into it the magic of the wisdom of voices from spaces that can open my world even further. Just open that window of perception wider dear friend, and great gusts of fresh air will come rushing in.