Life is an invisible canvas with visible palettes of circumstances!

The urge to express, assert life and hope of renewal amidst ever-surrounding shadows of death and decay, to reveal the alchemy that makes manifest the un-manifest and the irresistible total compulsion of it all, amuses me. 

This is not a soliloquy, this must be meaningful somewhere, some place where it will receive resonance and fulfill the ambition of its birth, this urge, this which is said, felt and withheld – all of them together like the triple point of water where it exists as solid, liquid and gas at the same time- and that presses on its agendas in speech, gestures and musings. To gather again, my initial train of thoughts, all forms of expressions fascinate me, words, images or music.

I am trying to define for myself, in vain perhaps, the pre-peripherals of my expressions, journal writing for instance. In any case, I am returning after several days and that is in no less measure helped by erratic working hours.

I had been up all night to complete developing some concepts and rewriting a screenplay. As I was settling into my bed, in the dawn, the world was waking up, bustling within like a tumbling pitcher. The sound of its clay cracking could never penetrate the deep and oblivious nescience I was readying for. After a couple of hours, Calls, alarms, messages and alerts started panting on the display of my phone and they were not going to ease till later in the night.

Can we locate at this moment, right now, where our life is happening? Is it in the mind full of anticipations, the body full of needs or the silence of the spirit? The echoes of our actions which we like to call memory are so subjective, aren't they? And yet, I am writing, a brief flash of rest, a sojourn into an expanded dimension of time. Art is a portal that opens rays of meanings into all things. Art makes whole the incomplete unwhole fragments of living. And all life is a canvas, an invisible canvas with visible palettes and living itself, an art! What a beauty!