For me, Art is a world in itself. A world in which an artist chooses to live with his creations; himself not ruling over it, but merely standing in the middle of this circle of a created beautiful life within the life, enjoying this potent gift that he inherits from the universe.
Painting to me is as vital as breathing. It clears me of my oxygen-debt. My heart becomes clear and empty when I stare at an empty blank canvas. And then I mirror images of the invisible. I become intuitive and certain of my innermost thought. I listen to the voice which is the origin of every cry or laughter: that is the only voice which stays with me, rest all are echoes. I find my voice, I find my expression. And my paintings become the language to reveal the deepest joy of my heart. Or the anguish which caresses me now and then, touched by little things in life.
We give huge importance to big things, not realizing that art is life at its bare best, it’s the ordinary life, and we’re quick to go – Oh! That is too profound, that’s intellectual talk, while all of it is about e seeking the self, and real art is a mirror that shows you your own self – a real naked reflection of you.
The artist’s inspiration is not a big event at all. My inspirations come from the little things of life – good, bad or ugly. It can be as simple as the surprising droplets of the first rain, announcing the arrival of monsoon. The innocent birds chirping over the limited resources of survival… the faithful stray dogs on the streets, longing for just a little affection. I get inspired by watching the street kids with running nose engrossed in their candyfloss. I get moved by the pregnant clouds, carrying water in its womb, making the earth fertile. On the other extreme, the organized geonocide at very little points, happening around us, of nature, of birds, of animals, of humans and of mankind on the whole for nothing but sheer greed of acquiring more than what is required.
These small little things force an artist, compels him. To speak about in the language best known to him. The language of art. These small little things bring the forms and the colours alive on my canvas. Constantly inspiring me, pushing me, pulling me, shaking me. To be complete with life itself. Making my paintings come alive. With a language which doesn’t discriminate between good, bad and ugly.
Then Art becomes life.
And, I consider myself to be blessed, having a special privilege – being an artist.
