Living Art
I’ve loved painting since I was young enough to find joy leaving my fingerprints on walls & my own face. That has not changed. Something about the interplay of colour & the feel of pigment in every form just makes me sit right. I feel like I tap into a different universe inside myself when I’m painting, one that is serene & still moving. Such a far cry from the usual self I inhabit that is full of words but rarely goes anywhere.
When @suddentwilight said, “The process is the art” I knew she had put to words the above feeling. It’s how I approach make-up & dressing too. The fun, the journey is in the creation rather than the end result. The goal isn’t always beauty. Or symmetry or fashion. There isn’t always a goal.
Many years ago, when I stared at a street painting at the Kala Ghoda Art Festival, I mumbled, “I don’t know what sense I’m supposed to make of this.” Someone said, “Maybe you don’t. Some art exists just for the aesthetic.” I’ve thought about that often. This need to put labels & assign meaning to every aspect of the lived experience makes us miss so much of the actual living. Sometimes a design is just something someone felt like creating. Sometimes a person is just being a person. The result you see is a reminder of an experience that was lived. Maybe all you have to do, is live through your experience when you encounter it.
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