a split of a second in eternal

double life of ..

deja vu

Monet's painting and a photo taken by me.

The fact that people break down and cry when confronted with my pictures

(a painting of mine)

shows that I can communicate those basic human emotions.. the people who weep before my pictures are having the same religious experience I had when painting them. And if you say you are moved only by their color relationships then you miss the point.

by Mark Rothko
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It is really a long stretch to use Rothko's quotes alongside with my paintings, for his vision is something which I can only glimpse. But, his thoughts really touch me, his life also.

One does not paint for design students or historians but for human beings,

(a painting of mine)


and the reaction in human terms is the only thing that is really satisfactory to the artist.

by Mark Rothko

Catch me!

(another painting of mine)

Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours,

ran to the market place, and cried incessantly:
"I seek God! I seek God!"
As many of those who did not believe in God
were standing around just then,
he provoked much laughter.
Has he got lost? asked one.
Did he lose his way like a child? asked another.
Or is he hiding?
Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? emigrated?
Thus they yelled and laughed.

The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his eyes.
"Whither is God?" he cried; "I will tell you.
We have killed him—-you and I.
All of us are his murderers.
But how did we do this?
How could we drink up the sea?
Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon?
What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun?
Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving?
Away from all suns?
Are we not plunging continually?
Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions?
Is there still any up or down?
Are we not straying, as through an infinite nothing?
Do we not feel the breath of empty space?
Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us?
Do we not need to light lanterns in the morning?
Do we hear nothing as yet of the noise of the gravediggers
who are burying God?
Do we smell nothing as yet of the divine decomposition?
Gods, too, decompose.
God is dead.
God remains dead.
And we have killed him.

from Parable of the Madman
by Nietzsche

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It is really a cliche to use this piece to illustrate the disenchantment.

However, replacing god with the word -- Art.
It becomes an interesting read in the context of today's art scene.

I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron's point there seemed to be a little fire.

(Bernini's Ecstasy of St Teresa of Avila. )

He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it. The soul is satisfied now with nothing less than God. The pain is not bodily, but spiritual; though the body has its share in it. It is a caressing of love so sweet which now takes place between the soul and God, that I pray God of His goodness to make him experience it who may think that I am lying.

by St Teresa of Avila

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An artistic fusion of heavenly joy and ecstasy in fresh.

It could be a metaphorical.
But should this perfect union be more closer to the original intention of body and soul?
Such harmony... such consummation.

This is an astonishing theological work.
No less than piles of any master's writing.

A must see in person in my life.

When I was a younger man, art was a lonely thing.

(an old painting of mine)


No galleries, no collectors, no critics, no money. Yet, it was a golden age, for we all had nothing to lose and a vision to gain. Today it is not quite the same. It is a time of tons of verbiage, activity, consumption. Which condition is better for the world at large I shall not venture to discuss. But I do know, that many of those who are driven to this life are desperately searching for those pockets of silence where we can root and grow. We must all hope we find them.

by Mark Rothko

5 4

old photo, quite like it.

Sometimes, the best part of a gallery is that there is nothing to be exhibited.

.