Somehow I lost the drive to read art. I mean to read my art. I still read others’. I feel resistance to reading mine. Maybe the reason is that I think: Well, what is the point? It does not mean much, since I am not attached to it. There is no reason why I’ll let this past thing interfere with what I want to do now. So why bother reading it? It looks beautiful anyway. Looked at from a deeper state, all the complications look beautiful, and this is enough to see.
Where does the beauty come from?
So what can I do with these artworks?
How can I continue my blog? After I stopped being interested in the contents of my past, it has become hard to add anything to the blog.
I had some very good, high feelings, that I described, and some less good feelings, but now, what am I to do with this blog?
Maybe this is the place to go up and up in vibrations? So this is a new beginning.
Let’s look at this last drawing now.
There are warm colors at the bottom and they gradually turn colder until it is blue, transparent and very soft. I think that the texture, in spite of the coldness of the color itself, gives some warmth, related to the sensitivity that is expressed. So it is coldness described very sensitively. Maybe aloofness? So you become very interested, being a sensitive person that you are.
There is a feeling that something is growing in the drawing. There is a wider base shape, almost like the leaves of a plant close to the earth. From this comes a stem and another stem in orange and from them some flower, leaf, or a canopy, develop. All these happen in the warmer area. Then of course, if you think of it as a plant or a flower, then you have to have the sky somewhere behind and above. But the sky is not just a flat color. Something is alive there. Shapes come out of shapes, right side and left side parts, describing something that is not so clear realistically. What is it?
A dream? Sleeping? Something in a sleeping bag? Clouds? A letter? and what letter is it? Yes, it is the G from my own name. I did not notice this when I made the drawing. Planning.. sleeping.. this is connected to that.. life.
A plant is growing, still with the original thought of: Be a plant, be intense or mild. The intense side remains undeveloped. It sends feelers to the left side, the milder, so see what is life like on that side. Of course, here you have the fear of opening up and being yourself completely, checking yourself against another. Then, many thought patterns develop and they will create this plant’s future, its new adventure, its expansion or its remaining limited and constrained.
Is there a separation between the physical and the mental? Between the simple program to grow (It is not simple really but not complicated by thoughts of and the complicated thought patters, to do this and that etc? Yes and no. How about this answer? You can see that this part is warm and that is cold. But where they touch, they melt into each other. The physical and the imagined melt into each other. They are connected, and there is a feeling of lingering there, where they touch. Is it attachment? I mean attachment from the Buddhist perspective, as of assigning importance to something and therefore holding on to something that otherwise would have just gone on and change into something else.
This melting into each other is true also for every step before this thinking occurs. The leaf melts into the stem. The stem melts into the flowering and the flowering melts into the imagination. What kind of being is that? Who is this? What a magical creature that is a process?
And the whole scene has a magical feel to it. Things happen in the dream world, softly, silently. Are they real? Who is telling the story here? Is it the stem? The canopy? Me? You? Who are you anyway? Are you evolving from my dream? Am I nothing else but your imagination process?
I am leaving you with many questions. Who needs an answer, when you have questions like these? It all keeps being created, flowing toward what seems to be up in this case. Maybe nothing really moves? Maybe it is all a thought in endlessness, which has never changed