I had to carefully compose again after it looked as if I had finished it already. There was a lot to add. It is so easy with this technique. And I fixed it. Now it appeals to me. I made it to appeal to me.
When I think what is new about my late paintings, it is that they are more subtle. There is a sense of joy that bubbles up in them. This sense of joy was in my paintings before too. But the feeling was that it had to struggle more in order to express itself. It was beautiful that it did, and there was a sense of drama in every one of those joy expressions.
Now it feels that the joy is comfortable and playful. It does not struggle in order to be. The dark past is still in the painting. It looks darker than in previous paintings, but it also looks old, weak, dilapidated.
I remember the technique that I developed in healing from far, when I practiced with the group Consciousness Research Institute. I would create a huge dome around myself, full of good energy. Then I’d bring the person to be healed into the dome, to be there with me. And I would feel the discomfort of having with me in the space of the dome someone whose energy did not match with mine. (Just as the pain in this moment is such energy that does not match mine). And I would let this strange energy be a part of me without resistance. Just like having something in your pocket that you don’t necessarily feel comfortable with, but it is there. So you just get familiar with the feeling of it being there, and you go on with the business of life. Going on being, that now includes this uncomfortable feeling. You let it be until it is a part of you that does not stand out any more. It is not uncomfortable any more, but itself as it is.
Strange how difficult it is to explain this and how natural, spontaneous and simple it was to do it.
So now it starts to feel to me that I am, at last, at this very stage with my past. I love the little boy who I was, who struggled so hard, with so much pain and fear, and I can’t but admire how courageous he was, how good hearted. I love him dearly. And at the same time I get less and less impressed by the traumatic influence of that time. The trauma can be seen in the art. But the joy grows as an expression of freedom. Like a beautiful bird that was caged in darkness and, as it comes out of it, grows and becomes the whole scene.
There are delicate structures that may represent the way I explained things to myself, and they are very fragile. They can fall apart easily or change into something else. And in a way they are irrelevant to the joy. Joy is the original state. Thinking is a game, happening inside of joy and sometimes becoming too heavy and obscures the joy that it has come from.
So it is a good thing that the thinking, as it appears in the art, has become lighter and less obscuring.
Look at the dark blue and violet shapes at the bottom right. Don’t they look like old remnants of a war that has ended? Do you feel the relief of being joy that is free from those remnants, a joy that does not struggle to be?
I’d say it is still quite moderate. It is just taking stock of the fact it is here. The child has stopped crying and now is becoming interested in everything.
A garden grows At the top of the soil With a touch of sadness To it
A lonely soul Is leaving Hoping to have it better In another place
There is gold in the earth And next to it A hidden wound A flood of sadness And the body of a man
He is resting now Near water and green He is dreaming Of a life that he could have If he managed to go up To the open air Passing the blood And the tendency of history To pull us down Against our will
In the open air Our garden grows Married To a trauma
But we know Don’t we That every morsel of this scene Is made of gold
I want to be a tree But I am not sure Which tree I want to be And I’m not sure What the conditions are In the place where I’ll stand Is it very windy there? Is there competition for the food? Will the goats eat my bark? Will the other trees be friendly And will they understand That I have to be This certain way Because of how my childhood went?
But wait Maybe I can be a tree From another childhood? My mother stood very tall Or ran wildly in the fields My father traveled in an air balloon My brother played In coloring the clouds And I knew That everything is possible Right from the beginning?
The queen had a party The guests drank and talked Around the table But I wanted to sleep So she made a bed for me Nearby I sank in Among the big pillows The words of a book Appeared And I read them in my sleep
Nerve pain woke me up Where in the book was I?
I left with all the guests Not before I saw the queen Getting into that same bed Saying: How nice that it is warm
I let the others go And came back to fetch my shoes But the royal cat attacked me twice And fell on its back Like a rag
I gave up I laughed
The dream of my life was lying broken On the floor And light was coming Through the cracks.
The mind creates magnetic fields Within what do they live? They live in the truth The truth is everywhere And it is the only thing That cannot be destructed Therefore It is not a thing
Trees grow from the earth They eat the earth and drink water They soak the sun They breath the air Like us The earth and water are The sun is The air is Products of the ancient mind And are influenced by my own Current mind
My mind Is a traveling choice maker in infinity Using the old truth As clay To be shaped with imagination