A bunch of drawers that draw.
Water colour on a little-bit-thicker-than cartridge-like paper
50 X 70 cm
Initially titled as "The Bridge far away..."
After I was finished with this painting I was stuck by a strange feeling… and was wondering how I could relate to it on many levels… It was like “Time” to me…
Like, when "Time" seems to stay still... when nothing seems to move... nothing seems to matter... no ripples... no movement visible... just like the stillness on the surface. However, under that calm, quite and what seems like an unmoving surface, one never realizes how it is slowly but surely breaking and decomposing everything that falls in its path. Nothing that can stand on its own, nothing that is ordinary can change its course... and like water passes by... time moves on... the reflections that show once in a while are but mere memories that dissolve with time. At least that’s how its supposed to be - "time mends everything", don’t they say.
However, under the unassuming process, when the tick-tock of time keeps disintegrating all those happy and sad moments in one’s life... so that we forget all the details and only a faint taste remains lingering... so that we remain stable and unaffected in the long run, and keep going on, like nothing ever happened. Isn’t it what time wants us to believe in – to leave all things behind and keep moving ahead.
But then, sometimes one does hear the distinct crackle and sputter as air bubbles are released when water seeps into crevices and goes even deeper into our very soul... like the claws of unforgiving time surrounding the bigger episodes of emotional outbursts of love, hate, anger, passion, loss and triumph - symbolized by the huge tree trunks that have fallen, uprooted from their base. But water, like time, still goes on with its mundane business of gently eating away the rough edges…from the inside... filling every fissure... and making the rough surfaces smooth with a thin film of algae, all the while putting to an end the strong lasting impressions and memories that the girth of the trunk represents. And as minutes, days, weeks and years pass by... everything will be consumed and the remnants... only in shreds and splinters float around... piercing once in a while... waking us up from the numbness that has slowing surrounded us...
And when hope seems so far... like the far away bridge... one does have a feeling something is there that will take us to the other side... but then we don’t exactly know if it'll take us to the ‘right’ side of the river, or time it signifies here. As one keeps staring far, the bridge seems to build a faint glimour of hope in our soul and one forgets the rotting tree trunks... and they - the thoughts and emotions that once seemed unbreakable and unforgettable, that seemed so important and hard to not be noticed go to waste, in vain.
But then, nothing is now the same... the tree has fallen... its strength failing... rotting... the bridge will always remain out of reach... and now its become even more obscure... surrounded by much greener trees... that sway in wind, covering it further... no one cares for the tree that’s fallen, rotting, breaking, decomposing. Wasn’t it once the most important and beautiful part of one’s life?