The basic sense of delight and spontaneity in a person who has opened fully and thoroughly to him or herself and to life can provide wonderful rainbows and thundershowers and gusts of wind. We don't have to be tied down to the greasy-spoon world of well-meaning artists with their heavy-handed looks on their faces and overfed information in their brains. The basic idea of art is the sense of peace and the refreshing coolness of the absence of neurosis.
A wonderful quote from Chogyam Trunpa. It encapsulate the joy one derives from painting and watching the work grow, each new layer adding to the atmosphere of remembered or envisaged scenes.
Dreaming in Lodhi Gardens
Let me rest again amidst the humming bees
Let warm air drift around me, stirring fallen leaves
with its languid honey kiss.
Let me touch stones intricately carved hundreds of years
Before the country of my blood had built its first stone edifice
The lilting speech and laughter hang suspended in the air,
Let me rest again amidst the humming bees
Let warm air drift around me, stirring fallen leaves
with its languid honey kiss.
Let me touch stones intricately carved hundreds of years
Before the country of my blood had built its first stone edifice
The lilting speech and laughter hang suspended in the air,
Women hurry by in brightly coloured saris
In India again – bliss.
Eternally curious green parakeets with bindis on their cheeks
Scrabble in the sand, pecking seeds fallen from the trees
Frenetic squirrels, tails too short, bodies too small
To be mistaken for their Southern counterparts
Rush, start and stop, and rush again between the birds
avoiding unwelcome contact with curved beaks.
Once again I wander through buildings older
than the known history of my country.
The gardens are lush and green
Havens of peace and tranquillity
We are free to stroll under lofty trees,
Watching kids in school uniform scampering
Up and down on the ramparts of the ancient building.
Tired, peaceful and at ease
I sit staring at the welcoming majesty of the trees
This one, under which I sat, this huge sprawling tree,
this one I’ll commit to eternity.
In India again – bliss.
Eternally curious green parakeets with bindis on their cheeks
Scrabble in the sand, pecking seeds fallen from the trees
Frenetic squirrels, tails too short, bodies too small
To be mistaken for their Southern counterparts
Rush, start and stop, and rush again between the birds
avoiding unwelcome contact with curved beaks.
Once again I wander through buildings older
than the known history of my country.
The gardens are lush and green
Havens of peace and tranquillity
We are free to stroll under lofty trees,
Watching kids in school uniform scampering
Up and down on the ramparts of the ancient building.
Tired, peaceful and at ease
I sit staring at the welcoming majesty of the trees
This one, under which I sat, this huge sprawling tree,
this one I’ll commit to eternity.
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