Do we know what we want? Why do we want? Does it make us happy or this happiness is only a blurred idea? I was confused. I could not make out what to write along with this painting. Rather I would say I could not find a reason why I had created this. As you know by now that I released her. Who wants imprisonment? None. It seemed her senses drove her to unite with those ‘new bubbles’. Let the bird fly. I wished if I could be a bird too…
“How fascinating it is to see them”, suddenly I heard those words. And I turned. She was standing my my side. It was completely unexpected. I could never imagine she would come to me. I did not touch her. Honestly, I had a fear flowing inside my heart… if she was not there at all. Let her be what she was. But I looked at her eyes. They were shining and wanted to tell me something. Since we were in a void space, it was impossible to communicate verbally. I did not utter a single word. I was trying to grab the frequency coming out of her brain. A few vague words were echoed deep inside the well of my thoughts and I wanted to measure the depth. I discovered that she needed to be ‘uplifted’. She was not interested in staying on the same plane with me any more. So my bubble of frustration gave her a flight to the time and space that she thought it would be a world of fascination.
She was floating. And I was watching her. From where? I don’t know. Gradually I felt that she was not ‘comfortable’ inside the bubble. She wanted to get out of that. So my bubble of frustration let her go. She drifted through the void and was about to merge with another one. Did I create the new bubble? The answer could be either yes or no. The bubbles of frustration propagated from one generation to another and at a point it was impossible to distinguish which one was created by whom. Because all of them looked the same. Only sizes were different. If she thought she would be ‘comfortable’ inside the new bubble, it was a mistaken belief, because she had her own bubble of frustration that had driven her to leave the first. I could see another one has been propagating inside the new bubble. Who knows she could try to escape anew.
I was talking about the generation of my bubbles of frustration. Where did they actually exist? In a ‘floating world”? Surely it was not connected with Ukiyo. But yes it might have derived from a void to release me from the mundane life. So everything was happening in a space where there was no gravity. You and I were in a state of float. My ideation manifested only inside a bubble. She was floating – inside a bubble of frustration. But physics says there must be a fluid to get a floating object. Was it the same for a paranormal condition? Let’s analyze… what did the fluid consist of? What we got and what we didn’t; what we wanted and what we didn’t, what was expected and what was returned; our love, hatred, happiness, sorrow – all of those made a colloid of frustration where every bit of such human experience was suspended. Frustration is, therefore, a smoking fluid eventually generated by our insatiate souls. But why am I discussing this? An insatiate soul may be… I decided to paint a few like this.
I was thinking whether those bubbles of frustration have created her or due to her the bubbles have been generated. Did she have any empathy for my creations? It is said that an artist is a creator. Am I? Or I am just an executor. Who is driving me to create such things? I could not see her but feel her presence everywhere, even at the piled up ashes of cigarette. If you try to remove a stain of ink on a bloating paper, it can never be washed out. Only the mark increases. I have tried to bloat my existence from her life as far as possible, but the stain of her memories has been spreading over my heart like universe. May be it is the big bang theory of human experience…
Originally posted on Watercolor Discussion Forum:
Once she had a nightmare. She was resting on her bed, undressed. Suddenly a pair of hands came out of the dark and moved over her body. She tried hard to free herself but it was all in vain. She could not recognize the being behind them. It seemed darkness was all over the place. Those hands were pressing her body harder and harder. She felt suffocated. She tried to cry for help. But sound did not move out yet. Images were getting blurred in front of her eyes. And then… no, I was not there to save her. The nightmare came to reality. Or the reality became a nightmare. I did not know. I shall never know. May be it was a prelude to the manifestation of the bubbles of frustration.
Originally posted on Watercolor Discussion Forum:
I was traveling through the void imbibed with bubbles. After sometime I started to feel that I was resting on a virtual surface. How did I know? I noticed the bubbles were not moving then. Relative motion was nil. Though I could not find my own shadow still had a sense that a few of the bubbles were casting shadow on a ‘floor’. But did they have eyes? Were they watching me? Or I was watching them only? I looked closer… a bit more close. What did I see? Yes, they had eyes. And they were watching me constantly. The eyes were familiar to me. I had seen them many times. Once they had been gazing at me for hours. Those eyes were full of…. I didn’t know what was in them. Now they were full of hatred. They were caged inside the bubbles of frustration.