Is it the monday morning blues?
Waking up, I realised that I am not at peace.
A bit of introspection led me to a path that had always been there, somehow never got noticed. A path that is taken by all who plan, all who dream, all who desire.
The path of self criticism.
Cutting my self brutally with an intention to move forward, work on my color palette and attain that freedom in my strokes and thoughts. Telling myself what the world tells me- That's the way to improve.
I have improved.
A plan to merchandise hit me, owing to the fact my work has a certain language of its own.
Wham! I share this with a dear friend of mine who gives me space to display my work. He got excited! I land up painting all of the weekend, starting with ideas in my head and ending up with a sample.
Brilliant!
That's the reaction I get.
16th November, 2007 seems to have a lot in store- a lucky day maybe. The show and merchandising begin on that date. Not bad at all.
Now comes the confusion. I am playing all the events in loops, going forward and backward like a detective searching for the thief who was too fast, in stealing away the cloud nine I am supposed to be riding. Whirrrrrr goes the tape in my head. Click. Stop. Play. Pause. Rewind. Whirrrrrrrr. Clack.
Staying alone has its own effects. I get to be James Bond at times, or a stupid bloody security camera in charge- watching this stupid tape for a crook that doesn't show up. Whirrrrrrrrr. Clack.
A slight drop in my own jaw, inside the movie makes the all eyes detective sit up. Taking a closer look, I go hmmmmmm.....
There wasn't a theft of any sorts. I was attacked. Its the pain that is responsible for the absence of enthusiasm, leaving me with a disability that I cannot dance. Dance away to craziness, and shout eureka! That too naked. If not the streets, then in the shower at least.
Self criticism has reached a level where it has turned me into something evil for my art. Most of my works, no matter how much I like them seem to be a part of the vice I should abstain from. The vice of celebration, on the awareness that the fizzy thoughts in my head have started making sense to people. Before anyone appreciates me, I punish myself. Move. move move. Do not appreciate your work- else you will stagnate. Move.
The defence attorney, reiki healer, dweller of holistic healing. Split side of Sarandeep Grover, my own alter ego stands, blabbers and goes away to some fantasy land of floating custard pies and other happy thoughts.
If I do not appreciate my own work. How do I expect others to do so?
A bit of introspection led me to a path that had always been there, somehow never got noticed. A path that is taken by all who plan, all who dream, all who desire.
The path of self criticism.
Cutting my self brutally with an intention to move forward, work on my color palette and attain that freedom in my strokes and thoughts. Telling myself what the world tells me- That's the way to improve.
I have improved.
A plan to merchandise hit me, owing to the fact my work has a certain language of its own.
Wham! I share this with a dear friend of mine who gives me space to display my work. He got excited! I land up painting all of the weekend, starting with ideas in my head and ending up with a sample.
Brilliant!
That's the reaction I get.
16th November, 2007 seems to have a lot in store- a lucky day maybe. The show and merchandising begin on that date. Not bad at all.
Now comes the confusion. I am playing all the events in loops, going forward and backward like a detective searching for the thief who was too fast, in stealing away the cloud nine I am supposed to be riding. Whirrrrrr goes the tape in my head. Click. Stop. Play. Pause. Rewind. Whirrrrrrrr. Clack.
Staying alone has its own effects. I get to be James Bond at times, or a stupid bloody security camera in charge- watching this stupid tape for a crook that doesn't show up. Whirrrrrrrrr. Clack.
A slight drop in my own jaw, inside the movie makes the all eyes detective sit up. Taking a closer look, I go hmmmmmm.....
There wasn't a theft of any sorts. I was attacked. Its the pain that is responsible for the absence of enthusiasm, leaving me with a disability that I cannot dance. Dance away to craziness, and shout eureka! That too naked. If not the streets, then in the shower at least.
Self criticism has reached a level where it has turned me into something evil for my art. Most of my works, no matter how much I like them seem to be a part of the vice I should abstain from. The vice of celebration, on the awareness that the fizzy thoughts in my head have started making sense to people. Before anyone appreciates me, I punish myself. Move. move move. Do not appreciate your work- else you will stagnate. Move.
The defence attorney, reiki healer, dweller of holistic healing. Split side of Sarandeep Grover, my own alter ego stands, blabbers and goes away to some fantasy land of floating custard pies and other happy thoughts.
If I do not appreciate my own work. How do I expect others to do so?
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