cheers! 

   good weekend too....

mountain stories - by Rajbir Singh

Yeah, it's a nice place to stand at, and be witness to these moments, of the trees going down the hill, of the river below, of so many greens, of knowing oneself....coming down the mountain, wrapping onself around the path i would see it happening, a pause and i would wonder, is it created all for me...then a sudden fear of the night approaching, of reaching back home, to the base and looking up and seeing it at night.

No- thing we are

Nothing will be

I see you are I tell you be

No- thing to see

I see you are I tell you see

Nothing to be

For Nothing we are

And Nothing will be

- Francis Alys
  Kunstmuseum, basel

in the moment....

Budha would ask us to stay in a cremation ground,before initiation....

steponme

“I did it without any specific intention. Or perhaps what I meant was, that love this very stone, and the river, and all these things we are looking at and from which we can learn. I can love a stone, Govinda, and also a tree or a piece of bark. These are things, and things can be loved. But I cannot love words. Therefore, teachings are no good for me, they have no hardness, no softness, no colours, no edges, no smell, no taste, they have nothing but words. Perhaps it are these which keep you from finding peace, perhaps it are the many works. Because salvation and virtue as well, Sansara and Nirvana as well, are mere words, Govinda. There is no thing which would be Nirvana: there is just the word Nirvana.”

“A thought, it might be so. I must confess to you my dear: I don’t differentiate much between thoughts and words. To be honest, I also have no high opinion of thoughts. I have a better opinion of things. Here on this ferry-boat, for instance, a man has been my predecessor and teacher, a holy man, who has for many years simply believed in the river, nothing else. He had noticed that the river spoke to him, he learned from it, it educated and taught him, the river seemed to be a god to him, for many years he did not know that every wind, every cloud, every bird, every beetle was just as divine and knows just as much and can teach just as much as the worshipped river. But when this holy man went into the forests, he knew everything, knew more  than you and me, without teachers, without books, only because he had believed in the river. “

Siddhartha, Herman Hesse

Of what lies beneath

cut and paste
the blade and the glue
I am Drawing
a new story...
of hollow spaces
layers of sand, cement
and clay
water touches me
i am cutting a line
i am writing
a new story...

1st art work

2nd art work

2nd art work

3rd art work

3rd art work

3rd art work

4rth art work

4rth art work

4rth art work

with

tok or tok

gatka

to fly above them clouds
and the mountains

basel!

“Quantum theory tells us that nothing can be measured or observed without disturbing it, so that the role of the observer is crucial in understanding any physical process. So crucial in fact that some people have been led to believe that it is the observer’s mind that is the only reality- that everything else including the whole physical universe is illusion”

“Because our knowledge of the outside world (if it exist!) comes only through our sense impression, it is only the sensual data of whose existence we can be sure. When we say, for example, that there is a table near us, all we actually know is that our mind has acquired information by way of our brain and our senses that is consistent with the postulate of a table… a quantum theory based on consciousness, however, goes further that this: the very existence of an external universe, or at least the particular stat it is in, is strongly determined by the fact that conscious minds are observing it.”

 - Alistair Rae, Quantum Physics: Illusion or Reality?

The Little Kitty in the tree

Here little kitty… here little kitty… come on, come on…. Come to daddy, come to papa… the little boy was smiling with so much hope. Little did he know that he was being watched by a man sitting nearby enjoying his morning smoke….

Dried leaves were falling from the tree, traffic was passing by, pedestrians were crossing over each other, the sun, was shining high. The little boy started shouting now… HERE LITTLE KITTY… COME HERE LITTLE KITTY….. there was anger in his eyes, blood was boiling in his eyes, he had been calling the kitty for a long time…the mother was feeding the babies, ignoring the crazy boy screaming down below standing in the balcony.

The boy lost his cool and started banging his head into the tree trunk. He had been throwing water from the mud bowl towards the tree, hoping the kitty would drink water. He out of a fit of anger banged his head into the graffiti on the Religare Café Wall.

He fell on his knees, weeping, crying and punching the wall, yelling… “Why don’t you drink the water little kitty? Why are u doing this to me ?????

The man who was witnessing the act of feeding the Kitty felt pity on him and decided to help him.

Come here little boy – he said. Wiping his tears the boy said –What ?

“ that is not a kitty you silly boy, that is an eagle’s nest. Stop throwing the water and just let the bird come on it’s own to drink water from the mud bowl” and he went inside to his office space.

The boy’s jaw dropped down, stunned and shocked he closed his mouth with his hands and went up to his space in the mezzanine floor. He saw the eagle scoop down to the balcony, drink water and fly away….

they shoot,
green themselves
rustle and bustle
get shady
and fall,
yellow?

Butkada phir bad muddat ke magar raushan hua, Noor-i-Ibrahim se Azar ka ghar raushan hua! Phir uthi akhir sada tauhid ki Punjab se, Hind ko ik mard-i-kamil ne jagaye khwab se!

Once again, after an age, the temple became radiant; Azar's house shone with glory of Abraham once again, the call for God's unity arose from Punjab From its soundest slumber Hind was awakened by a perfect man." Mohammad Iqbal on the coming of Guru Nanak"

Droplets of color gather in momentum towards areas virgin in its wake. The whiteness seduces, tempts and challenges the moment to take on. One succumbs to the desire to tread on this path of the unknown with the mind in a frenzied whirl…for what initiates dictates of the hand and the mind remains in the recess of a fault line along the rocks in the desert. Welling within this playground of chance, experiment and indulgence comes along phases of retribution and penance. Insane it seems to be humbled in this process of revival, crash and correction….to be held vulnerable and addicted to the game.

The line follows its own way as the narrative tries to take hold, grapples and leaves spent. In the intervening visual spaces, permutations work their way fighting logical stance. Rigidity of a static form gives way to the exploratory, shuffling across the surface. A maquette on the pedestal overlooking a crucible in attendance, the sculpture last in line. Possibilities emanate from crumpled paper, discarded boxes, ash, grid, ice cubes, coffee… the engagement with an idea, form, and plan keeping the process alive. Anant Mishra, Gagandeep Singh, Jyoti Ranjan Jena, Daina Mohapatra and Jenson Anto on the arts.i  Mezzanine floor that has its clues, and tales to tell…      

tikki...radhika