Final nail to the coffin was driven now, the hopes are buried nine feet under atop of which is a bed of venomous thorny cactus bloom-
Art is an expression , its an artist’s thought which is put in a visual on a surface in two or three or more dimensions , as many as you can add including sound , smell feelings what ever the artist’s will to toss in . An artist’s expression is free and is for the people, specially common people who may see it by not a very trained eye, not for its artistic aspects but for the mare visual it is and may interpret it in any way s/he feels.
I my believe and faith and practice expressions belong to people, common people, not the few elite, enlightened, brilliant few but for a larger audience, the majority of the society, not the minority, regardless of the fact that the minority is the ruling, powerful affluent one.
It was only recently that I casually installed one of my works at the local flea shop. My work which is priced slightly under 500USD is placed among the old thrown out junk, and discarded items hanging on one of the columns.
Firstly i have put my work which is a digital print in a setting where its seen by the common, unexpected people, who have come to probably get some cheep bargain who would stumble upon this peace and will question . How much , why so expensive? Who is the artist ? What has been done ?
The answers are all in a paper which is kept in the drawer and is given only on request –
The second thing is to make people aware that digital prints are also art, its not just oil painting or sculpture .
Thirdly to challenge the mind set that art works belongs to galleries only, it wont be respected else where, it will be an insult if you put it in any other setting besides a gallery or an exhibition space-
My work has come out of the bubble, and its breaking the label placed on art which reads ” can be admired by an elite only” and for this i have faced much criticism , i have been told that i am “demeaning my work” i have been told i am acting like ” a mosquito who lives in a dirty pond ” Well who has polluted these ponds ? Not the nature but us very humans who are now calling it dirty , and mosquitos dont live in dirty ponds , they leave their eggs there so their newly hatched babies are born to the harsh realities if the world before they can fly off to gardens and jungles to borrow a few drops of blood from other animals so as to breed and not to actually feed , Hey we have something to learn from the mosquitos here who you just called dirty !
Well coming back to my work hanging there between the antiques and trash is my work, its for the common people, the people we think are verminous, the people who make the most of the population of the planet and the people who as consumers are keeping us few elites alive !
Fashion is about feeling good, its seriously not about feeling “included” and we often, almost always get confused between the two.
Silence piercing through my ears, echoing in my head, shattering me inside out . My struggle of putting the tiny shattered pieces of my self together since ages has now become a tiresome monotonous task. I stand totally shattered on the verge of giving up now, and for ever ….
hope died, it drowned to death in the pool of blood, my own blood which seeped out of my body, from the wounds of daggers, daggers owned by people who called them selves friends.
In art scale does matter, it does not mean the work should be too large or too small, it means the size should be decided thoughtfully.
There is a lot to say, and my hands quiver, my heart throbs. No i am not talking about love, its the realization, how low people can stoop for a bit of money, people who we think of as our mentors, who we think are credible, who we think were brilliant.
I would just say, i thought artists were an innocent breed, they just express their selves in a number of mediums, they talk of love and humanity. But it turned out, artists are no different from our society, they ( many of them ) manipulate, rob, steel, snatch, the murder humanity, drench their soul in the blood of the innocent, and then paint with it the pure pain they have caused to the world, in floral patterns and joyful faces.
The reality is always grim, i guess thats the truth of life.