Vision, space and the vanishing point

To me art is a language that encompasses anything and everything. The vision and understanding of any piece of art work defers according to individual. Hence, the revolution of different art movements and the understanding of it keep changing accordingly.

Art in any form conveys a discipline, whether that is something ancient, abstract, futuristic or architectural. It defines space, dimension, colour, vision, perception and many more. It is the essence of living, the discipline that compliments and can structure any dimension, time, field or knowledge.

Stepping inside the Saatchi Gallery, it was one of these experiences where you just feel like analyzing something so deeply just to figure out numerous possibilities; one small subject, one small thought being shaped and produced in a real world, in three dimensions that could inspire passage of any fields.

The white massive space allowed ones thoughts to flow limitlessly, with little taste of surrealism, little of futurism and little of everything when the sculptures were displayed within. It wasn’t just the works on display but also the white walls that were intriguing to me because they conveyed ideas of vanishing points and the empty space. It seemed as though the works came out of the walls because they were placed in a way that you would not normally see in daily basis. Example :- The crashed cars 1 & 2 that were untitled by Dirk Skreber.

The work that I found the most fascinating was called “Waiting for the Signal” by Hanris Purnomo, 2008-2009. The work compromised of clones of babies, he had used mixed media technique and the dimension was varying. However, the way the babies were placed formed a heart like shape. They all had closed eyes with sound and meditating expression in their face. They were white with pointed swords below which was deeply thought provoking to me. It somehow appeared to be the philosophy of life. It reminded me of clean winter snowfall, snowflakes that were untamed, innocent, soft and white falling from the mysterious dense sky; beautiful and pure composing a harmonious symphony and playing it whilst it made its way to kiss the ground. It reminded me of the innocence, the goodness of everything that anything possesses before reaching the earth. When I looked at the swords partly hidden in the babies cloth, it brought me back to the real world, the harshness of living, yet the beauty that it possessed. The struggle to breathe and fit in, it started to dissemble the notes of the symphony, clashed them up, as the snowflakes got closer to the earth. The dynamics got higher to warn the immature beauty beforehand to get ready to struggle and understand that everything on earth is momentary and not forever. The flakes kiss the earth with its purest of beauty, in vain sacrifices it and blissfully melts.

The babies, similar to that are just innocent sleeping child, never knowing about the world being so wild. Hence, the sword they are equipped with is for realization that they are falling down to earth, where there not only exist simplicity but also compromises tears and pain, struggle and death. It is there so that they are protected and they learn to protect themselves, they learn through experiences, learn to have a vision that could see and understand mysteries that could understand not just the visually pleasing but also the efficiency of something. It is there to guide them from the evil, to build them up into stronger ongoing personas.

In this momentary world, with the vanishing point lying in the centre, you travel and appear nearby it, but you will never clearly know the beginning of it, nor will you ever realize the end; it’s ongoing, it’s undefined. Presumptions will always be there, and there will always be questions about ‘maybe’.

You will always have ‘maybe’ about the beginning and end of lives but when working as the extraction of the vanishing point where the visual world exists, you will always need the armour and the sword with you. The beyond is about infinity, there exist your imagination, there exist emptiness, there exist layers, there exist vision and the most fascinating thing is that they are shapeless but it is that what shapes our world, the materialistic concrete world.

Abandoned

Will there be tomorrow, Mother?
Will I get to see you the next morning?
Will these nightmares fade away?
Or are they going to tangle on me everyday?
Is it really fair, for my innocent ears to bear this bombarding?
Are my young eyes opened just to see myself locked in doom?
Why can’t I escape?
To be free like those kids overseas,
Who live in cosy places;
And have so much beyond needed.
How I long for just a single night to pass in peace
Sweating and blinking my blank eyes.
How I wish I was acknowledged about feelings
That I lost beforehand
And now my tears are no more left
They have dried in their own.
All I can feel is a lifeless heart that pounds for its escape into someone worthy.
Was this a gift by the Heaven?
Or a curse so poignant?
Have all the charms of stars that I have wished been wiped off?
Mother! Mother!! Tell me,
Why can’t I feel her sorrows?
Why can’t I taste his wound?
Is it because I was pampered in this extravagance of misery and anguish?
Or is it because I was always unwanted?
Oh Yes! I remember!
And I don’t feel pity for myself;
Why should I?
When it was me who had to pass all those summers and chilly winters of my life
Sheltered in this thin cotton sheet.
And yes! I also remember!
My home was brought to ashes,
And I was with my young sister staring at that poorly built.
I could see her eyes get covered in tears,
And I saw my parents killed,
I tried, of course I did;
But failed because I was poorly built.
Unexpected corpses were scattered,
And many of us like me dwelled for ages in that horrified cage.
We suffocated, we yelled for help, we knew we would hardly get
Our young steps and our young dreams couldn’t just tolerate such experiences.
Do they sound despondent?
Well, I have bear them all.
Such melancholy has turned into a tantrum,
A wish of brightness has been pushed into darkness.
And now I fear of waking up one day with venom in my hand
That could destroy you and even me!
Yes, it’s all because I have seen them so close;
The death so close, that friendly unwanted part of my life.
All my childhood innocence had gone before it could bloom,
Leaving a deep patch of terrible tragedy
Incomparable to any grief.
I know I hate it,
This isn’t what I want,
But the sense of revenge and flare within
Has selfishly sealed my heart with rage;
Made me deaf and blind enough
To avoid those cries and tears of helpless.
Perhaps I was born to be a beast so untamed.
All my ones are gone
And no one left to cry for,
I shall wildly challenge hence
All those devils that have enough yet is not content
Preparing themselves to the valley of death.
There maybe amiable seeds,
Spread somewhere even in the land of devils;
But are concealed from the living pain like us;
There maybe a presence of a bit of shine
Even in that darkness of unreality,
There must be thousands of spectators,
And judges, and writers
Writing about people like me,
And about consequences like this;
With their best felt words,
In their admired tone,
To them,
It might be beyond physical familiar;
But what has happened and is happening
Is probably not going to change so soon.
They must be trying their best to feel them,
The horrendous experiences they hadn’t seen;
Yet trying to dream the darkness where I had lived.
No, no I wouldn’t dream it,
But I know I didn’t have to either,
Because it has become my shadow and will follow me all the way through.
They said there was peace yesterday,
They said there will be peace tomorrow,
They said tomorrow the country not seen will declare our freedom;
Was that a mock?
Where’s the liberty we had?
Which bastard did we belong to?
I am bewildered!
No one ever ruled us except our own countrymen,
Except our own blood;
We were taught the oath of freedom
In the darkness of slavery;
We were imprisoned in the cage so confined-
Freedom was just a dream that would never come true,
They said it was peace yesterday,
They said it was declared;
But still that four hours night I had a sleep unwell,
And today, it vanished again, they said.
I turned back the pages of some tale
There last freedom and peace,
But in my world it was just an unreality.
I could never feel it.
I past my days,
Grew older,
No celebrations I had;
No one ever wished me for a future;
Because I didn’t have one,
Nor would anyone I know have it to bless me with one.
And dreams?
Let it not be discussed,
Because that would be vacant.
But still somewhere the soft part of me remains within,
And I recall those comfort,
I recall her and my fear that lost me
And I sense that cold,
The night when everything was snatched from me,
My love, my care, my pride, my name
And it becomes uncontrolled,
My eyes floods in tears and I seek for warmth
Of my mother’s womb,
And I flow back to those merciless days,
Where I remember me catching her hand,
In sorrow and despair and asking-
Will there be tomorrow, Mother?
Will I get to see you the next morning?
Will these nightmares fade away?
Or are they going to tangle on me everyday?
Is it really fair, for my innocent ears to bear this bombarding?
Are my young eyes opened just to see myself locked in doom?
Why can’t I escape?
To be free like those kids overseas,
Who live in cosy places;
And have so much beyond needed.
It doesn’t make metranquil,
Rather a tantrum that uplifts;
Creeps within me and abolishes the innocence
Giving birth to the abhorrent beast.