One angle on Charity

Quarter kilo of dry bhel shared in true Lokshahi (democratic) fashion.

“As the Vatican Almoner, Archbishop Konrad Krajewski explained, charity has to cost you something so it can change you. The Archbishop shared the story of a fellow clergyman who boasted of giving a few euros to a homeless man outside the Vatican, and explained how in spite of the gift, it wasn't genuine charity because the euros cost the cleric relatively nothing.” 

The intent, and practice of charity if we let it will suffuse many aspects of our lives, including through the sharing of knowledge. But, if there is hardly an element of risk, or no costs involved in that act, in the transaction—then there is nothing to it. It is in the giving that we receive, or shall we say we become whole at that moment, and this is but one interstice in the continuum of our being and personhood. But we hardly engage, we avoid risks—being too frightened to contemplate, of course taking into consideration the contexts involved, that our rightful place may truly be at the back of the line. It is better to stay where we belong, instead of making every covert yet aggressive attempt that we belong further along in what we do. Otherwise all that babble about Karma is a mere indulgence. These thoughts came to mind upon being faced with Archbishop Konrad Krajewski’s concise simplification of charity; having indeed encountered it on my journey.

I will do it

14 Blades (2010, dir. Daniel Lee) is a Wuxia film set in the Ming dynasty. The Jinyiwei were the government's secret police, rigorously trained since childhood in clandestine combat. The following words uttered by Qiao Hua who deeply loves Qinglong, a Jinyiwei—struck a chord in me. 

Whatever you tell me to do 

I will do it 

No matter if you are lying to me 

Or not

But such words will only be reckoned with by those who have complete respect for the significant other in their life. Often, although we give utmost respect to the other—the fruit of our senses, the aesthetic object if you will rejects it, or does not allow for the embracing—whatever the extenuating reasons may be. 

The point for reflection is in the what, the why, and the how of such a reality. During our existence as individuals, repeated mis-readings of the stirrings in our being are akin to a selling out—as in ones core being hollowed from within—our perceptions deceiving us. It occurs on account of a lack of direction; an inability to go headlong into the wind and learn about each other, as also a lack of realization or awareness, and an inability to cherish holding onto the strength of the other. As also, the sheer lack of awareness to strengthen oneself, as well as the other, and the relationship. 

Stains on the wall, or who flung dung

Dancers falling, La Guardia Perf. Arts, NY

Its strange — the sense of entitlement a marriage can bring to a young persons mind; and appears too often to dovetail with a belief of being owed a career. You better contribute to that notion by making life convenient for their consuming selves or else…

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Fittingly? His mind sees it as a piece of cake. So, said he: still!… at it? Like: you must be dimwitted — ergo dropped the ball. And to my being, my mind delivered a message: steel yourself, yet not use the blade. Maintain the edge, dull you are not; a dullard you will never be.

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And what to make of those steeped in the lackadaisical? Teach them? Perhaps the shock of a slap may just revert them to the presence of the beam in their eye. One teaches those who yearn, to do things right. How does one get someone to overcome their shortcomings towards learning to help themselves — those who obfuscate meaning!

RISK, and seeing risk head on... a DRAWING sung!

Tandav, Silverpoint on linen 5' x 3' 

For those of you who know RISK this is where it is at… Crosby Stills and Nash - Suite: Judy Blue Eyes - Live 2012 (posted by pauljaros videos).

Listening to the CSN original, one absorbs the huge risk Crosby Stills and Nash took in the 2012 recital of Jusy Blue Eyes. To my sense, the choral melds—proceeding as though its a DRAWING being sung ! What they did is so hard and it COULD HAVE FALLEN APART at any time. 

…a whole philosophy of being and consciousness here.

Cloudbursts on the front lines

From on aloft, King David espied Bathsheba bathing in her courtyard.

He had her brought into his presence; entering… 
into her scented precincts — ensuing a pregnant tussock.

Summoned he Uriah come home, wash his feet — attend to Bathsheba.

A consideration then by the King one might think? 

An anachronism today, but then, contact between the two however brief

would surely have shrouded the nature developing in the sprouting womb.

To hide the mushrooming pregnancy… that was the brief!

Steadfastly refused Uriah, the Kings command — attend to Bathsheba.

A Hittite beholden to Deuteronomy; in essence renege your command, 
to smite "anything that breathes,” those teaching “you to follow all, 
the detestable things they do in worshiping their gods.” 
Towards this obedience; in the pains of battle all coital relations shunned. 

There would be no washing of feet, the carnal would be spurned. 

King David not immune to this understanding; dispatched he —  
into battle Uriah, ordering Joab, commander and kingmaker rolled in one: 

ensconce him at the front — have his men move away; let him perish!

Thus was killed Uriah, whose name means: 

God is my Light; one of King David’s mighty men!

And Nathan the prophet said it as it was:  An abomination — 

he decried, pointing at David leaving nothing unsaid…

Absalom insurrected.

Coming down to today, we have King Davids acolytes… morphed 

into his erstwhile enemies, the Ammonites. Even the marrow shudders!

And one has made it to the front, or was it that the front moved behind 

or is it that, the front is the pasture where the wolf seeks the lamb? 

Yet there is no barbed wire. But food must make it to the table. 

Before one knew it, one turned itinerant.

An itinerancy of a nature much like illiteracy, the denial of movement, 
tongue, be-ing, humanity: a state of being where titles mean little, 
the earnings even less. But food is now on the table. 
A repast in lieu of past deprivation? That deserves thanks and praise!? 

On the front, smitten by cloudbursts of deceits… 

a fakery of cooing, a consummate dispassion extracting labor,  

rolling eyes, soft shoe shuffling, bodies packed in two sizes too small.  

And pain is all around. We maintain politesse! 

There is no discernible ball and chain. Yet we surrender to the treachery.

Is there a Nathan now, other than that faint namesake for hamburgers! 

Who sheds light? Will things pass? Will they overrun my being?

Now pain livens up my being. How is this possible? The front is cold;

warm those ensconced in the knowledge of conceits: pain embraces.

Christ resurrected on day three. Is there hope through his becoming man?

So was gibt?: of cock horses and knaves

Unpublished pro bono piece. The title
which goes with the original text also
inadvertently fits this blog post of mine!

My life interestingly has encountered its share of prima donnas and primo uomos, neither of whom are inclined towards anything remotely operatic, but yet they deliver their diktat and knavery arias with a mien worthy of hyenas. 

They never seem to get the point, nor truly wish to, and are hardly inclined to making anything easier for those outside of themselves and their cliques. 

They charge on their cock horses, itinerant scarecrows, roosters and hens of the walk and killjoys, who even proverbially could not dance on pointe in the dank catacombs of their minds — or anything remotely close to an extrapolated analogy of the same. That much one may be sure. But your existence is fair game to these dastards (what better time to seek an English word stemming from Old Norse: dæstr). These are truly knaves (no feminine form really). 

Makes me wonder in German so was gibt? What gives? “So what else? or what's up? or even what more?” What more!?

Windows and falling stones

Vigilant Eye

A swarm of projectiles arching across still skies knifed with wispy streaks of crimson, hurtling from shadowed otoshis* set on high enclaves, on a metropolis inked in an indigo of senseless motions — mirage of uncertainty; yet its own reality, whose afflictions it attempts to survive through a solid geometry of shodo rhythms: firmly imprinting marks on the fate inherited from the patriarchs and patrimony of advanced capitalism. 

* ishi otoshi 石落し(stone throwing windows)

I wrote this small text in 2005 when I was at the Nagasawa Art Park Artist-in-in-Resident program, in Awajishima, Japan. The year before, in 2004 Cecilia and I encountered the Hakamagoshi – 袴腰型 at Himeji castle (姫路城, Himeji-jō). My concerns for the longest time have been about religion, sexuality and consciousness — of course situated as we all are within a capitalist mode of existence. These brief reflections will someday make it into a design book.

a pliant reality…

More often than not in the pliant realities we exist within — the new normal is to be the lookout, archer, pike man, clog maker, moat cleaner, gravedigger, engraver, and altar-candle lighter.

Respect, and receiving

detail of Biomorophic Déja vu

Respect is not simply a giving to be merely milked and prided upon; one must be genuinely receptive to it, and able to understand its nature. Otherwise its an indulgence within a feudalistic frame of being — a villainous hubris albeit with modern contraptions. All that one may do is to develop awareness, and leading towards that accept the falls, learn from the nature of those pitfalls, do not pity oneself, but yet hold your self high in esteem and being. 

Biomorphic Déjà vu

Being one with oneself

I am a professional at a few things, but that does not mean I want to do what you think I should do — to satisfy your sense of being. For that get another professional who will take orders, which is indeed what we are trained to do. But do not expect to straightjacket me to have your way. Just perhaps consider a collaboration. As to why this thought surfaces, look up what ‘to collaborate’ means, and also remember that there are many kinds of collaborations. Affix those meanings in the mind, and ask if unsure. 

Clarify. Then realize, that you stand to get something way different, not simply something out of the way, as in a project wrapped up. Ergo, the desire to avoid being used on inane projects, with all parameters off kilter; and the reason one may come across as reticent. Not because one remotely imagines oneself as a prima donna or a primo uomo, but one has been proverbially balancing on pointe — walks on ones owns path, and cannot appeared flat footed now nor self-effacing. Really and why? Look at yourself for starters.

Alacrity of Being

One often hears about life being a two way street, suggesting that mutuality in various forms is to be esteemed. However, such alacrity of being is rarely the case, even from those who profess notions of dharma and karma—albeit within intense cultural etudes. So what leads to going after ever more larger slices of the pie. The pie, or laddoo for that matter is large enough for all, and will always be.

What is small is the footprint of our existential reasoning. Hence the street turning into a one way street, where the only option remains that of saluting the feudal detritus moving directly upon ones being. Of course such is not acceptable. In the meanwhile the appetites of even those whom one admired has mushroomed, continues, and apparently shows no signs of abatement. Yesterdays apparitions, along with their transactional libidos have been manifested into the widest gamut of successes. But still the transactional element that makes one human (or is this some quaint notion) is expected for oneself, but not accorded towards the other. Of course every interaction has its place. We know that. Small victories in ones limited sphere are regarded sullenly, as though in spite of all dharmic dimensions and possibilities—one is claiming more of that karmic pie! Again one respects as is only fitting in the culture I was raised within.  

Even the most fake among us have their place and are respected by someone dear, if not by the many whose lives they impact. They too must have our respect, not in the way they expect obeisance and being fawned upon, but an accord within the precincts of their own dharma. Indeed, this is very becoming of the ideas that regards one an Indian.

Speculatio through Drawing, an abstract

My presentation at UNIDCOM / IADE 6th Intl Conf (Oct 2011, Lisbon), in the category THE Sense of DRAWING, Making Sense through Sensibility (knowing through drawing) would have proceeded from the following abstract. 

However, due to reasons beyond my control stemming from extenuating circumstances, this paper could not be presented in Lisbon!


Speculatio through Drawing
Drawing allows me to reflect on ideas that lend themselves to deep introspection—a search for possibilities in phenomena that pass across and within my senses—works which are reflections on concerns situated at the intersection and layering of religion, sexuality, and consciousness. “Layering” is a metaphor for encapsulating fragments and wholes that convey, power, compassion, and the memory of time & culture.

Through drawing, I attempt to achieve organic marks which reveal the underlying emotions of our thoughts and ideas—a receiving. I enter spaces to bring out natures within my being, and comprehend through speculatio--contemplative reflection—to which otherwise I would not be privy.

My drawings are an attempt at wholeness; an orison—towards assigning marks and generating form of the formless, often within extreme abstraction; employing a broad range of media and approaches, some learnt through an ongoing practice in Shodo. More recent works fall within the following areas: a book of thirty drawings on torture; works on the theme We do not come by our Thoughts, They come to us; drawing letterforms and other subjects while glimpsing, gleaning and assigning meaning to the works in the manner approached and through the act and dynamics of drawing.

The knowing, comes from an innate desire to flesh out a thought through drawing—where the mind works with "memories" harnessing the body and its dynamics, as one lays down marks accordingly—from seeing the thought in the way it reveals itself, and/or as one reflects upon it—modulating the information as it gets constructed, and even as the piece reveals itself. I draw from  ideas—with some concreteness as in a  fictional character constructed by a writer/poet perhaps from accumulated experiential angst; or with more diaphanous notions as in the epiphanic, the euphonious; or by seeing possibilities for expressing ineffabilities—following the stirrings that one cannot  place, yet are real and palpable...knowing has begun. The realization is a drawing.

The concreteness of working with time—the attempt to represent visually is two-fold. One is embracing the thought to the best of ones ability—this being a visual manifestation. The other is conveying glimpses of time in one piece—but without freezing a moment. Spatiality, temporality, looking at appearances, drawing from within those perceptions--what appears reliable—and attempting to weave such consciousness into one’s experience is my drawing practice.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/venantius/sets

image: Vicissitudes of Exile IV

Procellous Narratives

The Procellous Narrative series is a deeply thought-provoking series to me. Exploration. Through it I allow myself to incorporate the detritus from my vocabulary of visual marks which have been arrived at, or rather stumbled across over time I have breathed; which get redeemed via juxtapositing and relationships—a part of my family of marks; albeit the combative/ 'dysfunctional’ side or rather my principled side as I see it.
Procellous Narratives
http://www.flickr.com/photos/venantius/sets/72157594170017694/

Drawing: Procellous Narrative 3: Section 1

Being in contemporaneity, or Existing in the existential while balancing on pointe

The spirit is the compelling force from within that exudes to the outside. In one who settles or walks seeking a spiritual path, or regards a chosen path as being a course of action for ones spirituality—the spirit will manifest itself, although it does not simply materialize; nor does it show up to make the notion any more real. The notion has to be one of surrender, acceptance, a commitment.

Most of what we do is for ourselves. It could be our personal practices as in a Way which we practice. In time we begin to see, or must hope to see our practices as larger than ourselves, yet nothing more nor less than what we thought at first. When our eyes set themselves on something beautiful the muscles essentially relax although they pulse. All is movement. When and if we see the sublime, our body tautens, the sight evokes awe and fear, even if be a tinge of facing the unknown. In both these situations, or if one was blessed by such experiences the solitary would perhaps stay in equanimity. One cannot decide to be so. Ones being has become such or has to become such. To stay in equanimity is to stare at what time places in front of us, what it subjects us to. Not stare as in gawk, but stare as in commune, in realizing that you are a part of infinitude, and are ready to accept the charge handed to you, even if that means knowing that ones time will cease, and yet not cease. One may be a long way off from realizing this, but its is in our bones. My purpose is to hold hands, and in the rare case to break them, although I shy from the latter.

We are, “a by-product,” as a good friend of mine says “of a lot of productivity”—of productive energy on the part of many others. The spirit is the shield and pointing towards salvation. This may come across as a very Semitic notion. I see it a little differently; as available to all. We must commit ourselves. Not to die, but an acceptance to what lies ahead and around; so in that sense committing to death. Much like being in the center of centers. You are not seeking death, but seeking your nature. Seeking who you are. Being one with the light as it shines upon you, as it awakens you, as it awakens us to awareness.