Tuesday, September 19, 2006


What are my daubs and scribbles all about? Each medium I practice seems to possess its own individual nature and character. Whether its painting or writing, it appears to manifest a different emotional tone. For example, my paintings have a bright, energetic and entirely positive quality. They touch on spiritual feelings and have, for me, a background in the warming fires of what I consider is my faith. This remains unchanged over time and is seemingly unaffected by transitory moods. Writing ,however, becomes a conduit for more negative melancholic strata, the darker emotional passages of my psyche. So my diary entries of late have focused on the less sweet aspects of my current state, namely frustration, boredom and despondency. These have been dominant experiences in recent months, but they aren’t a balanced or complete representation of how I am day to day. They are just the shards of a particular moment that got stuck in a narrowed perception.

I don’t regret what I write or paint, but I do sense their incompleteness as forms of expression. Any earthly endeavour being grounded in feeling and nature, is bound to be limited by circumstance, to be partial and incomplete. The paintings, the poetry and the prose can therefore only be channels for distinctly individual forces and colours of feeling. The struggle is for a sense of complete expression, though the results always fall far short of it.

For me, writing and painting do share some characteristics. They both combine a seriousness of vision and intent with a playfulness and lightheartedness in the struggles of the creative process. These are also, I note, two dominant facets in my personality. I can sense their presence in my spiritual practice and my approach to work, as well as play. I am aware that the seriousness tends to be worn too heavily and becomes rigid persistence. I guess the lighthearted playful side acts as a counter balance. It enables me to continue when the vision is thwarted, and thwarted it is. That is life though, a clash between aspirations and conditions. Somewhere sandwiched between the rolling out of our ideals and the inevitable clash with reality, lies the hard won fruits of our spiritual and creative practice.

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