Sunflowers And Daydreams
Written by: Sourima Chakraborty
In times of great uncertainties, I have found myself resorting to words, rhythms, colors and nuances. I live in a society which predominantly believes that art and literature are pastimes of the elite. A career is built out of shuffling resumes, spewing out business jargons, and at the end of every ambition, there is a truckload of money to buy perks and stupor. The ‘real world’ runs on chariot wheels of anxiety, and there are always a few who tend to fall out of line. But, contrary to what spiritualists might say, this ‘falling out of line’ is not a moment of salvation, either. Can one fall out of one’s human tendencies or necessities? And when he is standing all by himself, having given up all designated roles played in the world, can he help being afraid?
I often think about all those times when wishes are spoken, with such marvelous simplicity, to stars, Gods, or anything overhead, and a gnawing realization follows that often they actually come true, only not in the way we had imagined. Just as, if a paper man were to find himself alive one fine day, perhaps, he’d be exhilarated, confused, and fascinated at the same time, marveling at the fact that he could contain so much. And he had lived all along, in his books, knowing there are only two sides to the page, and that is all there is.
Perhaps there are as many layers to perception, as there are brushstrokes in a painting. Even a layman would agree that a painting is more than just an assemblage of individual brush strokes. But to an artist, it is as much about each stroke of brush, as it is about the final painting, or the vision of the painting that he carries all along. Each caress of a paintbrush is his confrontation with his own naked reality, and there is nowhere to hide or escape to, not even in the promise of the beautiful picture he might think he’s working towards. Yet he learns the strangeness of symmetry from sunflowers. He is fascinated by patterns which speak to him in a language he does not understand. Perhaps, he understands the mystery of symmetry better when he looks at the whole picture with an objective clarity. By objective clarity, I refer to a quality which prevents him from searching for pockets of familiarity in the foreignness, or from disregarding the foreignness in the familiarity. But nonetheless, he harbors within him an overwhelming appreciation for each and every detail, and also revels in their insignificance.
