On art ... carried away by the music of masters

Early morning music today - the classics of instrumental symphonies and sonatas and pieces by masters. Each piece tells a story. It is a communication, if one has the ears to hear what is said and a listen to all of it. Of course the language is nothing literal but of a current the underlies verbal communication, of the flavor of a story, flavor of the emotion that animates speech, animates a person in a symphony of everyday talk through everyday living. Makes me wonder what my sketches would speak of; don’t think it is only that which is intended to be spoken for the whole is more than sum of its parts. Not surprising yet surprised that I should think of sketching as I listen to music. Art is afterall a wave of passion and merging with the inspiration that spans across time and space into different media and get expressed, verbally or nonverbally or both, I guess.

Documenting a 'historical' moment in my personal life...for my records.

Took a step today. Bought myself an eisel. In wood. It is the elephant in the room after the treatment couch. Incidentally the eisel made me aware that the couch is the biggest elephant, as it should be, as I want it to be in a certain sense. But of course in the end each thread weaves into an embroidery like an orchestra the feel of which determines its oxygen'ness and oxyneableness.

Don't you shush me!

Sounds, needless to say, play a very big role on our mental makeup. ‘shh’ a dangerous sound. Insignificant and innocent as it seems, is a wordless way to tell the brain to shut up, to not express. A nasty thing I learned to do when I had voices in my head which needed to be heard, to be expressed, for I was busy surviving through what should have been fought against with all my might. The suppression of what makes a person that person; the suppression which makes that person have a secret silent under-the-surface life, that makes a person develop a persona to put up with the world. Shh. It is uttered to stop a child from crying, from speaking out loud, expressing emotions, voicing an opinion..first by people around and then u do that to yourself as a conditioned reflex to quiet down what clamours to be heard.

Yearn

Maybe at the heart of life is a yearn that is just as part of what keeps life ongoing as the Chaos; perhaps both are related. Subtleties. It is like the lingering taste in the mouth, the sentence that says and yet leave soft ripples of meanings, a warm fuzzy feeling from the bonfire or candle, a softness in the eye of understanding. It sort of fills something inside and yet opens a door for more space and lingers on a faint silent yearn.