The Not so 'Closing Statement'

Why not let the lack of a statement be my statement? The absence of ideology, my ideology. Just like a child, I attempt a hundred ways to play with an object, even if trained otherwise. Fixation on one way? That's for adults.

To be a child is not to be an adult. Not to be certain, comfortable, or confident. That’s where play ends and curiosity dies. The brain settles for optimism, seeking stops, and certainty takes over.

Dreams need control? Authenticity requires absolutely no control at first, then just a bit here and there, and finally a newfound sense of control in the work session, absolutely temporarily! Why else dream, paint, or live?

Nurturing a cause, spewing social commentary, pragmatism, or worse, focusing on skill and technique—these choke the freedom to sail, forbid the urge to find unknown seas and forests. Worth visiting or not, unless I go there, unless I let my subconscious take over, I’ll never find the bare, the core, the source code (despite the full comprehension that there isn't one!)

The bridge of pragmatism and intellect is dangerous for art. You don't get to touch the waves. It’s like half-sleeping, waking, and waiting for dreams to happen. Control never given up, authority and worth never handed over!

And why must a work of art be rushed to understanding the moment you see it in a gallery? Who trains the public to decipher it, to find clues and interpret faster and fairly? Reflection is the last mile of 'meeting' a work of art. Before that, some say, it's interpretation. Better than that, analysis, that's the one! Analysis, my friend, is the worst of intellectual judgments, Pure hopelessness with the word get go! 'Understanding the work'? Sure, if you give it 10 minutes of undivided attention. But do we have that kind of patience these days? Sex isn't supposed to last that long, hunger doesn't hold for a few minutes once we start stuffing food. Forget these, divinity for 10 minutes! Too much to aspire for!

Back to art puzzle, (only) appreciation for some! Understanding isn’t about dissecting the art, it’s about drinking it, making it part of your bodily fluid. Stick your experience to it, extend yourself until it causes pain. Forced appreciation and those wretched compliments like 'nice' and 'lovely' should be banned in galleries. Just say, 'No.' 'That's absurd' is a genuine expression, though.

Not every artwork impregnates everyone who shakes hands with it. It requires the synchronicity of a magical wavelength that might or might not happen. You can’t force or inject it on demand. A work doesn’t need to find its own meaning. Every piece of art is passive, despite what artists or critics say. The moment it’s declared complete or abandoned by the artist, it seizes to remain active. It freezes in one of many infinite forms. It’s the viewer’s active engagement that gives it life back, a new meaning.

A quick checklist:

No chemical reaction guarantees a result.

No number ends in a specific conclusion.

No constitution remains unchanged.

No religious figure embodies the ultimate truth.

No commandment is unreachable.

No scientific axiom defines life or intellectual inquiry.

No lyrics but music, no being but being-ness, flavours beyond taste buds, a sensational smoke of no rigid form, colours beyond the visible spectrum, tendencies that are incalculable.

So here I am, scribbling this personal note. A reminder: don’t let the fixations of adulthood kill my curiosity. Let the subconscious roam free. Maybe I’ll find something real. Maybe I won’t. But at least I’ll know I jumped to..swim, rather admiring the waves from that 'wretched bridge'. And if all else fails, I’ll remind myself that even Stalin had off days, and our billionaires probably got stuck in traffic at least once.