My visual voyage has been a long tireless journey, walking for over five decades on a multiple layered path with uneven textures, constantly searching for silent lazy forms that are floating around in my wild arena of creativity, illusively appearing, and mysteriously disappearing on snow-like surfaces of canvas, staggering and strolling, moping with brush, tearing with paint, leaving behind foot prints in colour.

I hear my restless brush breathing aloud with its noisy heart beat while rolling in my fingers, moving musically dipped in paint. There is an inexplicable joy and fear with doubts in playing with mute forms placing together to create a symphony in turning silence into echo of breath to be heard through inner ear with brush strokes on canvas.

Forms do feel suffocated and uneasy when an odd-looking form sits next. They are unfriendly and rude and do not jell with each other when placed in a wrong perspective. It’s like one wrong scale note played in a musical band. There is so much of accumulative burden dumped in mind with visual stampede, affecting the freshness that is needed for the ecstasy on canvas. Less is more. The canvas can become talkative and annoying if not heard with sensitive eye.

Every day, the mornings are spent looking at works that I had been seeing for unknown times. The frustration silently erupts and affects the quality of work. Canvases tired of resting on easel for long, are desperately looking for a change of fresh air on new walls with warm lights and inquisitive viewers in admiration. Looking back in silence, sitting mute on the rear seat in the crowd, I am wondering and searching within myself about my work, if there is something in my painting that I shouldn’t have…or…