Black & White Geometries - Breathing
BnW Geometries, Ushering …
So many doors, windows, apertures everywhere .. but you are still inside. Why? Come, take a peek from that second window in the left. I see a woman tending to her garden. She talks to the plants like her own kids. You can just feel her warmth all the way over here, right? See there’s her kid too. Prancing, trying to catch butterflies. Curious and delighted. You see his spark? Infectious, isn’t it?
Go to that door in the centre, open it, look through. You see that guy running over the ridges? Go, challenge him. You might just be amazed by your own strength. Or see that old man cracking the stones to make his way through? Go, help him clear the debris. You might just learn to build that castle you always dreamt of. Join that girl who is trying to climb the peak, trying to reach the top she cannot yet see. Go, be her. You might just cross over the clouds and find a different universe. Go ahead. Step out.
Its been a while. Where is she? And how? I peek through all the casements one by one. From left to right, moving to the upper layers. I reach the end, to the top window. Oh there! I see her. She found colours! She doesn’t dream anymore, she discovered the truth. Truth — the only thing she ever really cared about. She doesn’t hope for the best or wish for the impossible but embraces the gifts she has. She has shed those tinted glasses. Now she soaks up every little detail around her with honest eyes, touches every moment with her heart. She doesn’t collect memorabilia and trinkets anymore. She used to love them. She bade them the warmest farewells. They don’t burden her anymore. She is free. Now she rides the highest waves and laughs the sweetest laughter. Her skin is nothing but a transparent veil. She is weightless. Now, she sees herself. She is free.
BnW Geometries, Singing …
He walks alone, seeking a haven
A fire burns inside him, the glow of which the world sees
But it is fire — so it feeds, to keep itself alive — it burns him
He smiles from ear to ear, but his eyes are heavy
His voice has love and hope, but his heart isn’t trusting
He feels, but without really feeling, without drowning
He wants everything, but not the pride to own them
He is a giant, but belittles himself before the stars and mountains
He is addicted, but not to his chains
He hides, to find himself in pages
He is juvenile, with a wearied old soul
He is broken, but none of the pieces are lost
He is tough, but afraid, the past betrays his faith
He revels in his strength, but afraid, of the collateral damage
He is proud of himself, but afraid, of who he is, of what he could become
He believes in love, but doesn’t hold on to it, he lets it go
He leaves, promising never to return, but comes back, always
He is content, just not at peace
BnW Geometries, Transforming …
Heavens wrinkle past
Glass to stone, love to hate, wait,
For time awakens
There is an idea behind the three: I wanted to pick mundane images — just lines and angles, colourless, lifeless — and transform them somehow, brighten them up. But how? Through editing/filters, adding songs or making reels? The answer clearly lied in ‘Stories’.
Traditionally, stories have provided a flow to understand complex ideas. You assimilate one big pretty interlinked structure much better than its hundred separate little intangible elements. That is what grandparents’ stories does for kids, what mythology does for us. Stories hold us by instigating a response, either emotional, or in the form of a long lost memory or as a dream of the unknown. Whenever I visit a touristy place, I always get a local guide. They just breathe life into those age old stacks of bricks and mud with stories of dancing queens and glory days. Stories about battles and hardships become the testament to our strength today. Folklore keeps cultures alive. They make us love and sacrifice. For, how long can you stare at lumps of rock and gas without connecting the dots and frolicing with lions and stags in the night sky :)
This was the idea.
The first in the series has the windows and doors ushering a girl cooped up inside to go out and get it all, everything she has always wanted, and finally find peace. The heart of that prose is something I have been profusely thinking about lately and probably why I percieved the image in that manner.
The second was a character profile of that stranger walking alone down the grand staircase. It was about a person who inspired and confused me at the same time. Me being an idealist is always captivated by head-strong hard-working ethical enlightened people but getting too close reveals contradictions which leave me disappointed, doubtful about the capabilities of humans.
This third one had me thinking about Transformations. Role of Stories. And Time.
Luna