f e a r . o f . f l y i n g

i am always afraid of flying. it doesn’t feel right.
Penetrating the sky in a heavy aluminum tube sounds eerie.
not as simple as an earthworm’s journey under the soil.
it takes some time for me to be comfortable in my seat.
i transport myself into one of dali' s paintings sometimes,
and just trust the technology and believe in the unknown.

i remember my early flying experiences.
the magical memory of flying over mount renoir
the surreal castles of clouds near and far, up and down,
i remember vividly, flying over arabian sands, distant oasises,
waves of dry mountains and the endless blue of the pacific,
once, in london seeing the rain over the buckingham palace.
a shrap memory of a tiny cruiser blazing across the atlantic blue.
my first flight over manhattan was on a saturday night years ago
and it felt like i was in the movie ‘blade runner’
i like the window seat and its coziness
clouds dance deep down in a different time lapse,
i can see the dusty wind over the vast plains,
and the dreamy mist over the mississippi delta
visuals fill my face with high spirit and warmth
i am always afraid of flying, but i kind of love it...

i think we all get this humble feeling of smallness,
when we look down at humans, my own species,
totally lost between the foldings down below, restless like ants,
our wars, petty problems and conflicts...love, as well...
in a way, flying changes one's perspective for ever.
i am always afraid of flying, then agian, who isn't?

a l c h e m i s t

i took this picture in karnataka, india. i was moved by the similarity of the scene to the premise of the book 'the alchemist' by the brazilian novelist, paulo coelho. it is the story of santiago, a young shepherd. in his magical journey in search of a treasure, from spain to egyptian desert, he meets this alchemist and the story goes on with the journey...
a beautiful book. small but an intimate story about destiny, love and the meaning of it all.

interestingly enough, the copy of the book, which i got from the local library, had a hand written note from a previous reader.
its mysterious to get a message in a book.. it carries a mild melancholy and sense of loss too because one always likes to meet a person like that but misses the chance...

the note read like this;
"the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dream because every second of the search is an encounter with god and destiny. the closer one gets to realizing his destiny, the more that destiny becomes his true reason for living."

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photo: "santiago in india" karnataka, india / dec. 2006©sebastian

w e t . l i g h t

street. red light. stop.
rain. stop. fog light. breath.
think. dream. cloudy thoughts.
fog. wet light. stop. think.
wet street. light. reflect.
cloudy street. wet sky. stop.
slippery. stop. wet air. red light.
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photo: "wet street" /texas.sebastian©2006

l a r g e s t . p i c t u r e

people with integrity, naturally help to integrate;
ideas, situations, people encounters and conflicts.
one who has a split inside, accepts and rejects at the same time,
fragmented inside, causes disintegration;
likes to create chaos. inside manifests outside.

wise says, seeing the LARGER PICTURE,
both sides balance ultimately;
the whole thing is just a play.
but the PICTURE has to be really large, i guess,
the maximum possible one can imagine!
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photo: "the middle path" - floating buffalos
way to mysore, india /dec.2006©sebastian

s i s y p h u s . f i s h i n g

i saw a man fishing at the lake last sunday. as i was watching, he got a fairly big fish. he released it from the hook and let it go back to the lake at once. i realized that his way of fishing was just symbolic. 'fishing for fishing's sake'! he was not a serious fisherman, but a compassionate one!

but the young fish had a traumatic experience for a couple of minutes, which had made an imprint in its brain. a near death experience! rest of its life was going to be affected by it. its arousal mechanism was burned out by the extreme nature of this trauma. the threshold was crossed and the pleasure center had been affected by this. now on, it had to re-enact the same scenario to feel any pleasure again. seeds of attraction towards the ‘bad and the reckless’ behavior were planted. thus the possibility of one more aspiring 'misfit fish' was established.

for the man this was a time to get away from his household duties and sit in quietude with his beer and contemplate the whole morning. once in a while to break the silence, a fish will eat the bait for him to act upon and get into a moment of mild excitement. again he goes back to the stillness of the lake and the silence of the morning.

anything man does has a futility embedded in it. as death is real and life seems to be very short, humans do a lot of things to make some sense out of this absurdity; to be relevant. in the myth of sisyphus, as a punishment for his bad deeds, sisyphus is forced to roll a block of stone against a steep hill, which tumbles back down when he reaches the top. then the whole process starts again, lasting all eternity. his punishment was depicted on many Greek vases. he is represented as a naked man, or wearing a fur over his shoulders, pushing a boulder. interestingly enough, there is this exact legend in kerala(south india) folklore, the 'crazy naranath' does the same thing not as a curse, but as a daily routine. he laughs his hearts off as the stone tumbles down the hill! he does the same over again. here it is a funny thing he does to show the absurdity of all human endeavors. in another story, when the goddess kali appeared before naranath and asked for a wish, he said that if she was very particular about granting one, she could transfer the elephantitis on his left leg to the right one! dispassion of an absolutist!

photo: lake ray roberts / texas/ sebastian©2007

r e d . b e n c h

the red bench had a tall cement fence behind it.
cement chairs at indian rail-stations have long history.
the fence is conceptual and rather symbolic so to speak.
it is broken many places before the gate where you can get in and out.
like the gate of mulla nasaruddhin without the walls around it.
apparently indian railway has a sense of zen, I guess.

photo: tirur railway station, kerala, india. dec.sebastian©2006

i d e a . d o m a i n s

thoughts flicker and shimmer like fireflies,
a meadow studded with fluorescent jades.
domains of ideas are already out there;
we just pass through them.
some click and some don't.

darkness recedes into the twilight valley
and the wind spreads it further down.
too much oil in the lamp chokes the flame;
just enough to burn, works fine.


photo: lake ray roberts /north texas /©2007

a b s e n c e . o f . t h e . w i s e

when the wise hesitates to tell the truth out in the open; the manipulator gets on the stage and creates a facade. impostors politic the media and a parallel reality is created in the collective consciousness, which is reinforced every day. the play continues and it has taken a life of its own, like that of frankenstein. there is this element of automation functioning as a third factor. nobody seems to have much control over this. money and power lead the game. but the true perception of reality is rather that of a lonely observer. there is a mystery; there is the ecstasy and there is the surprise.

t h e . o t h e r s i d e

one who stands upside down sees the underbelly.
an illusionist uses the mysterious side of the mundane.
the visionary sees through the fog screen in front of reality.
the image-maker de/reconstructs and transports us to a new world.

if everyone in this planet is an organizer and a conformist,
it would have been in the shape of a cube, not a sphere, for sure.

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photo: just before my landing in new york city /jan.2007©

d a w n . t e x a s

photo: dawn / irving park/ texas©2007

f i r s t . b l u s h

silent stillness of the first blush
it's always a new show at the daybreak
why does the western sky blush
at the peep of sun in the east...
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photo - malibu beach / aug.2006©

w a r m . d r u m

the drum-skin is still warm from playing all night.
the bamboo flute still has the residue of that old song.
this tea house still has the fragrance of an ancient courtship.
memories left here are like seasoned wine; sweet and sour.
closed window brings the muffled whisper of the bamboo leaves
and are you still sleeping in that shade?
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photo: 'tea house' .japanese garden.fort worth.texas.feb.©2007

n e w . r i c h

new rich, new rules
new cars, new attitude
new houses, new fences
new faces, new frowns too!
new cloths, new emperors
new city for the new rich!

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photo: 'the machinist' .Chelsea.New York.Jan.©2007

i n . b e t w e e n

words are less than thoughts
the ‘in between’ of words are
more true to the original thought.
images are more than words.
the 'in between' images makes more sense.
even images can not say the exact ‘in between’ of two thoughts
for thoughts arise from the other side of words and images.


photo: lake ray roberts /texas /sebastian©2007

p a s s i o n

mighty presence of the trains.
intense receptivity of the iron tracks.
as they are linked and departed in junctions,
destiny is in their crisscrossed directions.
they run with a power of passion
and can not be stopped quickly.

c l u s t e r . s e r i e s . 7

'cluster series 7' watercolor / 10.mar.2007© / 12" x 16"

cluster
pile, lump, array, collection, lot, bunch,
set, gathering, batch, bevy, body, collection,
bundle, clump, pack, accumulation, aggregation,
association, band, assemblage, conclave, crowd,
gathering, group, huddle, multitude, mass...

l o c k e d

'locked' watercolor / 10.mar.2007 / 12" x 16"

confined. secured. protected.
restricted. bound. fastened.
closed. closed off. closed out.
caged. enslaved. ensnared. imprisoned.
in custody. incarcerated. incommunicado.
jailed. penned. subjugated. locked up.
locked. locked on. locked out.

c a b i n . f a n

'cabin fan' /watercolor /2007 /12" x 12"

s t u r d y

'sturdy' watercolor /2007 /12" x 14"

groundedness.
heavy feet and hands.
strong. sturdy. stocky ruggedness.
down to earthiness. rooted figures.
heavy machines. dense spaces. iron.
richard serra ‘s massive sculptures.
power of metallic space division.
tuned tension of a violin string.

c o n e . s p e a k e r s

'cone speakers' watercolor / 2007
(12" x 14")

c h a i r . v a r i a t i o n s

'chair variations' watercolor / 2007
(4 pieces; 12" x 14" each )

f o l d i n g s

f i r e . b u c k e t s

'fire buckets' watercolor on arches paper
02.mar.2007 / size: 30" x 23"

c h a n g e

thoughts change. they can not stay.
emotions change. they can not stay either.
body is aging moment by moment.
people and places are changing too.
time passes. or we pass through time.
i had a sense of myself since my early childhood;
and after all these years, when i am typing this,
have i changed my sense of self much? yes and no.
i went through many experiences that changed me.
but isn’t there a sense of 'self' that has not changed?
what is that unchanged core?
is that the real me?
i just wonder...