Red rose petals assembled on a bare white winter ground; crystalline snow. Scattered to the wind, back to dust. I find you again and again and again. Death is the illusion. Don't ruin the dream.
This kind of art comes from Peru, but it shares similarities with Tibetan and American Southwestern Navajo and Hopi dry-painting. The native peoples of Australia also compose these kinds of works. I am always looking for new forms of impermanent art. There is always baking, but it's interesting is it not, when the works aren't consumed? Where do they go? They and the people come together for a brief moment in time, and return back to the wind or the ground. I can relate. My work is always changing, and I am always changing. There are few things that stick around.
In a way, I think we all have these kinds of auras that surround us. If you were to set one in another location, even very faraway I imagine the same colors and depths of our emotions would continue to surround us. You would have to obtain equilibrium with the environment around you. You, the environment, and people in the environment would come to a consensus. You would learn something new about the world and yourself. All these new things would manifest around you in your activities and surroundings.
I keep very few paintings. I respect impermanent art. It's so healthy to let go of things. When you begin an impermanent art you know right away what the purpose is; to be here right now. The act itself, and motions housed there within are the art. Your very interactions with the people who have come together for that moment are the art itself.
It is easy for artists to be consumed by their art; it is the world we live in reflected in paper and modeling. However, impermanent art allows for that energy to assemble, take form, and go back. There is a memory left behind. It's the closest thing in art I can imagine like a hockey or basket-ball game. Every member working together interdependently to achieve that single goal, and then everyone disperses afterward. I'd like to appreciate that ball going into the goal. I can't tell if the sports players are enjoying keeping it away from the other team, running around, testing the game's rules, or demonstrating their skill. All of those things artists and their associations do when composing impermanent works of art.
I love interdependence most, in a world that leans toward self-sufficiency. I am angered at the resulting coolness of heart that comes about because of this focus on the self. Am I not the sun who lights my eyes as much as I am the visions I perceive with those sunlit eyes? Am I not the shards of scattered wheat which make up the bread I consume? We are so much bigger than our bodies. Am I not the flickering remnants of film passing on the screen, echoes of hand-motions and body-stances? Am I not the articulated non-sense of language centuries passed on down in conversation and song? It is a miracle that we are (v.) this very moment. And by "are" I mean the verb in the most active sense of being.