In symbol drama, I live through images—and then I draw them.
I already have many pictures. Some are so-so. Some are good.
Usually, a finished piece stays in front of me for a few days. While I work or read, I keep glancing at it. And often I notice something new—as if, trusting me more and more, it opens its depth.
But recently I realized that I look at this particular painting longer than any other. Strangely, I never considered it a real painting. It was just a spoiled sheet I used to wipe excess paint off my brush.
One day these scribbles “asked” to become the background for Buddha. And it became clear — yes, this works much better.
The colorful chaos now looks like fragments of his feelings, memories, and thoughts. Or like the mad outer world in which he sits in silence.
That’s how my unconscious created a symbol of the desired state. Everything familiar, dear, and habitual begins, to put it mildly, to change its form. And in this whirl, I lose and regain the center—without which there is no life.
You could call it a meaningless smear that makes you feel sad and sick. Or you could see it as a set of primary colors.
A sentence—or an invitation to create. That choice is ours.
In any mess, there is an abyss of sensations, meanings, and ideas.
And vice versa.
Sincerely yours,
-Alexander
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