Perhaps one of the more poetic and indispensable lessons one learns while making art is how to ultimately attain that state of cognizance–of the self
Perhaps one of the more poetic and indispensable lessons one learns while making art is how to ultimately attain that state of cognizance–of the self and of the surround. Many artists successfully bathe in the enlightenment; others continue to struggle. And while few negate its necessity most argue that one can never be fully aware despite their relentless efforts.
There is, however, a swelling visibility of artists who incorporate this thought as an active discourse in their praxis. After all, artists are archaeologists. Artists are historians. They document, enshrine, and harbour those fleeting moments before they dissipate and leave no trace behind. By tethering their audience with ineluctable reminders, they evoke them to cherish the immortalized transience in nostalgic reverence – or even obloquy in some cases – which interestingly loans the ephemeral existence of those instances more weight and permanence after their passing.
These unpremeditated photographs served as an auxiliary product during an artist’s residency. It brought moments of realization of how the activity of making work is potent enough to create ripples in its surrounding. Despite being far from taking shape, the process moulds the environment with its intervention; and in response the setting too affects the presence of the process as well as its emerging identity.
It is idyllic yet poignant how the cyclical volatility of nature is a stark evidence to the co existence of permanence and caducity. Each shadow under the sun, each breeze and its resulting sway of the leaves, each tone painted across the walls and across the entire horizon lasts only three seconds before it mutates further. The only permanence remains in its recurrence. After all, the sun always sets; with an everlasting promise that it will return again.