I painted this poem in a state of mind that has no beginning - no end. This may be because of my wandering several places - cities, towns, villages, aborigine settlement in forests. Besides I was born and brought in a village in Konkan region, west coast of India, in my formative years. I wandered with purpose, without purpose, without any blinkers of caste - class, religions, culture, ideals, goals, civilised values, likes-dislikes; even to this date.
During one of these days of wanderings, this painted poem, materialized in 1985, (I didn't even record the date). In such a state the dimensions of time-work-speed-place-space are secondary. I wonder if this "painted poem" fits aesthetics of arts and letters? I doubt if it could be called art or a poem. I am sure it dosn't fit in any compartments created by civilised society, though the words seem familiar!
Not only this, but I doubt, if I could be called an artist in an accepted sense. But this need not block any one from self-expression!
While the graphic is fixed, the words are fluid. One may read it top down, or bottom up. The interpretations may vary with every person.
(World Environment Day: 05-06-09)
© Remigius de Souza, all rights reserved.