Perception by Zeynep
Share Article I patrol a new planetary manifestation. Compassion discovers abstract letters expressing the madness of art. A work of art is never finished. It is abandoned. A wild ink master.
Being correct is never the point. I’d rather be real than right. Be sincere.
Humans take themselves too seriously. They need to play more. It is impossible to take anything seriously. Hang around listening/observing anxiety, fear, loss, beauty and truth and ...
How do you express a sensation a gesture, a fleeting impermanent lapse of consciousness, a smile, a tear, asked Rita, manifesting as a young singing girl waters dust in Cambodia as sunlight filters through palm trees casting golden rays and long shadows.
I am a dust collector, said Tran. I’ve collected dust in Vietnam, the Sahara, in Ulus, Turkey with Errol the antique dealer and the carpet man teaching his son thread repair. While climbing toward Drepung monastery near Lhasa one brilliant frozen morning. In Korla, an oasis along the Silk Road where yellow is the original color produced by the silkworm’s saliva.
One thread is 300 meters long and stronger than steel.
Swirling dust in Cambodia is a deep rusty red, said Rita. My path is a watercolor pigment traced by footprints grooving new tributaries of passage.
Walk softly as if your eyes are on the bottom of your feet, said Tran.
If your legs get heavy walk with your heart, said Devina.
