love love again
tkhareendran
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In a hot summer evening, remembering Kafka who had instructed his friend to destroy all his works
after his death and Kawabatha who embraced the death himself , when the self decimating farmers and the fertile earth come
up like a question mark, when Ram Kinker and Krishna kumar stroll between us , at that heavily silenced moment of an
aborted rain,.. I told Jhony and Mrinal that I would be presenting a ''Tree'' for their art exhibition.
At the peak of the hard and chaotic collective thought of ours , we felt a Tree, a Tree that gives us its shade , life and dreams
and fill us with love and desires.
The evening went on like that .
However , like the primitive core of all lives , that Tree remained in me.
I dreamt of a Banyan tree from the dance of a blade of grass.
I intently looked at the portrait of that Tree , which was towering over me .
Where are the contours of that tree?
I conjured up a line created by the path of ants and marched towards it .
How many touchy moments should I cross? Shall I see innumerable images of lives that were born and died here ?
Small fishes, the fireflies of the water dreams.
The successors of those turtle who went to see the end the land and sea.
Like the philosophical symbols underlining the futility of borders , birds that forfeited their nests
Ancestors, frozen like the alphabets of silence , tearless and they listen for the sounds from the earth .
Everything shows the way towards the tree of life , all webbed by the bonding and stands in its nudity of fruition .
I move among the host of images , timeless.
Is each image , multiply itself forward and backward and create endless doors of reflection?
The door that the images free themselves from their own limitations , the branch - like doors , the root- like doors.
Shall one call a space a Tree , where everything comes to roost ?
This tree is evolving ,.It is evolving to the remnants of a village culture , up rooted and dried up in loneliness
from the image of a tree where men , fish , birds and turtles have roosted.
Like a picture of those primitive habitats , which we abandoned , like the findings of an excavation.
That picture fills the sky. Endless views of mirages.
There is a river at the other end of the mirages that takes all those lighted dreams to the sea , they say
Why does my mind connect the picture of this life tree ,dreams , river and mirages with another story ?
The thought provoking plot of Akira Kurosawa's'' Ikiru''
The picture of a municipal officer who realizes that there is only one year left for him to live on this earth as he is afflicted by a
terminal illness.
In front of the illness , all those dramas that he played in his life lose their meanings and become disguises.
He run for a bit of truth to hold up his sinking life .
What he could do ? He decided to do something.
With his diminishing strength , he took up a project for a children's park at the outskirts of the city with so much of passion and love .
That night ....what did he sing at that night ?
That night when all his efforts , which others do not understand , come true... That night of snow and moonlight , the night he
would sleep forever..
What did he sing while sitting alone in that swing at the children's park...?
Friends....
Time is so short and life so beautiful,
So love and love again friends,
Before the drought comes for us ,
Before the river , dreams , turtles, fish
And mirage dry up forever.....
Something like that...
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/some words in the time of installation/
![video art [PAM] logo](http://www.perpetualartmachine.com/templates/corp/images/video_art_pam_9.jpg)
Lee Wells
