Art for Art's Sake

 It is perhaps anachronistic to visit a gallery and view visions of death. For some, it is an expectation, a challenge. How many times can works of art make me question my mortality, my existence. Give meaning to life, to everything.


They watch, pupils are missing but the elements are there. Reflections, side-eyes. Scribbles and monkeys and sepulchral films. The lonely sound of water.


It is made, curated to interact, engage the senses. Lap at you like the baby waves at the foot of idyl beach.


Do you see how the high tide eyes you from the horizon?


Walk, walk, don't notice the reflections. Notice the absence of footsteps, noise is gobbled up. There must be absence.


X-Rays and the radiation they use are harmless in small quantities. Yet done often enough, they are fatal. That's why doctors stand behind blast doors.


Ever wonder why people say they feel stripped before a work of art?


To be seen through again and again to the barebones of you, wavelengths that we didn't know existed make the work of these works much easier.


How does it feel to be the subject of voyeurism? To feel the places switch, to know that with each person, the artwork gets a new meaning. They remain static, in their place, unchanging. They will remain after you leave, this plane or the next. They will stay, petrified. Stone yes, but they are not the ones with a sickness in their guts and unease guiding their darting eyes.


How does it feel?


Do you ever wonder what they would say about you?


Do you know what the light of their x-ray is blocked by? What is seen? What doesn't pass the test of being visible in a certain light.


A twilight studio, voyeur and voyeured, removed from reality.


Yet, the traffic blares through, and the enchantment is broken.


What lurks in the realm of twilight... follows, curious, speckled, clear.


Twilight, the space for the unearthly. Light is but a moment. Everything becomes the past even as we think of it. We always exist in a state of constantly creating histories.


Nothing can stay.


We never are. We always were.


The light comes, the walls darken in shadow. Your eyes grow heavy.


There's a reason why slumber in daylight is deeper, heavier.


Would you like to find out?
Location: Jalandhar, Punjab, India

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