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Fine Art Exhibitions


Naked Truth

In My Black-and-White Life

Artist at Work

Two Americas: Part II

God Is

Two Americas: Part I

More Joy of Jazz

Spell of Mountains

Joy of Jazz

Antonyms - Subjective Concepts Are Paradoxical

Anticipation

Naked Truth, Work III: the Journey Into Me (translitteration & translation of my voice atmidst 3-D sound scapes)




[squeaking boat bridge at night]
I am in pain. I must get out, before it is too late. I want to scream for help, but I cannot. I try to pull
myself out of the woods, but I cannot reach anything.

Finally, my reason takes charge. I take a chance, but again I get yelled at. They do not like me; or at least I am in the wrong place in the wrong time.

I do not care, I push forward by force if I must, so long I am conscious. I have a task, and I will not give up.




[in the middle cricket field at night]
When I look upon you, I see a million possibilities. But why did I have to travel to end of the world and back, only to meet you in my back yard. Perhaps it is chance - or faith - which is playing with us.

The moon silvers your face, but I dare not to touch you. It would break the spell, which I hope to last forever.

I wish to fly away with you, off from all all of this - to another place and time, where nothing and no-one will separate us.



[on top of a motor way crossing at night]
I wish to let you inside of me, but I am afraid that you will get lost on your way. To what might you run into? - Perhaps something grim and primal.

We search and search, but do not find each other. After all, we are are too strange to each other; too much prisoned by our pasts. Finally, you follow your path, and I mine.

We can't hear us anymore, although we SHOUT at the top of voice.



[on the ocean beach at night]
I must become free, find a new route to travel. To climb the crest of a wave, and let the wind take me away.

I must become part of the nature, find the truth about my roots. To set myself at the mercy of weather. I must understand myself, so that I can understand others.

Can YOU understand me?



[behind orthodox bells being played commemoration at high noon]
The hardest is letting go. To follow one's instincts, to go with the feeling, without the shred of ration. To be so free, that you do not need to care for anyone. To keep one's head, even if the authorities would grab you and lock you away.

To be so hard, that need not to be afraid of failure. To be so strong, that could believe with a proof. To be so devoted, that would not anything or anybody, to disturb oneself.

It is time for me to wake up.



[rain drops on window plate of tin plate at night]
I am alone, afraid. I MUST continue. I am so close, yet so far away.

My pace is heavy. I huff and puff, I am totally dead. I force myself to continue, I imagine my end point in front of me.

I take a step up, but slide two down. I keep on stamping on the one place, and the world moves around me. I see people huzzing and buzzing, laughing and crying, slaving and lazing. Where are they going to?



[on rooftop of a tower block at night]
I have come to the end of line, to the start and the end. I look down, I measure the length of my journey. It is so huge that it makes no sense.

Am I ready? I take a step, I try. I enter with both of my legs, and at the instant the pains strikes in. It is immediate, deadening, almost intoxicating. My whole body stretches tight, but I am still standing.

The pain is so powerful that I start to stutter. The rest of the world has already disappeared. When I have reached nirvana, I must stop.