Theloopylululog

These are snapshots of cracks, rocks, the rise and the fall of the sun and the pitter patter of the rain on battered ray kissed walls.

What do you see?
Life, Death or the luminous Waltz of life romancing Death?
Do you see cracked walls, chipped paint, a building that looks almost fossilized?
Or the story of a life; a journey of a flower from the bud to a full blossom?

The walls you see here are the walls of the terrace of my building. I live on the top floor, so I have been privy to their cracks as if they were the wrinkles of my skin.

To me, they are Art. They carry the veins of the story of my life from a young graduate student to the blossoming of all that I am today.

Their spine might be creaking now but they have stood witness to the journey of my rise and fall between heartbreaks ladled from the bowl of the Universe by beloveds, strangers, jobs, career, friends and relations.

They have held my grief cupped to their bosom as hot pain seared through my heart and left me singed with experience and wisdom. As rage and frustration against the world for not giving me a chance threatened to suck me dry from within, they have stood guard sheltering me from self sabotage.

Shorn of colour and vigor now they may be, but they have been the eyes and ears to the best times of my life as love waltzed in and the dream of being a solopreneur came true.

The greys of the walls tell the age of the building but is that all there is to them?

Do you hear the song of the cracks as wind howls through them?
Do you see the blood rushing through their heart as I pine for a love that got stranded in the borders of man-made lands?
Do you feel the rush of joy in their fading colours as I narrate to them my conversations with Shiva?
Do you smell our humbled pride as we look up together; the sky awash with the azures of the clouds and the yellows of the sun, painted by the wings of the starlings and the screech of the parrots?

These walls are home. Keepers of my dreams.

Scruffy to touch but soft as light to rest my body against, 
As the evening thunders ahead to meet the knights of the dark weaving nightly prayers into the train of dusk...
What dreams may come as the night falls?
The sun kisses them ever so softly as it rides over dawn drenched skies, waking the books of our life awaiting a new chapter of the day.

The walls of my house got a lick of fresh paint as time passed by. In the 26 years of their life, these walls of the rooftop never got one, bearing the gut wrenching onslaught of ever changing weather but stood tall and proud, watching over me. They know to read the music of my heart as I know to read the story of their soul.

So what do you see when you see these barren walls?
Art? Or just fading paint and creaking cement?
Walls? Or a wise soul keeping time?
Bricks? Or the flute of Christ?

Welcome to Lulu’s Art!

A series on all things art close to my heart.

What do you see in my art?

Art is all about perception. Its a sensory experience; all your senses experience my art in a way that is uniquely yours.

How you receive a piece of my art is just as important as how much I give of myself to it. What I leave behind in my art is a signature that is all mine and which will outlast me. What you receive from it is a signature that is all yours and which certainly will outlast you.

I believe art is never just created by one person. It is a blueprint of the Universe that we all partake together; one giving it form while the other receives it.