Even though I promised myself a while ago not to throw any painting away anymore, even not to paint over them, I tried to throw this one away.
Don’t you also think of it as ugly as well? Yet, there is something powerfully memorable or rememberable about it.
Is that the texture or the bold gestural confidence it emits. Maybe the conveyance of superstitious energies which have been encapsulated. This strange insect-like man flying over a road sweeps a car racing beneath. Perhaps a traveller from another world… Mistakenly landed here and not yet reformed fully.
I haven’t seen him in my dreams nor I’ve ever fantasized about him. I don’t even believe in the existence of such creatures. Just a random creation of the creative forces. The randomness of happenings is not my thing. Cause and reason don’t accept randomness.
Somehow, the act of painting embodies him. Thought takes shapes. As real as any other object, distorted or not, painted or thought. The power of an artist is the ability to materialize the energies in different forms. Francis Bacon used to predict the future in his paintings, painting not yet happened/lived scenes which looked absurd to the models/friends.
One early Saturday morning, not long ago from today, I called a clairvoyant. I found him from an online website. I chose him among many others. Clairvoyants, psychics, mediums…
The clairvoyant I chose could see the future, was stated on his profile, and hear from spirits. Some spirits would come during the chat and give guidance. I am always curious about this kind of stuff. ESP (Extra Sensory Perception), Turkish coffee cup reading ( Is there something called faith or a readily available path? I believe in mind. We learn to be who we are and we are to be perceived. But, that doesn't change the fact that I called a clairvoyant at a moment of life-doubt.
This gentleman, from the start, getting things wrong, told me about an art area called psychic-art. Psychics draw-paint and create art by connecting to spirits. When they finish the painting process, they generally have no recollection of the process.
Not to worry, I am not one such. Still, that is always I believe how people “create” art through connecting with energies of sorts according to their level of skills and knowledge to recall during that zoned out connection time.
Apophenia (/æpoʊˈfiːniə/) is the tendency to mistakenly perceive connections and meaning between unrelated things. The term (German: Apophänie) was coined by psychiatrist Klaus Conrad in his 1958 publication on the beginning stages of schizophrenia. He defined it as "unmotivated seeing of connections [accompanied by] a specific feeling of abnormal meaningfulness". He described the early stages of delusional thought as self-referential, over-interpretations of actual sensory perceptions, as opposed to hallucinations.
The psychological phenomenon that causes some people to see or hear a vague or random image or sound as something significant is known as pareidolia (par-i-DOH-lee-a).
The Rorschach inkblot test, an attempt to gain insight into a person's mental state.
The word is derived from the Greek words para, meaning something faulty, wrong, instead of, and the noun eidōlon, meaning image, form or shape. Pareidolia is a type of apophenia, which is a more generalized term for seeing patterns in random data.
In 2007 in Singapore, a callus on a tree resembled a monkey, leading believers to pay homage to the "Monkey god."
A cinnamon bun bearing a likeness of Mother Teresa was first discovered at the Bongo Java Café in Belmont, Tenn was on display for about 10 years, until it was stolen on Christmas day in 2007.
For Carl Sagan, it was a survival tool.
I am more on the Leonardo da Vinci plane on this as the times are not hunter-gatherers.
"If you look at any walls spotted with various stains or with a mixture of different kinds of stones, if you are about to invent some scene you will be able to see in it a resemblance to various different landscapes adorned with mountains, rivers, rocks, trees, plains, wide valleys, and various groups of hills,", Leonardo Da Vinci.
That’s simply how I paint. The divine connection to the unseen, a vision to beyond the tangible reality, the creative force, Pareidolia.
Will I call a clairvoyant again, I am asking this question to myself since. The answer is, yes. At another time of a mind turmoil early in the morning, no run or a brisk walk could calm my rushing mind down. When the only way to reach the tranquil shores would be painting or working, and yet I obtain no power to do either. I will go and browse through profiles of many clairvoyants with a curious pleasure, read about their tarot skills, their connections with angels, spirit guides and I will press the call button. I will ask a direct question, a precise, well-prepared one and I will wait like a bronze age statue. I will wait for the clairvoyant to do what he/she does best, to connect with the other worlds and bring the messages to me. I will not speak randomly to create a suspicious suspension as I did the last time, but wait like a stoic before a coming storm, tasting the smell of earth in the grey rains.
Still, that doesn’t explain why my painting has been haunting me. Painting it was a ride through an abstract, the buildings were emitting evening light and my goosebumps were licking the empty air. A breeze from the South and couple raindrops tightened my senses. I was painting and was in the zone. After hours of toggling, chipping off the plaster, carving out the shapes that meant to be there, I turned the canvas upside down as a habit in abstraction. That is when I saw that strange semi-insect go like creature flying over the car through the vastness of the city road.
After I took a bunch to recycle place, I went home feeling relaxed after a collision of a mission.
As vivid as it can get, I remember putting it in the car and leaving it outside the large metal bin with the other items.
4 days later, here it was, hanging with pride outside of my studio wall which I share with Alan. Got it, I said, looking directly to the crooked smile radiating behind the dripping yellowish coat of resin. “You thought you can get rid of me but here I am. I can fly…” it said, or I heard so.
Even though possibly I have never taken it down the recycle, highly likely, I just have a distorted memory. I remembered my intentions as if they were clear acts. ı know this to be the fact yet it still doesn’t make sense.