My studio is a part of my consciousness. My imagined images move between them. My consciousness plays a game with my emotions. The world around my studio rolls by like a steamroller, crushing everything on its path. The love, the feeling, the beauty and the nature that surrounds us, while the music in my ears flows past me.
The rhythm, the poetic beauty of the song. Somewhere deep inside my head, it touches something. Somewhere in my consciousness, I become one with the beat of that music. Music caresses my emotions. I dream away on the waves of the sounds produced.
The paradox of feeling and reason. The difference between creativity and innovation of art. The cultural tension of the now, in which I live. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
The philosophical question could be: is it art that I make? Am I imagining that I am creating art? Or is it a part of my consciousness, which I think is a reality? Is my consciousness a fundamental condition for surviving every day? Am I living consciously? Or is it just my emotions that keep me going?
The steamroller continues to roll. When I look at the trail it leaves behind, I sometimes lose heart. In the distance, the rumble of the all-crushing steamroller disappears. I can’t stop it. Curious. Sometimes the steamroller is received with cheers. However, when he has passed, the cheers turn into an awkward silence.
The music caresses my feelings. Through the poetic beauty of that, I force consciousness and emotions to align. My imagined images don’t move anymore. They are still on the canvas. I let the music caress my ears again. It’s as if a wonderfully beautiful woman is silently passing by.
The doubt that I should only immerse myself in my creations, or interfere more with this world? Fighting against an immense field of tension of a battle between good and evil? To interpret the beauty of man’s imagination? To cover up the endless ugliness of man?
I can’t turn off my consciousness, even in my sleep. The steamroller rolls on until there is nothing left to crush. Culture and civilization are then dissolved into nothingness. The love is gone. The beauty is gone, the feeling is untouchable. In the end, it is nature that will outlive us, if this civilization has long since been bulldozed.
The music brings me back to consciousness. Reason imposes itself on me mercilessly. The depicted images are fixed on the canvas. After all, that’s my world.
No steamroller will be able to touch me. The imagination is untouchable and will only disappear through death.