Magazine article UNESCO Courier

A Tiny Bubble in the Silence of the Infinite

Magazine article UNESCO Courier

A Tiny Bubble in the Silence of the Infinite

Article excerpt

An apology is clue from me for my intrusion into the world of pictures, thus offering a perfect instance of the saying that fools rush in where angels fear to tread. I, as an artist, cannot claim any merit for my courage; for it is the unconscious courage of the unsophisticated, like that of one who walks in dream on a perilous path, who is saved only because he is blind to the risk.

The only training which I had from my young days was training in rhythm, rhythm in thought, rhythm in sound. I came to know that rhythm gives reality to that which is desultory, which is insignificant in itself. And therefore, when the scratches in my manuscript cried, like sinners, for salvation, and assailed my eyes with the ugliness of their irrelevance, I often took more time in rescuing them into a merciful finality of rhythm than in carrying on what was my obvious task.

In the process of this salvage work I came to discover one fact, that in the universe of forms there is a perpetual activity of natural selection in lines, and only the fittest survives which has in itself the fitness of cadence, and I felt that to fit the heterogeneous into the balance of fulfilment is creation itself.

My pictures are my versification in lines. If by chance they are entitled to claim recognition it must be primarily for some rhythmic significance of form which is ultimate, and not for any interpretation of an idea, or representation of a fact.

The world of sound is a tiny bubble in the silence of the infinite. The Universe has its language of gesture, it talks in the voice of pictures and dance. Every object in this world proclaims in the dumb signal of lines and colours the fact that it is not a mere logical abstraction or a mere thing for use, but is unique in itself, it carries the miracle of its existence.

There are countless things which we know but do not recognize in their own dignity of truth, independent of the fact that they are injurious or beneficial. It is enough that a flower exists as a flower, but my cigarette has no other claim upon me for recognition than as being subservient to my smoking habit.

But there are other things which in the dynamic quality of rhythm or character make us insistently acknowledge the fact that they are. …

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