Fantasy Of Disappearance Or Gender In Art 1

Natesh Muthuswamy

Don’t obsess. She told me. It meant, not to, over her. I applied it on everything. Since, of late, after Prannoy Roy started calling himself Dr. Prannoy Roy, I decided to call myself God! God blesses, “Natesh let there be some spark”?

This thing of microbes being responsible for dinosaurs’ disappearance, a new theory by scientists has “microbed” into me. I love scale. From megalomania? Earlier there was this amazing poet who’s a visionary with his drawings, Vaitheeswaran, told me, they died from diarrhea. So built a text around it, “dinosaur sambar”.

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An Ode To The Joyous Process

Natesh Muthuswamy

If you keep it tight it becomes spiritual. Or if it is the unseen, the felt, that you seek, it becomes tight. Tight is the word. Cumbersome too it becomes from material-needs since all else you had rejected in the process to make it bipolar and tight. “You” alone becomes enough. You, you and you without a reference point. At the moment of making, I mean, not while it is being built, technically called, the process. A reason why I don’t use the word creation is that the same can be said of a potter making water-pots. Has s/he got no anger, love etc.?

(Artist – Natesh M.)

The hardness of the paper, the smoothness of the tip of your pen, the fine flow of good ink and your fingertips becoming the conduit of your instinct. This happens to me to bring myself totally into this moment, this very moment! Instinct reshuffles the jumble that I am, to present on paper in a state of sensual cleanliness, in a neutral, non-committal state. If I am not bluffing you will feel space in spaces left alone by my roving line.

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B21 Improvisation – A Review


“Preethi pulled Chandana into her circle of obsession and in turn acquired Chandanas’s stable serenity. She countered Chandana’s proposition of an abstract definiteness with a frenzied narrative of familiar gestures”… it was when I wrote this line I simultaneously realized that I was increasingly sounding like a football commentator gone slightly askew in her mind, and that it was really three whole hours that had passed since I came in. It was not an extremely intense technique-based three hours. Rather cornily, it felt like a fun time that allowed both a bit of work and a bit of gobbledygook, and finally seemed to get over before one would like it to. The genre of fun might have had a shade of the obscure, or more appropriately a hint of uncertainty. But that might have been the whole point of the session –one that probably made each participant think, search and improvise beyond the grids of the auditorium of the Alliance Francaise of Madras.

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