The question is: can you comprehend musical sound? Is it reflected by the relentless pursuit of memorabilia and concerts, recognition and repetition of guitar notes or the alphabetical summary of chords? Are those really the parameters that gauge its understanding? Is its meaning confined to acoustic or electronic sounds? Is it about being able to recognize musicians by their Christian names? Is it about crashing gigs and sharing musical notes? Is the definition of sound confined to music or is there more to it than we care to admit?
Isn’t it really all about what sound does to us rather than what we do to it? When we receive more than we can give, we are overwhelmed by this imbalance. A looming, holistic shadow falls on us and we play and dance in its shade. For us to enjoy anything, it must overwhelm us. One beep, one twinge can turn us upside down and inside out. It takes one sound to break the silence. The presence as well as the absence of sound is overwhelming. So can we fathom its depth?
Sound permeates and transfuses through all matter – tangible and intangible – holding and releasing us in every moment. The smile it brings to our tired, weary lips is cosmic, moving from one heart to another. It transcends from the known to the unknown and vice versa in a relentless pursuit of its muse. It finds you without seeking.
Art is a song about the separation of the levels of consciousness and not of its attainment. If it was absolute, it would be speechless, indescribable, unpronounced and complete. There’d be no need for artists, art critics, littérateurs or collectors. Art is not a medium but a perpetual disconnect between the unknown and us. When parallels become one, when you can’t tell where art ends and the artist begins; that level of eternal freedom is a timeless drop in a euphoric vortex of all that is known and unknown. The distance between the artist and eternity is what keeps us creative. Artists fan their passion; indulge in their muse, perform a ritualistic song and dance to appease their art. They inculcate immense joy and pain, striking at the periphery of creation and imagination. Watching an artist at work is an art in itself. Their subtle discoveries are a joyful pain and a painful joy.
Art slowly devours us in its womb of magical lights and stratospheric delights. Its gift is sacrosanct and it resonates all around and within us. With the advent of technology, the medium of artistic expression chosen by us has a bearing over the influence it has over its audience but it does not undermine the energy of art in itself. Art in its primitive manifestation or its high-tech affluence remains an integral part of our evolution, and a wider or lesser audience does not deter its resonance. It remains a launch pad to another alternative reality. It disguises its secrets and remains a mystery. The most onerous art for any artist is to unleash his/her private pain and joy, and transform it into public imagination. The line separating the private and the public is thin and elusive, and its harmonious equilibrium creates meaningful Art. This gap between what we know and what we strive to know is a universe in itself. It is a space that elucidates creativity, transforming our lives into a semblance of meaning and worthiness.
Artists and musicians have consistently tickled this space, which is why they’re able to “create”. You cannot create something that is already known. Passion is one of many mystical intangibles that exist in this space. Understanding of the inner universe and the outer universe will remain incomplete and it must remain so, for us to experience spiritual and mystical experiences – incompletion is the key to creation.
Passion by itself is incontrovertibly without description. It has its own meaning and the performance of art is an attempt to decipher its meaning or at least, get close to it. It remains a mystery and keeps the artist and the audience craving for more. Passion is free but the passionate one is bound by it and its many manifestations. Passion is a floating, snarling energy omnipresent and omniscience. It exists in a dot as well as the mysterious vastness of the universe. The obscurity of passion is its attractiveness and this meager attempt on my behalf to conjure some kind of meaning is almost laughable. An absolute, universal description of passion and a complete translation of its meaning would cease the existence of art. Such is the supremacy of its presence. Tiptoeing and dancing on the edge of every line drawn on paper and following its contours to wherever it may lead us, is the closest we can get to heaven on earth. Dance of the virtuoso in sonic waves, immersed in the instrument’s primal trance and following the sound to its ephemeral highs and lows is a musical epiphany. For those who understand artistic expressions, life exists between absolute meaning and absolute meaninglessness in a state of endearing limbo…
…An extract from a yet-to-be published book
