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While doing my engineering in Leather Technology ( College of Leather Technology, WBUT ) after my high school (Dinabandhu Andrews College, 1994 ) painting pictures became my favorite pastime. But most of them I have thrown into the Holy Ganges to invoke myself for a better, better creation. It was from the last few years my art has started swallowing me like a python enjoying the hunt of a tiny creature. More time with it, more time for it, made me the butter between the breads for you all to criticize my vision. Imperfection is my sweet companion, madness is my reason of existence as I grew up becoming the disciple of Time. Creator gets his strength from creation, as there is nothing called a creator. Nothing can be created, all is to be refigured, as every manifestation is just a speck of energy speaking through the voice of time. The world is changing without getting changed, the difference from the perspective of vision states you are creating something new. Time depicted as present, once seen as past, will be seen as future, is the same self in alternating configurations. New creation is just a consolation to the creators mind at work as a reward to his labor. An art makes its mark when it fails to liberate itself from the jaws of simplicity. Creation stands alone claiming its own value rendering a mortality to the creator, the author is dead, the postmodern analysts say. Let my works speak for itself to erase myself, so that my eyes have the fun watching the possessor of creation ever-changing. A value comes when the work sells its own entity to stand up in light. Selling is snatching others’ moment of happiness to resonate with its own vibration-harmony in existence between the commodity and the buyer. An art is just a token of remembrance, a fluid of love, au revoir. Thanks for your time.
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