Look Beyond What Your Eyes Can See

Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear by Vincent Van Gogh

This is Van Gogh, often known as the “tortured artist.” Its easy to notice the sense of frustration and melancholy in his work. Van Gogh’s art is a doorway to his heart. He led a tragic life, and eventually checked himself into a mental asylum. He is a leading figure of expressionism, the exploration of what is inside the mind and soul, instead of the depiction of what is apparent and obvious. Van Gogh’s death was self-inflicted at the age of 37. His art, however, lives till this very day.

Yesterday, I was in Starbucks studying. A man came and sat on the table next to me. He smiled; I smiled back. He asked me for a pen, I couldn't understand at first because of the way he spoke -  I couldn't tell what it was - he had a disability that made it difficult for him to talk and I could notice when he was standing that he had difficulty walking as well.

I gave him a pen. He took out a notebook and started writing down something. I was so curious to know what he was writing. I tried to get a peek, but he caught my eye and asked me "Are you studying hard?" we laughed and I said yes I have exams soon. He asked what I was working on, and out of curiosity I asked him the same question. His speaking was unclear yet understandable; "I have been trying to find a job for a really long time, but no one ever takes me seriously because of my disability. See, I have great ideas I just can't put them through, I have a masters degree from Dundee University. I am writing down some business idea for a product I am hoping to design, I just hope they'll take me seriously." He showed me his ideas and they were really good ones. Then he added, "People just don't see beyond my disability." I smiled and told him that’s a shame because his ideas are great, and went back to studying.

A while later the woman sitting on the table next, wanted to go to the toilet so as she was leaving she asked me to watch her stuff until she was back. He looked at me and said "Why didn't she ask me?" We had a friendly chat afterwards and he had to go home to finish off his business ideas because he was really excited about his meeting. I wished him luck, and said goodbye. But all day, I kept thinking about him.

What a Shame! That humans that are supposed to be the most intelligent beings, don't act accordingly a lot of the time. When many people see that man, they see a disabled man. That's it. They see nothing other than his physical orientation. They don't see the life that he is. Many will  fail to recognize the common humanity they share with him. They instantly classify him as different. And it's easy to make the mistake of thinking that what is different to what we are used to, is not “normal”, and therefore should be rejected. 

This incident reminded me of a book that's very dear to my heart; 'Tuesdays With Morrie' by Mitch Albom. Morrie is Albom’s old professor who is facing his death gracefully and with acceptance. As his body grows weaker, Morrie continues to feel alive; he says: “Giving to other people makes me feel alive. Not my car or my house. Not what I look like in the mirror. When I give my time, when I can make someone smile after they were feeling sad.”

The man I met yesterday reminded of Morrie. A weak body, but a strong, vibrant soul.  We are a species that is fascinated by illusions; we sit in awe in front of magicians, and Hollywood movies although we know that we are seeing is not real, we choose to believe it. The man's disability is an illusion, concealing what's inside; a life, a heart, a mind and a soul, just like mine, just like yours.

The body is but a vessel that holds life within it. It is a grave mistake to forget our shared humanity, to think of someone as different, not normal, thus not worthy of a chance. There’s a whole new dimension to the person when you look within. When you go past what is on the surface and dig deeper,you won't just understand others, but  you’ll also find yourself in others. You'll find a link that connects all humans, a reminder of our equality.

Van Gogh only became famous after his death. During his life, he was lonely in the mental asylum, and people probably saw nothing in him other than his mental illness. Now we see what was beyond; a beautiful and inspiring collection of artworks created by a great man, with a creative mind.

Van Gogh’s self-portrait whispers, look beyond what your eyes can see. 

Something I can only feel

Autumn Rhythm by Jackson Pollock

There's a place I’ve been going to quite a lot lately. I did not like that place. When I am in that place, I seem to lose all sense of direction; I'm just there and confused. In that place nothing makes sense, and when I’m there I lose all my vocabulary, and I fail to label any of my feelings. You’re probably wondering what that place is. That place is called ‘in between’.

I used to feel that the place was blurry, I just wanted to get out of it; either back to where I was or forward to where I wanted to be. I felt stuck, unable to move back, or move on. I felt that way because of ‘the curse of uncertainty’. When you’re in between you’re cursed with the prohibition of using labels, and one fails to use them no matter how hard he or she tried. In fact the more you try the more confusion you’ll end up with. You cannot label or make sense of anything when you’re in between. That is very problematic as it extremely contradicts our humanistic instinct of constantly producing thoughts, having opinions, making sense of whatever we experience, and trying to find meaning and purpose in whatever we encounter. In the real world, whatever we feel we put into words; we recognize the feelings, sad, happy, excited, worried, or whatever it may be. But when you’re in between, you don’t recognize anything. It puts you out of your comfort zone. As we usually prefer what is familiar; in between, might not be so appealing at first. Nothing there makes sense, everything just is. 

Just like the Pollock painting; tangled, unclear, mushy, vague, so meaningless but so meaningful at the same time, I hated being in between. But now I am starting to realize that what I thought was ‘the curse of uncertainty’ is actually a blessing, a gift of hope.

I started noticing that my feelings were never as chaotically clear to me, and that what I was rejecting was not the confusion surrounding my emotions, but the emotion itself. I allowed myself to feel the confusion because I was scared of feeling what was underneath it because it was unfamiliar and new. I couldn’t identify it so I automatically tried to get rid of it. No matter how hard I tried to rid myself of it it kept coming back to me. And every night I found myself in that unfamiliar place again wondering what this is and why I am there. Every night I also noticed a lingering warmth, wrapped inside the uncertainty and the confusion. I decided to unwrap it, take a leap of faith and open it up, and explore it.

Once I did that, once I allowed myself to feel without thinking. I didn't feel the need to understand it. It was so much bigger than something I can put into words. Once I accepted it, the warmth spread throughout every part of me. Embracing me as strongly as the confusion had once embraced it.

That shadowy dark place, the in between, soon became the place I love the most. The uncertainty became my comfort zone. In it I saw potential, possibilities, and endless array of hope and prosperity. A gush of pure emotion that needed no words to make sense, and as a matter of fact did not need to make sense at all; for it was perfect as it is.  

We will all be there at one point in our lives, in between a job application and hearing back, in between pregnancy and being a parent, in between breaking up and moving on, in between falling in love and whatever comes next, in between any two critical points in our lives. Many can miss the miraculous fleeting joy of that bridge we will all walk through, probably many, many times. But once you stop, and realize you are in the land of in between, you allow yourself to feel, to love, to heal in ways you would have never thought possible. 

 In that place, and only in that place, do you get to give your mind a break, and let your heart feel. And what the heart feels is very undermined when put into words. If you allow yourself to feel when you are there, your heart will explode with life, replenishing all that you are, giving you a breath of fresh life, feeding your soul with what your mind will never be able to. Making you alive all over again.

Jackson Pollock’s paintings are a mystery to many. He described his style of drip painting by saying “I want to express my feelings not illustrate them.” He usually paints on large canvases on the floor, saying that this way he would be as close as possible to the painting, and he would lose himself in it. Who knows, maybe that was his own personal in between, the moment between the blank canvas and the one covered with emotion.

Autumn rhythm whispers something I can’t label, something I can only feel.

I love him, I really love him

Woman before the sunrise by Friedrich

I love him, I really love him .

He's my first love, and I probably will never love another as much as I love him.

He's the love of my life; unfortunately we are apart now, living in different cities, a million miles apart, and I miss him so dearly, everyday.

He changed my life, in fact, thats an understatement. He makes my life better just by being a part of it. He showed me how to live, he loved me, he showed me how to love.

He gave his all, he gave me everything. He sacrificed a lot for me, and he was always selfless, always putting me first, always caring, and always there.

He makes me laugh, whenever I am with him, I am happy. He usually tells the same jokes a million times over, but somehow always manages to make me laugh my heart out.

I love to see him happy, and it pains me to see him hurt. He is a great man, he's got a big heart; full of compassion, and generosity. He never holds back, and he loves helping those who need it. He taught me how to be happy, how to never take life too seriously, how to be easy going, how to laugh more, how to never hold back, always be there for others, always give back to the world, and how to have the drive to go after whatever I wanted in life.

This summer, when I had to leave him, I cried. I cried because I knew how much I was going to miss him, and I was right. I miss him, every second of  every day. I fear that I haven't been as good to him as he is to me, that I haven't given him enough, that I haven't showed him how much I love him. But I realized it doesn't matter because he loves me no matter what. He loves me unconditionally, he loves me simply because he does. There is nothing greater than this pure love we share.

Now I am off, finding my own life, chasing my own dreams. And I face whatever comes my way with certainty because of him, because of the strength he gave me, and continues to give me. He is my support when I am weak, and I am a better person because I never want to let him down. I always want to see that shimmer in his eyes, that glow in his face, and hug him and hold him close and feel the warmth of that golden heart he has.

 I don't understand how he does it, how he finds it in him to love so selflessly, to love me so much that he thinks of me a million times of me before he thinks of himself. That he forgives my mistakes, and never holds them against me. He accepts me as I am. And I love him as he is, tremendously and endlessly. He makes the cold days warmer, the sad days joyful, in weak moments he makes me stronger, in moments of hesitation he makes me certain. He's with me in every step I take, every decision, every second I live.

In this painting, I see me, and I see him. I am the girl, and he is my world. He is my mountain, my sunshine, my home. I turn my back and face the world ahead of me knowing that there's a man behind me, always there, a place of comfort, and an open door to go to whenever. I stand tall because he is mine, and forever will be.

For 18 years, 6,570 days, 157680 hours, 3784320 minutes, a trillion heart beats, I have loved him, and with every heart beat my love for him grows. I often forget how lucky I am to have him, but I would never take him for granted. He loves me infinitely and I won't live a day without thinking of him, loving him, and being thankful for him.

 His strength made me a tough woman. and for that I shall be forever grateful.

18 years ago, he held me in his arms, while i wrapped my tiny fingers around his. 18 years ago, he made a decision to love me forever. On that day, in my heart, I also made the same decision. Although I was one day old, and did not understand anything around me, I made the decision to love Yasin forever. Because it doesn't require age, sense, or wisdom to feel a fathers love.

'Woman before the rising sun' whispers, it whispers: I love you, I really love you dad.

'Impression Sunrise' Whispers ...

Claude Monet - Impression Sunrise

Monet is my absolute favorite artist.

My bedroom wall is covered with a series of prints of his works. This piece is titled Impression Sunrise. 

Monet's style is called impressionism. He describes it well when he says "When you go out to paint, try to forget what objects you have in front of you, a tree, a field...Merely think, here is  a little square of blue, here an oblong of pink, here a streak of yellow, and paint it as it looks to you, the exact color and shape, until it gives you your own naive impression of the scene."

What Monet does is capture a moment. He transforms a single passing moment into an immortal impression .This moment is destined to pass, and change is inevitable. What lasts is the impression, in this case, in the form of a painting, a memory of what was there.  The position of the sun, the reflection of sun rays, the color of the sky, the position of the boats will all change. The moment will pass, and a new impression will be created. 

For me, this artwork is a reminder of the importance of being present and accepting the transience of time. A concept thats so simple yet so hard to live with. However, accepting this simple truth makes us appreciate what we have, whats right there in front of us. Knowing how precious a moment is, and that it will be gone soon one will be hesitant to waste it. This works with difficult moments as well, moments that we do not wish to be in, ones that we hope would pass by faster. Accepting their transience gives one patience and strength to know that 'this too shall pass'. We spend so much time thinking of the past or planning the future, that we forget the only time we ever get to live in, the present. A moment is the most precious thing we own. No one moment is like the other, and each one comes with a new gift, and a new challenge. 

If you were to look at the details of the painting you would find that it is composed of brush strokes put together.Little details combined together to create something beautiful. It reminds me of how important the little things are. Little gestures of kindness can have a great impact. Smiling to a stranger, emailing an old friend, calling your grandparents, helping someone; these are all things we tend to forget when we get caught up in our hectic routines. These are all little details that can create something beautiful. 

The size of the human figures in the painting reminds me that we are insignificant in comparison to the world we live in. We are part of a greater whole, a greater energy. Its easy to sometimes fall into the illusion of thinking that "my world" is all that matters. "Me, my issues, my wants, my needs" is something we all focus on, some a bit more than others. I think its nice to think every now and then of others, of this universe we live in, and to think of ourselves not as the center of the universe but rather a part of it.

Impression Sunrise Whispers, it whispers ...

Be present, because once this moment is gone you won't have it back. Be kind, because its the little things that matter. And be humble, because you are one part of a greater whole, a more beautiful whole. 

These sorts of moments

"Everything I am today is because of you." Those were the words I said to my teacher Mr. John Leistler on my graduation day. My heart warmed up at the sight of a tear that he tried to hold back.

That day was two years ago. Up until today I feel the effect that my precious teacher had on me. And for every day yet to come I know I will always be grateful for what he has given me.

Mr. John was my AP Art History teacher. With him we studied the development of Art through time. We studied how to analyze artworks and dismantle them to release the message embedded in them by the artist. Mr. John however did not stop there, what he taught us was how to live. He was a guide and role model. He did not merely give us lessons in art, but through art he gave us lessons in life. Every day for 45 minutes my art history class would come together, everyone so attentive so ready to receive and give back. It was the best class I ever had.

Mr. John displays the beauty of teaching. Paulo Coelho wrote: "What is a teacher? I'll tell you: it isn't someone who teaches something, but someone who inspires the student to give of her best in order to discover what she already knows." He inspired me, and many others to see beauty in things that we once thought were mundane. He sees that beauty in his students, he sees potential, and he helps them see it as well. That potential, once unveiled, creates beautiful things. That is why teaching is one of the most honorable jobs. Teaching is making the beauty that is in another, which is apparent to you, visible to them. It creates miracles.

Mr. John always says that if an artwork speaks to you, regardless of the meaning intended by the artist, then it serves its purpose. Art speaks to me. This is why I decided to start this blog. One of my favorite artists Leif Podhajsky said: "I've had moments where I have felt a part of every living thing that exists and that's ever existed, experienced such clarity and beauty that it shatters what you thought was possible. This is what I use to shape my work, trying to hang on and remember these sorts of moments." What he describes, is what I felt in my art history class, and this blog is my personal attempt to '

hang on and remember these sorts of moments.'