The sky of the chest
हृदय आकाश : छत से दिखता है, शहर सफेद रूमाल सा फैला हुआ है, उसपर यह नीला रुमाल का हवा में हिलता, खुद उड़ने को झटपटाता गुंबज यहाँ कौन नहीं उड़ता दिखता है, कभी तुकाराम तो यहाँ मेनका, पौराणिक विमान तो मोहम्मद का घोड़ा. यह जो हवा का ज़ोर है, सैगल का गाना है, गाने भर तक सब उड़ते रहेंगे, फिर..
is the theatre for a short that plays again and again The nymph flew away
is the vault where the first feeling resonates in the heart of the person who wants to create, but is able to be quiet. The feeling hits like a sound in this cavity, she feels it like a pain, the resonance in that vault and tries to overcome it with making something. If a film maker, he lets the resonance create a projection on the soft wall of his mann. "Like on a screen".
So we met Atpatesvar today, at least that is what he called himself, lying on his side like Vishnu, looking up with bright eyes and a question in them. He is a film maker, he says.
Film has that evanescent presence, does it not, and so invites such metaphors. The projection displaced to its point of origin, in the mind- is lovely. Something about his presence brings it on : I can see my own conciet... all our projectors connected to the earth, earthed, in all our theatres, but what they let out down the aisles on the screen, the moving image, is nothing less than a stream of butterflies. Might be worth the while, as some creative muscle flexing to make images of technologies? Phalke, early twentieth century, technology would be a key, would it not? Atpat mentioned some treatise on Indian aesthetics that I must also keep track of.
the flying year 1880
