First session
Feels good , following your dreams a bit :) I always wanted to go to a drawing class...Today was it's first day, and here is one of my sketches. I'm going to post them every month to see the flow of it's improvement.
IF: Infinite
This is just an idea of what I'm going to illustrate for the ending of a book named Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse.
I don't even like the way I've arranged elements in this draft...The final version will be so different.
Last week I saw a documentary produced by BBC about evolution. It was mind blowing... Our world is a beautiful place, yet it seems so cruel in some ways. The whole system is a flow towards perfection and happiness though. I believe in creator, and I think he made an intelligent node who has the ability to improve itself and he knew where it's going to lead...
Hope for joy and success for every one of us in this journey!
Spoiler alert: If you want to read this book someday, don't read the following lines :D
faces, many, a long sequence, a flowing river of faces, of hundreds, of thousands,
which all came and disappeared, and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously,
which all constantly changed and renewed themselves, and
which were still all Siddhartha. He saw the face of a fish, a carp, with
an infinitely painfully opened mouth, the face of a dying fish, with fading
eyes—he saw the face of a new-born child, red and full of wrinkles,
distorted from crying—he saw the face of a murderer, he saw him plunging
a knife into the body of another person—he saw, in the same second,
this criminal in bondage, kneeling and his head being chopped off by the
executioner with one blow of his sword—he saw the bodies of men and
women, naked in positions and cramps of frenzied love—he saw corpses
stretched out, motionless, cold, void—he saw the heads of animals, of
boars, of crocodiles, of elephants, of bulls, of birds—he saw gods, saw
Krishna, saw Agni—he saw all of these figures and faces in a thousand relationships
with one another, each one helping the other, loving it, hating
it, destroying it, giving re-birth to it, each one was a will to die, a passionately
painful confession of transitoriness, and yet none of them died, each
one only transformed, was always re-born, received evermore a new face,
without any time having passed between the one and the other face—and
all of these figures and faces rested, flowed, generated themselves, floated
along and merged with each other, and they were all constantly covered
by something thin, without individuality of its own, but yet existing, like
a thin glass or ice, like a transparent skin, a shell or mold or mask of water,
and this mask was smiling, and this mask was Siddhartha’s smiling
face, which he, Govinda, in this very same moment touched with his lips.
And, Govinda saw it like this, this smile of the mask, this smile of oneness
above the flowing forms, this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths,
this smile of Siddhartha was precisely the same,
was precisely of the same kind as the quiet, delicate, impenetrable, perhaps
benevolent, perhaps mocking, wise, thousand-fold smile of Gotama,
the Buddha, as he had seen it himself with great respect a hundred times.
Like this, Govinda knew, the perfected ones are smiling.
Not knowing any more whether time existed, whether the vision had lasted
a second or a hundred years, not knowing any more whether there existed a
Siddhartha, a Gotama, a me and a you, feeling in his innermost self as if he
had been wounded by a divine arrow, the injury of which tasted sweet, being
enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self, Govinda still stood for
a little while bent over Siddhartha’s quiet face, which he had just kissed,
which had just been the scene of all manifestations, all transformations, all
existence. The face was unchanged, after under its surface the depth of the
thousandfoldness had closed up again, he smiled silently, smiled quietly
and softly, perhaps very benevolently, perhaps very mockingly, precisely
as he used to smile, the exalted one.
Deeply, Govinda bowed; tears he knew nothing of, ran down his old face;
like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love, the humblest veneration
in his heart. Deeply, he bowed, touching the ground, before him who
was sitting motionlessly, whose smile reminded him of everything he had
ever loved in his life, what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life.
