REstart~
- Kakolukia
- Dec 4, 2023
- 7 min read
Updated: Jun 2, 2025
A journey anew.
I am once more in my studio, gazing away at life, pondering - creating memories into compositions and compositions into experiences. Endless images scattered around in an immaculate endless maze. From each of its path; words, words depicting sensitivity and emotions which lessons were learned from, and some still awaiting to be learned. Peace lingering through it, days spend in art's embrace; bringing to view my recent traveling months, with its diversity and its oh-so perplexing discoveries. A pause that allowed for creativity to blossom and flower a thematical direction, that at first was mundane and simple, onto a monthly of flurry of recollection of thoughts. 'The Stonemason'. A plethora of research done behind this new theme, a rather unique approach to how I create art, introducing the countless lessons learned since the beginning, and my newfound voice. A voice that serenates thoughts and personality; inspired by the world's actions and sounds, which now presented as carefully wrapped layers of art, intertwined through past and present in shaping its experience.
The New Uphill
My immediate life remained so far unchanged, to no ones surprise; the studio stayed the same, birds kept on chirping, the sun's rays brightly shining their everchanging rays, warming me and waking me up consistently in guiding my desire to create. Countless thoughts riddled with reflections evermore; contemplates that bring richness in one's days. Yet an unsatisfying feeling remains. A feeling so persistent that clings tightly around me, urging diligence in moving pass obstacles that were laid through its endeavors. Its effect; the unquenching depth and detail that passions brews in its melancholic contemplation of life. A newfound journey into a lonely voyage of an endless pool of thoughts, avoiding life's distractions and people's chatter in swaying such thoughts during its creative endeavors. At its core, a burning ember seeking the desire to eloquently share the importance of being alive, and how fortunate one is of such a gift. Expressed through a plethora of artistic mediums. Now faced with a long and treacherous journey of bringing such beauty and its resplendent colours in coexisting in a limitless space, a composition.
A slow yet comforting uphill awaits, in working myself back to shape of being able to endure its rhythmic lows and sparse heights to journey forth. Echoes lingering of interactions of the diversity exposed in people along my past, now elegantly transformed into silent isolation - endless in its thoughts, bestowing nothingness to mute the busy noises of life. Here once more, where past projects shaped my course of action (FLOW) and changed profoundly my ability to live life. Solely entrusting myself through life's toughest times in using my soul, art, in capturing life's transcribing events. Nothing is alike like then, I've witnessed and experienced so many things that familiarity evaporated like stagnated water by sun's scorching rays. Through such unfamiliarity, safety, embraced once more. Surrounded by the sheltering of trees and the abundance of their lush green in calming life's self inducing stresses, guided by bird's songs and the wind's voice. Initially I thought of my return as a mere pause from my travels, a respite to breath its familiar air; now turned into a newfound focus in art. Unlike my past, I found reasons in creating and keeping myself accountable without being on display. An intricate story that was inspired and influenced by witnessing the world, overcoming the hurdles in my past, do I now shift in focus. A feeling easily changeable that daily seems ever so unchangeable. Feeding its flames to burn in its saturated orange hues, encouraging growth to emerge from its ashes that drop below. Potential, that seems limitless in its abundance, seeking courage and consistency to keep its flames ablaze.
The Act of 'Balance'
In every step I take through this new story, The Stonemason, my mind reminds me the importance of paying attention to the past. For in this story, our history is intermingled with it, bringing lessons of life and its endless pains that scars one's soul of its ever lasting indignation of man's murderous ways. Along with the unrelenting power of one's mind, that rules over them. Now dedicated do I spend most of my days researching and carefully curating this story. With the words such as "balance" to loom over me, shrouding with its consumption of my time over my personal life. Unlike before, the absence of live audience in accompanying me, allowed for flexibility to begin mending my life balance, even unsuccessfully so as of now, do I begin sensing its change. A sudden realization emerged; that not everyday must be dedicated to this trait, for consistency breaths motions and motions breaths past patterns. To that, a shift began, towards assessing my current feelings in adequately elaborating them through the story. Some days, a co-existence with nature is in order, or a simple, or rather long contemplation of life as I observe my daily patterns. Reminding me to breath, think and reflect alike. Absence of the physical consistency of creating art brought the necessary knowledge in shaping the direction of this story. Avoiding my past patterns, but better yet, learning from them. For a story to bind together needs space and reflection, using time as its ally and making nemesis of forced tightly shaped deadlines - its power diminished in life's routine. It took three years for FLOW's story to come around a cohesive direction. The endless time spend blending its colorful hues together, brought lessons and reflection that revealed pathways aligned both in my life and in its story, fusing reality into fiction. I do not expect such time to be needed for the story of the stonemason as I've learned to do this a lot earlier, but regardless; reflections, my daily ponderings, and time will be the foundation which this new story will be build on. Adding substance where substance weren't previously met in my art and beckoning questions of perspectives and carefully laid out secrets.
In the past five weeks, marked the beginning arc of this here story. From it, I now begin to grasp its idea and its potential. Slowly bringing it forth in weaving its tailored experience to this new curated character the stonemason. Voicing and archiving my worries through unique audio logs, accompanying my weekly reflections of my mind's unrest. Proving an accurate picture of how unpredictable a new story can be, without restrictions. As the months begin to roll and this year is coming to a close I begin to embrace change once more. In becoming flexible and understanding to be present. An endless battle of restricting the venturing of my thoughts solely in my immediate surroundings. Resulting in a glorious failure, as that hardly happens. My mind effortlessly begins to venture and wonder for the people I hold dear in my heart, accompanied with memories shared. All far away. Some separated by seas apart, wishing time's allowance of our reconnection. Often wanting in being present around their life; in sharing a meal or a story, or perhaps a drink that sparks long or rather nonsensical conversations. A desire that I am working towards, a drive with my art to reach them and use the rewards from it to see them. To that, I began thinking; connections are probably the only thing that I value in this current point in life, along with health, the gatekeeper of life's experiences.
Such priority in the past would welcome manipulation. People looking for leverage into someone's life, who pick up onto its importance. But I no longer I meddle around them. No longer do I fear to admit what I value in life, in falling pray to others. I realized that naught can progress through silence but only an overwhelming amount of brooding that is aimed towards society and most importantly a blackened poison that is born and sheltered within yourself. Thus, the most expressive part of myself came out; introducing writing, drawing and capturing my everchanging feelings about life and its miraculous wonders. A firm grasp, connecting my artistic side with myself, an endless battle ceased; at long last, together as one, coexisting, venturing in our new voyage. The Stonemason.
Epilogue ~REstart
In this year that passed, I began to slowly understand a small fraction of the world; the unwillingness in people to change. Peculiar of a discovery, for the world is everchanging within time's grasp. Be it daily, weekly or yearly. Nothing remains the same. Perhaps I am hasty in coming to such conclusion, perhaps a significant amount of time is warranted to perceive such perspective. Undoubtedly though, the reality that I hold and live is far from the truth, which I have a suspicion many share such opinion of their own. As of our nature, we will do anything to survive, even at expense of our integrity, drowning in pointless search of treasures, which are nothing but trash. Searching the endless question of how life should be, presented by corporations as "standards of living". In truth, this views I hold, will forever stay within these words along with their sentences. Even in my act of trying to put substance in my art, a trait so filtered and restricted in our time, lacking its core, a soul, and its sharpness, a voice. Now, substituted with short thrills that glosses one's eyes to enable dopamine to be released in achieving gratification.
Overlooked in hastily drawn conclusions warranted by superficiality for someone's social standing. Looming its disease of canceling, to rain down like divine might, striking anyone that wishes to deviate from the norm. In light of such events, I began feeling the need in embracing and capturing the importance of raw emotions. To what makes us human. In denying the use of emotions as egotistical tramp cards, that blackmail people to feed their daily dose of grief. Futile as it may appear, in my forfeited place in this social game of recognition that seeks to deny and break human interactions, I continue to venture forth. Men and women, we, will only seek to understand whatever is ailing us too late, reflecting and understanding things when we are in severe pain, provided we deny the indulgence of society's sedatives. Only towards the end of our lives do we begin to strip away the complexity formed by us, uncovering our finite timespan. Where regret and desire merge as one, mimicking our lantern to shed light onto our darkest times.
Comments