Warm December

Wrapping it all up once again. Two decades and a score. We survived the Apocalypse. We are survivors. On looking back the best part of my year was the gypsy eyed girl with the black bandanna that I shared a brief encounter with. May you be forever wild. Amen.

Happy Holidays!

Ben

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep

— Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on A Snowy Evening

Cherry Life

If the orb really cracks up today
 I have no regrets.

Against The Wind

I'm older now but still running

Against the wind

— Bob Seger, Against the Wind

When In Egypt

Made this doodle in my History class today. Before you judge, I'm not really proud of what I did in class either. But tell me this, who doesn't love dancing Egyptians?

Broken

#240

You gallantly walk into the room 
fashionably throw your shadow on the wall
and carelessly touch me in places I never knew existed

Vistas (vol. 2)

This is the second volume of sketches that I did during the last couple of days. This time I decided to pay tribute to some of the old masters, some of my favorite painters. These sketches are my rendition of some of my favorite artworks. I worked with a pen and there was absolutely no space for mistakes, but then again there was no need for perfection either. I enjoyed working on these sketches very much. I hope you like them. 

The sketches are in the following order:

1. 'Wild Poppies'    - 1873 -  by Claude Monet
2. 'The Skiff'          - 1879 -  by Pierre - Aguste Renoir
3. 'Stonehenge'     - 1836 -  by John Constable
4. 'Starry Night'     - 1889 -  by Vincent van Gogh

P.S. - Once again, please click on picture and maximize for a better viewing experience. Cheers. 

Vistas

I started a new project yesterday. Creating spaces with simple ingredients - paper, pen and imagination. These sketches are quite different from my earlier drawings but they nevertheless tell stories. I enjoyed working on them. They demanded very little time and gave me much freedom. I hope you like them.

P.S. - Click on picture and maximize for a better viewing experience. Cheers. 

Love: A History

                     JACK

         Whatever happens in the end, she said, I
         don't want to loose you as my friend. He
         looked into her eyes. I promise I will
         never be your friend, no matter what,
         ever. Her voice cracked. If we fuck, I'm 
         going to feel like shit tomorrow. That's
         OK with me, he said. He lifted her shirt
         over her head. I love you, she said. I
         never hurt you on purpose. He nodded. I
         don't care.

            He would not be going to Italy.


— The Darjeeling Limited, 2007

Brittle Things

Wasted coffee. Dammit. 

November Romance

Eventually, everything becomes a memory. 

#234

And we smell like medicine on paper cups
my blue angel voodoo queen
lover poet.

No Red Rose

"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,

but in all my garden there is no red rose."

— Oscar Wilde

#232

And so at last
we've found each other.
What now?

A Lucid Moment

Psychedelic explosions. Confusion. Colors. A moment of beauty.

#230

So long expected
the slowness of the night's arrival
the torment.

Love at First Sight

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:

Out of a misty dream 
Our path emerges for a while, then closes

Within a dream.

— Ernest Dowson

Violent Dreams

Two people
trapped in a room
waiting for something to explode.

Goodbye Summer Skies

Let's dance in style, lets dance for a while

heaven can wait we're only watching the skies

— Alphaville, Forever Young

#226

I sent my love out on a boat
It capsized

High Romance

An endless talk of love,
no real passion.
And under these sad lights,
fever runs high tonight.

Turn around bright eyes.

Sara

"Sara, you're the poet in my heart, never change, never stop"

— Stevie Nicks

Little Sara

I drew this last year sometime between March and April. All I wanted to do was draw a beautiful pair of eyes. It took me days. Everything else was completed in under ten minutes. I'd like to call this an 'unfinished-finished' sketch. 

"Between thought and expression lies a lifetime"

— The Velvet Underground, Some Kinda Love

...

We are never going to win this.
But, if you ever see me
passing by, hold me,
closely. 

Soft Murmurs, Sunday Morning

"I think about your thighs,” she wrote in the second letter, “and the warm, moist smell of your skin in the morning, and the tiny eyelash in each corner of your eye that I always notice when you first roll over to look at me. I don’t know why you are better and more beautiful than anybody else. I don’t know why your body is something I can’t stop thinking about, why those little flaws and ridges on your back are lovely to me or why the pale soft bottoms of your New Jersey feet that always wore shoes are more poignant than any other feet, but they are. I thought I would have more time to chart your body, to map its poles, its contours and terrains, its inner regions, both temperate and torrid - a whole topography of skin and muscle and bone. I didn’t tell you, but I imagined a lifetime as your cartographer, years of exploration and discovery that would keep changing the look of my map. It would always need to be redrawn and reconfigured to keep up with you. I’m sure I’ve missed things, Bill, or forgotten them, because half the time I’ve been wandering around your body blind drunk with happiness. There are still places I haven’t seen."

— Siri Hustvedt, What I Loved 

The Promises Of A Face

"Let old Plato look on you with an austere eye; 
You earn pardon by the excess of your kisses
And the inexhaustible refinements of your love,
Queen of the sweet empire, pleasant and noble land.
Let old Plato look on you with an austere eye."
—  Charles Baudelaire, Fleurs du mal

On Dewfucked Grass

After a long night of revelry, music and existential conversations.

Morning Has Broken. Awake My Fair Child.

Sad Lonely Shadows

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens; only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.

— E.E. Cummings

A Cold Dark Room

     I think I've seen my share of shit in this world
     The Utopia we all dreamed of sank a long time ago

     My plan now is to listen to my records, drink coffee
     And make empty plans for the future

Chandigarh: The City of Peace

I took a little trip to Chandigarh a few weeks ago. It was an exciting spontaneous weekend for me. I dropped everything, grabbed my camera and a novel and headed for the nearest bus station.

The month is almost coming to and end and I just want to share some pictures for you. Enjoy them.

It was refreshing to see these ducks come out of the water and mingle with the tourists. 

(That's me, smiling like a mad curious child.)

The following photographs were taken at Rock Garden, Chandigarh.

This was my favorite part of the whole maze of stone. For a moment I felt like I was in Cambodia.

One thing I noticed about this little figures is that all of them had sad, melancholic faces. It was as if they were mourning for the living. To be honest I felt a little uncomfortable standing alone in the middle with hundreds of them watching me silently.

Figure (male)

Another figure (female)

These last few pictures were taken at Sukhna lake, a few miles away from Rock Garden. It started raining the moment I reached there and I was surprised to find out that the lake had almost dried up. Anyways the weather was nice and breezy and I sat there for a good hour or so just watching people go by.