Art of Heart Decluttering. Melancholic Memories or Nepali Sisters and Dead Kennedy.

I had a cleaning weekend at my art studio. Unlike some men, I truly love cleaning. It gives me sense of lightness, of getting rid of cobwebs in the long forgotten corners of my own heart.

Many good men who stood up to the Beast ended up in Cemetery. But Truth cannot be killed. Our day will come.

When I do a solid cleaning session in my art studio, it always comes with getting rid of unessential accumulated stuff. Us, humans, we are basically hoarders. On all levels. We love clinging to the old, just in case we might need it one day in far future. Except that day rarely comes. So we pile up garbage. On emotional level it's the very same story. We keep our feelings of grudge, hurt, revenge, lust for attention, often hiding under the blanket of deep rooted denial.

Giving away things that I don't use anymore (many of them I never used, let's be honest, I just liked having them), gives me feeling of lightness and joy. Besides this pay off, I usually come across things which delight me, because I forgot all about them, as they were waiting patiently under a layer of dust, to be in the spotlight of my love again. Yes, certain things are keepers, or at least temporary keepers, since they bring me pleasant memories of certain milestone on my journey.

I donated all those clothes, many of them were new, and much more stuff, to charity and friends last year. I do this regularly, it feels truly "elevating". Try to see how many of your clothes items you wear on regular basis? Let's be honest-probably minor part:)

So as I was going through the dusty storage area under the roof (my studio has tall 12 feet ceiling at higher side of it), sweating abundantly in the unforgiving heat (insulation in a 100 years old wooden building is non-existent), putting away things to throw on one side and things to donate on the other side, I came across pile of my older paintings, which were inspired by my first solo world trip in 2008-2010. Stream of smells, sounds and melodies rushed through my being, with distinct flavor or melancholy, as my eyes caressed the scenes depicted on the dusty canvases.

Nepali sisters. That was a freezing morning on the foot hills of Himalayas, on my 3 days hike from India to Nepal, which was officially only permitted to do with a certified guide, which I never really hired but somehow managed to get through all the checkpoints, using only ruse. That day, when these two were warming up by the fire, while their mother was preparing breakfast for everyone, I saw Chomolungma, "Mother Goddess of the Universe" (Mt. Everest) for the first time in my life.

I will never forget this family, who let me stay in their house on one freezing night during my hike at the foot hills of Himalayas. Heart of gold.

The Bandra Terminus. The less known train station in Delhi, where I have taken train to the north, exploring Rajastan, West Bengal, Bihar and ultimately Rishikesh. Station which was home to homeless families and orphans. Station where I spent long hours observing the bustling micro cosmos of the wretched, of the unfortunate, of the poor and of the hard working, who had sadness in their eyes, yet they were filled with acceptance and surrender that only rare westerners possess. The proud men pulling the huge wooden carts, under silent eyes of by standers, who mastered the art of non-doing to the perfection.

"Bandra Terminus", oil on canvas. I painted this scene from my travels in 2011 and I am amazed at how dramatically I changed my style since, yet how much beauty I still find in my early art.

I also found Kennedy. The last president who actually tried to change the system, and that's why he was killed by his own government. But that is a story for another time.
Today, I want to float on the rich smell of Indian spices, genuine smiles of kind hearted village people of Nepal and majestic panorama of the sacred Himalaya mountains.

Thank you for reading,
Blessing to all of you,

With Love,
Jan

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By now, these two little angels have grown into beautiful young ladies. Time, oh the sweet giver and killer...