Innerdialect

Is ART the Journal of our Times?

by Innerdialect

via theartistinyou.typepad.com

The Pressure of Light

by Innerdialect

via theartistinyou.typepad.com

Three sides to a coin

  Innerdialect

 

"...  theres three sides to a Coin : Flip side, Flop side, and the Edge."  I was  not talking Abstract Psychology, just plain old Technical look-see  :  it was one sentence, and  my entire speech ;

 talking Perceptions , at the  Art of Self Leadership Seminar. Everyone grinned  :the Philoso pher, The Analysts, Day dreamer, one was a Poet/Artist, The Speaker, Finance Head, / Student ,a hotelier, the  Dramatist...

I had finished.   " Asset 1 : Our own personal Edge. Asset 2:  Mega Buck muscle , the Mind. To find that Edge we all have , is the ultimate search. If, we used our Mega-buck muscle : The Mind....." 

The Girl next to me in Purple coat , black pants, lavender eyelids and the original Madonna eyes, leaned forward and sighe d. Now she had two fantastic assets : her 'Edge' & her Mega - Muscle.

Me  :  I was  purring with relief that there wasn't much more to be really said,  when I saw  It !!  Wedged neatly into the back of her head , a tiny trap door labelled: " AND YOU DIDN'T KNOW!!"+  wicked smiley. 

....the Boardroom was becoming surreal, like a Salvadore Dali painting. YIKES.  It wasn't just her. We all had these " Trap Doors"  ,  crafted above our medulla oblangata  !  hidden cleverly 'neath   t attooes ,  butterflies and dragons in our scalp  ! There wasn't time to check details.   

...those "  Doors" opened into our heads,where we kept our hoard : untapped skill, Talent, Gifts, Ideas, Memories,Innovation, even Wisdom, Faith, Courage, Perception ... a million million acres , we had all inherited, even acquired....and  here was the worst part. We did not know what we had stashed in there, but there were others who kne w ! They  were walking in that " Door" , taking away what they could. Even our Energies. ...!!!          ( These Trap Doors wore  descriptions  : "Habits. Mindsets. Pet Villians. Dogma. Blindspots!" ). Hey ! No one told us !!!Why hadn't we known ? When we were in school... ?

All of this was spoken into the Room and after I said what I had to say, and it was very very quickly said,there was that relief. The Salvador Dali moment had passed. Doors were firmly  banged shut !  We all began to purr with relief,   and went upstairs for rotis  in table  basket; spinach spiked-  chicken , buttered vegetables- tender spice, fruit cubes in muted Cream. The View was 360 degrees : overlooking a City and a very blue sky that noon. It would rain a nd keep us in an hour longer.

Fathers  of  Psychology:  in spirit :  Carl Jung,  E.Erikson and others nodded , creeping  back sleepily into Thumb notes in the Blue File  . They ( the Fathers ), had worked well.  We,  were now all  sweeter  than Cavemen who had used clubs for words.( I demonstrated with wooden potato masher from home and there was the joy of  physical assault, but  sense stepped in  and we  moved to prescribed Personality tests  by my very  talented colleague Joe and his gentle  wife Laksh who we soon saw,  had  'Edge'  enough to run for parliament :

I never knew I was a " INFP" type ( Introvert/Intuitive/Friendly/Perceptive) also shared by A.A. Milne, Princess Di, Psychologist  Meyer Briggs....)  there were 16 personality types*, and   who knew there weren't more ? Like at an icecream bar where we could pile flavours....

Came home to my kids and enough  Icecream to emotionally defrost in, cuz I was worried about being like some others at all , and whose Edge was what !   The Sun was shining. I stared at my unsuspecting kids ages 16,11 and 10. Tomorrow we would run us all thru some more Meyer-Briggs pages ; get everyone's Edge&Mega-Bucks/ Traps door and Stalkers all in Place !!! 

(know what ? They were accurate , the Tests! And hilarious. Everyone was pleased , even our Teenager : intp: introv/intuitive,theoriser,perceiver  : " Last min planner, ready to explore, love and other committments, but can reverse with alarming speed ! Needs a challenge/ or will get depressed.Due to broad range of interests, they find it hard to focus " :   others in this type : Albert Einstein !)

All except my husband who refused to believe himself  a ' daydreamer/Fred Astaire/Liberac e type. When we read out StevenSpielberg,  he grinned.  I was thinking ' ...Spielberg, eh ?! Not bad. Not bad.)

Well, its true. We all have It. The "Edge"  & Mega Buck Muscle :  our fantastic Brain, Mind  :  waiting for outlet , more than the 1% we access !!! (Albert Einstein used 2%  and how ! )

 

Innerdialect.

(Drawing :Vihann"Under the Microscope"

 

The Coffee Shop

 Innerdialect

 It sat bang in the middle of Commercial Street ; food vendors, pedestrians, milled around. Higginbothams Books stood  next door  like it had for the past 60 odd years. To the right The Daily Herald,  three floors of Grey stone, housed coffee-lovers, doodlers,  insomniacs, and others. 

There was a kicked up newness about The Coffee Shop this year :  fresh painted -off white wall,   front door burnt brown, black handle ,  terrace- garden -first floor , stairs spiralling off  tiny  reception , pine freshener, new varnished  tables, wrought iron window grill ,  peeling  wood bench in front that local  Traffic police ignored  during road widening procedures, when metro railways re-structuring first began. The Coffee Shop's  Name plate  stood  thick with pigeon droppings and   feathertuft wedged in  rust.

Yes, there was a new ness here, in the way of  old garden cities and new flyovers.

After Chairs went down  that morning,  a few Regulars walked in glassy eyed,  to smoke, stare, have  their cup of freshly ground coffee in  white cup &  round bottomed saucer . Nice people, in States  of non thought, apparently contagious.

Ginger and the four  cats, even  New lady hung back in the terrace.  Mij wasn't in yet so ,  no leftovers !  No one ate. Coffee and cigarette butts. Shrivelly match and ash. Eeeeyeow. Things hadn't changed much at The Coffee Shop. 

He sank in his fur and shut his head.  New lady looked away unimpressed. She was, but wouldn't show it. Ginger knew. Which was why he shut his head. The ways of the female species weren't new to him. They were all quite human if you looked close.Indiscretions to the fore and immensely ignorant of this  fact that the covers to their psyche were sheer glass. Oh you could read a human like you could read New lady here.

Why people did not read each other confused Ginger.  It could simplify everything. Like Peripheral vision. Did they use it ? Nah !  Other species  yes, but humans ? Maybe some women did. And some sleuths. Specifically trained. Or Stock Brokers. And some journalists.

Four that evening,Mij finally came in and Ginger and some others settled into more mobile  Peace,  Life began .  Mij looked strangely content today; hadn't fussed with her hair as usual,somehow that helped ; it hung flat either side of her wide face, softening it.  59  and in  bright purple T shirt, white heels, skinny jeans, workday even if you hardly got off your high chair with Laptop and  pictures of ancestry ?!   Mij was originally from "Persia". Parsi!

Oh Ah. Ginger purred inside- all over.  See, she asked no rent ; coffee bags behind kitchen brought in  rats, mice. Why complain ?

 Five pm :  Time moved in one slow amber stretch. Amber because of the late  Indian summer sun  slanting in thru Mij's  windows overlooking the City's Park across : high red walls and Asoka Trees  that landmarked The Coffee Shop.  Girl &  plait hadn't arrived yet(  French Plait  meticulously braided from  the top, sometimes even with white and pinky pearl or satin twine.  Saloon ? What, every day ?)

Table 6 was busy again : tall man with leather brief. What was he ? Real Estate ?Mattered ? Nah ! Just that people walked in with their lives. Little untuned edges sometimes rankling like a raspy guitar.  Black silk dress tie tonight , ok. Okay-ee !! Third coffee, loosened  silk tie, he was slipping  down till one socked foot stuck  out under table. Doped-sleepy.

 New Lady had one green eye, the other was blue. Striking in her  white fur, Ginger thought.     She was long jawed  long boned, hind feet ambling like a Big Cat's, hmmmm, Attitude !! Lineage.. New babe  was thinkn Privileged Class, uh.                                                                                                                         He stretched loudly  across , so she had to hop over Table6's long sock'd foot. What can you say.  These were the ways of  a street cat, dont try dress him up , gold trimmed deep streaked fur, tail like a christmas tree, and all.  Mee Maw !!! Velvet brown eyes unsafe to look into, not till you were ready.  But then he had a wildness that slippedout without warning. Almost like People.   She retreated to the Monsterra Pots outside to do her nails.

7 pm :  Just walking  space left. Even over at  maroon benches along left wall with the Mario black and white wall painting.  Mij 's Paintings  kept her away from the madness. The  Shop was a gift from Ma  who  had dreamed of an ArtStudio, back when young  ladies had no business  thinking that way. Grandpa thought  different ....

well, the dream died. After ma moved on, Mij , single and somehow better at 50 than at 40 made her decision.  Yeah there was a time she used to think  " Soul Mate "  would walk in,  sweep her off her feet,  tall, dark , raggedly handsome, unlike Slick there.  Sure he had a girlfriend in tow, but she wouldn't recommend him for any one she knew, he was just too smooth was all.

She must 've smiled at the young couple across, Slick and the girl ; they smiled back good naturedly and Mij felt a pang of bad. Sometimes she was really so bad. Wicked streak from her dad for sure. He was a rash one. Mij tried to remedy familial curse ( there was also cancer, arthritis, colic, ulcers and spinal curvature  running rabid in the family, so you wanted to wash that out, specially here where you needed ' nice ' , and work, for pitys sakes, without generational -mess). That explained  her Feng Shui crystals, mirror and single laughing Buddha at the entrance with petals in round earthern water tray. And river stones.

Oh too many accessories for a Coffee Shop ? So ?  She had snack :  samosas,  khari biscuits ( flaky light wheat biscuits, reminiscient of her years in Gujarat ), some lassi & yoghurt recently, tangy-chillied Lime pickle bottles for sale in tall shelf, but coffee was coffee. Fresh ground from Coorg in the hills, best hill station south of India, Mij knew no other. The aroma of it rose to the rafters, spilling out to where Chaat sellers swirled puffed rice concoctions in tender mango shreds, tamarind preserve and  coriander spiked potato crunch. You bought your Chaat for Rs 30/- , walked in for coffee. Mij didn't care.  She leaned on her elbows like she were looking in at the window sills of the world.

Girl with plait was dazzling in blue tonight, black long earrings , sparkle in the loop. Very nice. The nails were painted bronze, subtle. 22 ? Maybe, 23.  Med School, or Architecture. Yeah they had that look , PGs.

Ginger wished they would change the music. It had a whine ,  which was alright some nights, but not with  moon and Moghul outside, at it. Moghul was a dignified dog,  polite to felines, so they all looked out for him, except that his whine put  sad sitars and shennais to shame.                 

Plait girl  was smiling. Oh Ah !  purred Ginge. Humans could express so much but mostly did that to themself. Like perosnal truths were for individualised governance of the Galaxy. He prefered cats. What you saw was what you got. Male cats. Humans were big on emo. Superficially,see?Like New Lady.A species dedicated to Self.

Table 6  was sorting out his shoes. Short man in the corner , and woman with bags from Garuda Mall were actually eating.  Girl in plait hadn't stopped talking into phone. Whoever she was waiting for better arrive soon ; there were three waiting for that one chair.

Next to the Billing counter  tables in front of the mirror filled with delegates off a seminar. Glossy badges,  happy plastic smiles. Ten of them squashed into room for six.

What did Coffee do? Kick Nerve centre ? Soak  up happy spots ?Made humans feel better looking ? Couple at Table for two,snuck glances at long mirror.  It was great being a non human, you could stare at anyone anytime, for free.  The woman so  very very pretty, but needed  confirmation  all the time ? pouty  slow smiles into mirror when he wasn't looking. Funny thing was he did the same.  Like they were  in love with their face,  or some other people...

Ginger was wide awake. The family  with teenagers were here.  Six of them, each a silent stone.         Had their coffee in silence. Why would they want coffee like that,  once a week ? A pact,  counselling tip,  payoff for Dad ? Did they talk at home ? Did they get the bus here ? They didnot look like Bus people.

Eight pm.   Sara Pai arrived,  hunched in her own designer brand of clothing, white salwar kameez, red shawl .  Relished her coffee like it were the last thing before paradise, to the last drop before  paying up , no tip and a swipe at the Cumin -seed sweetened bowl,  one tissue for the road  and she was gone like she had arrived, leaving behind a trail of Eau de cologne, old cotton and napthalene. Yeah she was used to nice things. And some rough.

Mij straightened her shoulders, deciding not to charge Sara Pai anymore. As a Tribute to ... life. There was a niceness about changing the old routine. Tomorrow she would clean up Name plate outside. Not that anyone noticed.  It was a Relic. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and started. She was beginning to look .. nice.  Then she studied herself with heels, without heels.  Ginger knew she wouldn't touch the Relic.  It was her good luck charm. The last time she tried cleaning it, Janam the cook fell ill. Humans were odd when they thought no one was looking. It was great being non human. Night vision for one thing. Oh-ah ! The things you saw around Coffee Shop when shutters were down.

New Lady spat.  Na-Da.  Mij would do the Name Plate tomorrow. Today she had found a worthy human trait. Dignity. And Beauty. Even a legitimate degree of Pride.  Maybe it was about Sara Pai  and Tributes.To Life.  Mee-Maw !

Her blue/green eyes were striking she  noticed,  preening in the mirror, utterly pleased to finally say it out loud.   " We have somethn more than basic vision, any, sir ! Feminine Instinct..."     New Lady  watched Ginger through the tip of her tail and padded into the kitchen.

 

Inner Dialect.

 

For Oka-san* , Mae, Moeder, Cher Me`re /Mother

Art :MothersDay Card from my kids,Innerdialect

 

Some are  sung  with  gifts of Love, but not all are  known just yet . Consider this  : is hers'  the  Most Challenged  State of Art ?

For all  True Angels  everywhere who ever loved, or  lost /e'vn  thought they never were/ did not do enough

not all are sung ,  not all are  known just yet , oh  Love like that  is  perhaps The  Most Creative  State of  Heart?

For Some must  live or die alone ; await  a  smile, a  child/ or child's return,  that first gurgle, or that  one last glimpse,   not  Time  nor Tide can Return or Give  perhaps...

and Some  walk /walked this Earth for us , and bear and raise and let us grow; Or Those who never  speak  this Word, thinking they never had one of their own /or were called 'Ma' ; and Those not here, but where Love goes when Time is  done, Mom,  Oka-san...

from Us and Some  who never knew that Touch,   to all, Wherever Whoever, this We know, the Heart of  Truth  lives on thru us

a  Hiding Place when it is cold : warm summer smile, the colours bold  for All and  Those Who celebrate  the One they had or are, or  never knew.

Beloved  Humans :  those who yearn, or think they can  never be, just yet, True Love  loves another as their own,  beyond the farthest shore : 

whoever you are / whate'er the Call,  sometimes alone, sometimes out loud,if You're living for Another, if you have shared,  never counting  the hours ; and no one saw the price you pay, each day, for Love   alone :

this Day is Yours,  yours the Greatest Art of all : for Love, tested true, asks nothing, repays no evil, seeks not its own  ; is tender, forgiving.  We wish you Things you wished / thought no one heard :  may  your prayer  be answered. And know you are more than "Mother" here you are Earth's darling human.                                                                                                                                                                

*Japanese for "Mother"                                                                                                                                                            

 Inner Dialect

 

 

 

Why Mona Lisa Smiled

Digital Art, by Vihann N

Pg 3,  The Lounge, written,  Innerdialect

 

They sat together. Two cultures in one.  Three ? Schipol airport. Holding hands ,  coffee and themselves : the world somehow also there with each their cabin baggage.  They were both Caucasian. Mid 20s, Parka , white Tees , well worn jeans.  She was a brunette, pixie beautiful violet eyes , a Renoir mouth. He was a head taller than her, easy 6'2" , smiling eyes  that somehow came across as serious. Light grey .  Their babies dark. Little curls and irises  deep black ; midnight velvet. Twins.

They were talking; yes Flemish! His accent was more NewYork. Little half words.  You could tell they weren't talking about Roots. Not Kin and cliches they  had separately grown up with, but  something about where they were going and you wanted to understand  their Space ;   War and Peace,  and Love. You wondered what they had just seen yesterday, knowing you'd never know. But they'd moved.

Maybe it was in the way  he  reached in and took out the Flute.  Piccolo ?  Gentle notes , now sharp,  now  low.   She listened. Like she were the only one he was playing for. But he had a following  :  the German couple in new leather coats  , the  French lady,  electric blue  streaks in her hair.  To the left, a  young  man and  girl both   red heads ,  white white faces that  hadn't rested.

No one really rested in the Transit Lounge. There was always the departure ;you had to be alert. No matter who you were. What the status  of your ticket or life back home at work or where no one else suspected.

After the man put down his flute, there was that stillness  : like at the  Opera. And some other Places  sacred to each .  She leaned her face against her little grey pillow ; he leaned into his self and they  rested the way people do over  conversations and other Trade,  that can wait for a telling tomorrow. 

Outside some one laughed and there was that familiar mangle of scents. Perfume and deodorant, carpet, wheelies, a distant click, a nearby rattle of wrap and cellophane :  some of the  things associated with people  in movement..

the flute was new today, its  notes  a new presence among  Travel Pictures, and other Glossies.  Mona Lisa   smiled  knowingly. What had she seen ?

It was 1 am. That in between moment , sometimes an exit, sometimes an entry. You never knew which. Somehow now, both mattered. Both mattered. They went together. The man and woman , the Germans,  the French lady, the young couple,  Madame Lisa, the Twins.

The young man was looking at a Brochure from The Crest Hotel , deep maroon and white Crest. Beneath that a rectangluar white card : The Rai.  The girl with the Red hair yawned, " Ja". He put the brochures away, and they smiled at the twins who woke up and cooed at the New Yorker.  New Yorker's name was inaudible. He called her Martine. Martine Schraeppen read her tag.  Martine nodded at the French woman who suddenly frowned.  She looked sharply away as a new day  sifted in through the pale blue lights in the Lounge.

It was never midnight dark in some Places. Unlike other Places.  The French woman hugged herself and steeled everything within for the flight she was about to catch. ..

 

 to be contd.

Harmony & Da Vinci

Do you not know that our soul is composed of harmony?
         — Leonardo da Vinci

Pic "Tables of Content "RNoel

 Diary Transit Lounge Pg2

Yes It is here again, The Transit Area between Morning and Noon, our Work hanging together, wordlessly.

We sift our schedules without much conversation except the Faith that pursues. Faith the substance of Things hoped for, the Evidence of Things not seen. Unheard. Untouchable. Intangible.. here, and yet...

Like Music.

Did Da Vinci find these Words  in  Chaos   : Unequal fingers working together, little Chords in throat and scribbled Alphabets assembling  in one Quote

Little Words. Seemingly.

 

 

RNoel

Diary of a Transit Lounge

 
"Where ?" Medium Pencil /  drawn written  by RNoel

Page 1   :     I am Home here   :  among  Journals, Dates,Time Zones, Words,Silences, Delays, Bars, Make overs,  Baggage , Visas, Duties, Destinations, Calls, Contracts, Cancellations, Arrivals, Departures , Delivery, Farewell

 Approvals,Rejection.Deportation. Delegates.Stars.Status. Hijack.Terror. Salvation.Drinks, Soda,Salads, Tissues. Compacts, Chippy nails, Tears, Cologne, Fresheners. Sighs. Naps. Napes. Jetlag.Hosts. Pilots. Corridors. Counters.Encounters        

I am Transient -Permanence                                 Growth in Change , Static movement forwards , Space Runways,airborne -earth , nauticals, winds, fuelling, wheeling , taking, speeding, rising, heights, steering, stalling, tilting, diving, hovering, listenings, signals, tailing, waiting..                                                           

Even if ,even if, even if

 

RNoel

My friend the landscape artist

by Rayla Noel

via theartistinyou.typepad.com

Personality - secrets

Personality - secrets

"Lounger"

Medium Pencil  drawn written by RNoel

Looking inwards, what's my TYPE?

What am I am secretly asking on this page, hoping  you understand the ramblings of an Adventurer. Whats my Personality Type ? Sanguine, I am not. Melancholic/dreamer. Hmm, yes. In Part.

Volatile. Laid back...sometimes.Choleric: yeah plenty.  Are there more ?  "Sixteen High Profile Personality Types ', say Professors of People Group.

I'll tell you my  Secret :  with each birthday I've trespassed into a little of someone I either admire or love to hate.  Like when you walk out a Theatre ( hey  be honest ) you go a little like your fav hero, or even villian.  Role exchange, Projections, Delusions of Grandeur  : you name it, we all succumb.  After Pretty Woman, dont ask  ; I'm telling you my legs grew a wee bit.  This wild mane of hair even tried to curl edgeways.  After Forest Gump, I threw virtual stones at every shack I ever stowed away in  secret  yards.  After The Piano Player I met a person in me, I never knew existed. .. but thats another Page..

40% of us is  inheritable, as against 60% , that is Environmentally affected.  What is my Personality Type ?

I'll tell you. I do not know.  Theres the Observer ( read Lounger some times, looking at the world as if I do not really belong and am some superior nether-kind ) ; theres the heartless Critic. There's Sweetsufferingseductive-princess of ponder :  mulling philosopher doing- nothing. There's the Killer, stalking  other people's stories  : hey what's in it for me ?!!

But who I love best, is  my " Yet To Bear Fruit " Self  :                                                                                     inspired by a fellow human, creature,  or Piece /   Provoked to Change.  Challenged to Get rid of Melancholy that is not  helping  ; Aggression thats killing something beautiful.  Or  Power that is misplaced. Dreams that suffocate the earth  :  that unaccounted for  constantly  transitory part of us  that begins from times we may never recall, forwards into what we are becoming with, or without our permission, or knowledge  ...

is there a Define for this  Part of me still Growing  : merging all that is inherent/ environmental, into  Designer -  Unique. Irreplaceable.

{ Yeah you got this writ from my most honest page  : sincerely, Ray)