24 Dec 2009
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The artist, bemused and absorbed, stared at the wall. The wall was full of lines, scribbled at random. In all shapes and lengths, the lines didn't, at first glance, make any sense. Some of them were faint, some have been erased, some have vanished with the passage of time, and a few were indelible. They defined the theme and the meaning, and yet the meaning had a trace of persistent vagueness. Some fleeting lines were being drawn even as the artist continued to stare.
A moment shall come when the artist will cease to be, and the only justification for his existence is lent by the few lines, indelible and defining, that will still conceal a part of the meaning and yet make all his attention most meaningful.
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