Even further toward the
edge of nothingness and invisibility is the materiality of a painting. A painting is a strange anachronistic object
in the age of digital pictures. Like sacred reliquaries containing the bones of
saints, paintings are reminders of what cannot be seen. The paintings of the
Himalaya invite the viewer to enter into the solitude of contemplation.
The mountains are dreams of creation, another
kingdom, of sublime beauty, where no one can live, but which draws us up toward
the purity of intention. These mountains enclose a thousand Buddhist shrines, villages
founded by flying llamas, a million steps, and little gardens with tiny
chickens hiding under baskets. The
paintings reflect impossibly effortless attempts, not to paint a scene, but to
capture the gesture of the clouds turning into mountains turning into clouds. the ineffable painting that is perfect in its
possibility, the painting just before it takes form as a painting.
