This Being Human — A Departure into Stillness

Sometimes a painting arrives that doesn’t follow the usual path. It doesn’t emerge from the same intuitive flow, or respond to the same impulses. It asks for something else entirely. This Being Human is one such painting.

It stands apart from all my other works — not only in how it looks, but in how it was made. There is a clarity to it. A structure. A sense of deliberate arrangement that’s rare in my creative process. Where most of my paintings evolve organically, often with bold turns and layered surprises, this one came with a quiet, focused energy. I felt an internal urge to create a balanced geometrical composition — almost like I needed to build something, not just paint.

Just before I began working on it, I had read Rumi’s The Guest House. That poem settled into me like a gentle command. Its message — to welcome every emotion, no matter how unexpected or uncomfortable — stayed with me as I painted the first shapes. The painting became a kind of visual reflection of that poem. Not an illustration, but a response.

I felt the verses needed to be part of the piece, but not all of them wanted to be seen. Some lines seemed to ask to stay hidden, absorbed into the layers. Others remained visible, subtly woven into the surface. There’s a conversation between those words and the forms they inhabit — an interplay between presence and concealment, between what we show and what we carry quietly inside.

Each shape — oval, rectangle, soft-edged form — became like a chamber for an emotional state. Red, yellow, blue, black, and white alternate like moods passing through. The patterns — dots, dashes, textures that resemble static or rain — evoke movement, memory, and the flickering nature of thought. And yet, despite all this activity, the overall composition remains still. Grounded. Intentional.

In a way, This Being Human feels like an emotional map — a diagram of how we hold experience. Everything in its place, yet alive with meaning. It doesn’t follow the language of spontaneity. It follows the language of containment, reflection, and choice.

What surprises me most about this painting is not just how different it looks, but how different it feels — even to me. It’s quieter. More architectural. As if the painting itself was making space for emotions to be acknowledged, but not overwhelmed by them.

Inspired by Rumi’s gentle wisdom, this piece became its own kind of guest house — where shape, color, and word all play a role in receiving what comes. A joy. A sadness. A moment of clarity. A shadow of doubt. They each have their room.

“The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in...”— Rumi

This being human is messy, yes. But it can also be beautifully composed — not by erasing complexity, but by giving it space.