“If I were forced to define myself, I would timidly ask to be considered an artist. Not out of vanity, but because it is there, on the margins of existence, where I find my place. One of those who walk without haste, who talk to stones, who look at the clouds as if they could understand them. One of those who talk to and listen to the stars, not to decipher them, but because they sense that they too have something to say. I paint flowers not to explain them, but to accompany them in their silence, respecting the mystery of what is not said. I paint trees, mountains, objects, people… but I do not seek to reproduce their visible form, but rather the mark their presence leaves deep within. I paint what resonates within, not what is seen outside. I paint what moves inside, I do not try to reproduce what shines on the outside. And if I sometimes seem crazy, it is because the world does not always have the space or patience to tolerate those of us who look at things from an overly human perspective.”
Prabhuji
