The drunken Sufi path of love Print

I started to create the mandalas in 1999 at the Osho meditation resort in Pune, India. I found the requirement to respect the radial symmetry and circular form of the true mandala provided a convenient container for my creativity that allowed me to play with the decorative forms, vibrant colours and fine, detailed delivery that had always characterised my artistic expression, while also creating a meaningful and potentially useful piece of work. I soon began to extend my designs beyond abstract patterns through floral forms into figurative worlds, glimpsed as in a kaleidoscope – little repeating pieces of paradise. For me, art is about creating a window into a more perfect world, a vision of how reality might appear when the veil of the mundane illusion of our daily lives is pulled back and we can see again the magic and wonder, the crystalline radiance of the hidden aspects of our multi-dimensional existence. An invitation to remember the transcendent realms that connect us with the true nature of who we are and why we are here. That the mandala is also an applied art – a prop for meditation and a tool for healing – gives my work an added sense of purpose for me. These designs work – in ways I have no conscious understanding of – to talk directly with the soul, conveying information it may need to receive for its journey. So while the viewer may be drawn to them merely for their pattern or colours, enjoying them as decorative motifs, there is a reason behind that attraction, and the mandala is doing its secret work regardless of how we respond to it. Try gazing quietly at a mandala, meditating on it for a while, allowing its forms and colours to pull the eye and mind into its intricate web and hold them there. Perhaps using the mandala in this way may bring calm and peace, or subtle inner shifts – above all, a greater centredness in this increasingly topsy-turvy world. I witness the birth of a new mandala as an ongoing surprise. I rarely know what I am going to create – there is no rough sketch, no planning. I just start to draw, usually from the centre, and see what emerges, working out gradually towards the edge of the design. It is precision work – every curve of the unfolding mandala is measured out with a ruler and compasses, plotted onto an underlying pencil-drawn grid of concentric circles and radiating lines – typically either ten, for a five-point mandala, sixteen for a four- or eight-pointer or twenty-four for twelve points.