līlāyā
Līlāyā is the name of my practice.
It is the fusion of लील (līlā) and माया (māyā). The richness of these Sanskrit words cannot be described in a few sentences. I hope this begins a deeper inquiry for anyone reading, my own inquiry is ever ongoing.
In short, līlā is cosmic play. The Divine, being perfect if we agree on that, has no reason to create for lack of something or someone. So why create at all? Students of Vedanta proposed: the Divine must simply be... at play. In play. Constantly. Indiscriminately. Now māyā, commonly misinterpreted as "the matrix," is actually more nuanced than the "nothing is real" illusion. It refers to the illusion we earthly beings fall into when we forget why things are the way they are. When we take the design of the world to be done with some intent of help or harm. The Divine does not plan. The Divine does not purport or pretend to anything, good or bad.
The Divine simply plays.
Through Līlāyā, I return to that state of cosmic play. It is a state of being much more than doing. And yet the key to how I resonate with my audience lies in the veil, the shadow, the illusion. There lies the possiblity for my play to mean whatever it must mean — to reach the heart of whoever is experiencing it. After all, the Divine may just be playing with sky paint but any sunset any day will move me to stillness. Smiling. And perhaps tears.
It is the fusion of लील (līlā) and माया (māyā). The richness of these Sanskrit words cannot be described in a few sentences. I hope this begins a deeper inquiry for anyone reading, my own inquiry is ever ongoing.
In short, līlā is cosmic play. The Divine, being perfect if we agree on that, has no reason to create for lack of something or someone. So why create at all? Students of Vedanta proposed: the Divine must simply be... at play. In play. Constantly. Indiscriminately. Now māyā, commonly misinterpreted as "the matrix," is actually more nuanced than the "nothing is real" illusion. It refers to the illusion we earthly beings fall into when we forget why things are the way they are. When we take the design of the world to be done with some intent of help or harm. The Divine does not plan. The Divine does not purport or pretend to anything, good or bad.
The Divine simply plays.
Through Līlāyā, I return to that state of cosmic play. It is a state of being much more than doing. And yet the key to how I resonate with my audience lies in the veil, the shadow, the illusion. There lies the possiblity for my play to mean whatever it must mean — to reach the heart of whoever is experiencing it. After all, the Divine may just be playing with sky paint but any sunset any day will move me to stillness. Smiling. And perhaps tears.
Līlāyā is the name of my practice.
It is the fusion of लील (līlā) and माया (māyā). The richness of these Sanskrit words cannot be described in a few sentences. I hope this begins a deeper inquiry for anyone reading, my own inquiry is ever ongoing.
In short, līlā is cosmic play. The Divine, being perfect if we agree on that, has no reason to create for lack of something or someone. So why create at all? Students of Vedanta proposed: the Divine must simply be... at play. In play. Constantly. Indiscriminately.
Now māyā, commonly misinterpreted as "the matrix," is actually more nuanced than the "nothing is real" illusion. It refers to the illusion we earthly beings fall into when we forget why things are the way they are. When we take the design of the world to be done with some intent of help or harm. The Divine does not plan. The Divine does not purport or pretend to anything, good or bad.
The Divine simply plays.
Through Līlāyā, I return to that state of cosmic play. It is a state of being much more than doing. And yet the key to how I resonate with my audience lies in the veil, the shadow, the illusion. There lies the possiblity for my play to mean whatever it must mean — to reach the heart of whoever is experiencing it. After all, the Divine may just be playing with sky paint but any sunset any day will move me to stillness. Smiling. And perhaps tears.
It is the fusion of लील (līlā) and माया (māyā). The richness of these Sanskrit words cannot be described in a few sentences. I hope this begins a deeper inquiry for anyone reading, my own inquiry is ever ongoing.
In short, līlā is cosmic play. The Divine, being perfect if we agree on that, has no reason to create for lack of something or someone. So why create at all? Students of Vedanta proposed: the Divine must simply be... at play. In play. Constantly. Indiscriminately.
Now māyā, commonly misinterpreted as "the matrix," is actually more nuanced than the "nothing is real" illusion. It refers to the illusion we earthly beings fall into when we forget why things are the way they are. When we take the design of the world to be done with some intent of help or harm. The Divine does not plan. The Divine does not purport or pretend to anything, good or bad.
The Divine simply plays.
Through Līlāyā, I return to that state of cosmic play. It is a state of being much more than doing. And yet the key to how I resonate with my audience lies in the veil, the shadow, the illusion. There lies the possiblity for my play to mean whatever it must mean — to reach the heart of whoever is experiencing it. After all, the Divine may just be playing with sky paint but any sunset any day will move me to stillness. Smiling. And perhaps tears.
These are the values that shape me as an artist —
and that I hope to share with fellow artists.
and that I hope to share with fellow artists.