Category Archives: Studio

In an Age of Rude….

I get this !

Listen. watch when you can,

interview  shortly …





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I remembered you today

Girl in Orange. RN Acrylic

The Girl in Orange ( painting) sold to an unknown buyer , via a small gallery in Bangalore /this  painting was done in honour of the many little girls whose parents sell them into trades best not discussed in decent places of commerce, or decent blogs of decent families. But the painting brought me the silent voices of little girls, even women in our technically brilliant nation of forward women who can fight for their rights, of which I count myself one, so please bear with me as I talk of village and other parents who still sell their baby girls, as slaves  of a kind –  or

even kill them.


I cannot imagine being kicked in my face because I do not have legitimacy, or am not deserving of my own given rights…

All the education invested in us, is undeserving if we will not, by choice, impact at least one other person, in our life time.

…If you have the power to stop a bunch of parents from hurting their child or themselves, please try to talk to them.



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Music from an Untouchable …


Castes (Photo credit: M J M)

cropped-394395_496449837086849_916782431_n1.jpgThe room fell silent. Then he began to play – as if his soul were talking a new language. Here no one was asking details on paper.No one asked him his age or place of birth, his mother tongue, caste or creed. Why would they.

Later he talked about casteism. He sang about love and hate as if he knew them like they were triplets, born and suckled in the same house. As if they had shared the same bath water, but one of them was Untouchable.  How awful it reads, writing about this, but he sang about it, not with disgust, not even indifference, but a trust. A trust that someone  somewhere would hear and make amends. Someone would begin to think. Yes, there are still people who are barred not for crime, but for being born in a ‘ lower caste community’ .  There  is still a Race paid to do unmentionable ‘ fourth class ‘ work, while we  choose daintily between Love and Hate , or what to wear or not wear, what to be hurt by, or not hurt by.

But those were not the words this child-man sang as we sat there listening. It was a new kind of creed. A new genre. An Indian’s love for his people, a people that gave him a caste.


And I still do not understand the word ” Untouchable”, I really do not know how we can go on pretending it does not exist in a country that does Vogue and Cannes and Pizza parlours and Bookers. I mean how can we just go on as if there aren’t communities that are dying to be heard. Literally.

After I post this post, what must I do. I have no clue. I will get on with my sweet life, my angelic prayers and poetry. My dreams of writing a book….. what will I write about that will grab a market by its throat and maybe pay my bills and marry my kids off to nice people.

Where are all the nice people ? Who are the nice people? Will they respond to this? Should they ? Isn’t there almost too much to say, and it is tiresome, and we’d rather just be. Because. Well, I do not know. I’m just another like you. Working hard at something I need to work on. The Touchables. Dreams. Ah. One of my friends would say, ” No Ray Dreams are Untouchables too.Beyond us. Not necessarily negative.Maybe I am negative..”


What is Untouchable.

What is Touchable.

Who will tell me. Who Can ?






“Dear Lyrics of Life – it’s not just the Dalits or who ever you meant when you wrote this and my deepest sympathies – if there is anything anything at all I could do, I would do it, only how ? Who will tellus ? And the people who can, won’t read this post. MAY NOT I am saying. But here is my mention : THERE ARE ALL KINDS OF UNTOUCHABLES IN OUR SOCIETY. The lonely people, the rejects without money, and have no place to go for work or anything. We have become  indifferent. At least the ‘ caste – victims’ have a voice now. There are some like us, have no voice. Because somebody is just alone. with no friend. They have no nice appearance or house address. Even internet.  We are the untouchables also.. “



Dear Anonymous Indian,

I wish this were easily answered, it is not just an Indian dilemma.

The worst condition is said to be the state of  loneliness, of feeling isolated in a fast-paced world. A kind of n0-mans’ land where one feels trapped and at a loss.  We all go thru’ it, and some of us might take years to find our feet again, you know ? Find health, good jobs and friends…  its a crazy thing called Existence, and I wish I had the answer. This Blog is just a reflection of our times, a Journal of the days you and I live, and try to make a good life. I like Lauren Hill‘s Speech to High school Kids (UTube) that I have attached. It is 12 minutes, do listen if you would.  Esp her last sentence ….

I wish you would not remain anonymous, in your own life.. cherish your face, the road that got you here – remember it. It will serve you well oneday. Your   external Address is not permanent. I should know. I’ve lived and lived and will not stop. Am now at Peace only when am Moving. Don’t want fancy footwear, I just want running shoes and places to go.  I wish nice things for the kids, but for me, I ask the strength, dear God to go as many miles as I can in this life,  hear every whisper He whispers in the dark, and shout it from the roof tops.  Yes we’re all outcastes. If we say so. And I believe the worst offender is the one who keeps others down. Not just in parliament or temple backlanes. The worst of us are the meanies, the bullies in the street, the cowards who will never encourage each other. If you’re not one of those, Anonymous Indian, you’re safe… 🙂

What is your real address is the YOU INSIDE. WE NEED OUR TRUE IDENTITY FOR OUR OWN REFERENCE. Eventually that’s all that counts. Na ?



A Must Read from a New friend




English: Birth place of Mahatma Gandhi, Porban...

English: Birth place of Mahatma Gandhi, Porbandar, India. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)



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My new work : “Matrix Of Praise”

RNoel : This Sketch is inspired by all the Expressionists I meet and learn from at street corners and altars, esp. those in unlikely places.

The Matrix Of Praise . Pencil Sketch, 15″ x 11 ” RNoel

A sample of my  new line of paintings, this is a sketch am hoping to work on, in canvas.

Some  have seen thru’ my lines and interpreted things I never saw. It is mind-blowing what another can translate, from one’s stroke and colour choice, title and palette. I wonder what you see.

Confession : There are artists who plan and proceed. I could never/

Matrix – the very word fascinates me. Praise / Devotionals, is my way of life. For me the two belong in the same rooms. or ” Plane”. That Unseen Space of War & Peace.

I believe the words we speak deep inside, when no one else is listening, are Prayers. They are naked, shorn of pretense and structure. Unusual things happen when we speak there. But when we Praise, we change…

(This sketch  am likely to further detail on canvas. The Dark lines in this piece are more deep blue and magenta, but have come out as black). Not the same as the real thing, but here it is). 


JUNE  10th.

A friend just wrote in, asking if “Praise ” meant ‘ words of praise to each other – encouragement’. Though that is wonderful in itself, ” Praise ” here, for me, is Devotional, a spiritual term, used in songs of devotion, and in Thankfulness : for good received, a state of gratitude, in any circumstance. For me, this seems to  set me free of hurtful negatives.

I know this is a whole aspect here, and has provoked much debate. However, I sketched this one, because, being thankful, happy, grateful, frees me from the viciousness of Regret,Blame, Hate,Pain — all that. This has to be tried out to be  understood, not excluding the fact that, we  must face our problems, take positive steps, in the right direction.

Last evening we visited our friends who had lost both Father and a sister in recent road accident – the two girls and mother, including few relatives also travelling,have suffered grievous injury and will take months to even physically recover.  However, the youngest girl, 17, greeted us with a wide smile, ” So happy to see you..”

It made me say the next line : ” Ah Pree, am getting a job in this Hospital !”

She looked at me with wide eyes. ” What, say ?”

” Oh they’ve appointed me for Ward – Mischief”


” To play tricks on you. Hide you stuff… tickle your toes , so you heal fast ”

Pree grinned wide at me and said that she was never ever ticklish, not just because  her entire leg was in a cast with rods, and painkillers.

” What else would you.. uh do ? ” She asked her eyes twinkling.

” Oh jump at you when you visit the loo, hide under your bed and make scary noises…”

She hooted with laughter and I noticed how thin she had become. ” Please do get that job, what fun that would be,” she said, and I saw three other women look us all carefully over.

Insane idea actually, if your head hurts, if your jaw is wired and ribs fractured in such places they can’t even bind you up. Tough if you’re off college for a year and have to start over in a home without Dad and younger sister. I know Pree and her family have hidden their tears well, or just plain ran out of them. They are maybe achy to get back to the Life they once knew.

In a  few seconds, so much can change.

Then we got to change too.

The toughest call for me, has been, ” to change too”. Like when you’re riding a good horse. You yield. You trust anothers’ Footwork. They jump, you go too.

Sigh, No Rihaansh my friend, its not easy. Nothing that is powerful is ever easy. That much I know. The rest am trying hard to learn. Observe.

( contd.

Last night I committed suicide



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A beautiful woman and human being : Thelma Samuel

Silk Painting. Thelma Samuel

Thelma Samuel


An Artist & an Inspiration to those of us who may not realise our Latent wealth.

 Thelma paints in oil, Silk fabric,Mosaic. Works Ceramic. Her National Painting Award, at age 15, ” Silent night” may have been the first impression of Latent Skills in Art. She moved on to be an English Lecturer, in India and in Muscat Oman, among a strata of Social Groups, Kids, older staff workers in the Palace and Medical College/School : teaching conversation skills among young girls who have much to ask/say. She lives/works  in Oman with her husband and two sons. Yesterday we talked about Paints and recent sales. Am moved by her brilliance as an Expressionist and as a  human being  ..and am inspired to start painting myself, after a long break !

Excerpts :

TS  :  “… I call this Painting (below) ‘Centre of the Universe” .  My cook sees a pot ( laughs). For me it’s a baby – the woman holds a baby in her arms. I like what you wrote, ‘ the woman holds a mirror, it reflects her mind.. the spirit of a woman, and a human being…”


” I’ve painted in Silk (above) its a fantastic medium. The colours flow, and people like it, but that one am not selling. Yes, sure am working on a ” collection’ haha, but many miles to go. Two of what I sent in for this weeks’ exhibition sold ! Am thrilled!”

” My dream is to set up a space .. gallery..  where we can sell these things, and it’s not just about sales. These are things of the heart. I didn’t know I could or would paint again, after all this time. Falling in love, Marriage, life, kids, their schools, colleges, now they are in Australia, their dreams and lives.  A woman can get caught up in everything ! Then suddenly one day you get a call… ” NEED FOUR PAINTINGS  BY THE WEEK ! OH I SAT  UP AND FINISHED WHAT I COULD AND  SEE!  You’ve got to have a need, a deadline… then people like me just get off their butt and work…. “

I LOVE HER HUMOR, her beautiful spirit that has inspired me all these years. I should know. She’ s my sister. I’ve included here, without her permission, Thelma” poetry from what I remember:

SILENCE:  …is what you hear when the world slumbers, when man-made non-sensities, stop their eternal racket.

When Man, his day’s duty done, seeks consolation, in God’s tranquil night; and lays his head on the barren earth.Where he finds solace, that no drug, no tranquilizer,can render…

SAMS’ KITCHEN. Thel’s ceramics. I thought they had picked it up in some travel someplace on the globe, but ‘ NO RAY< I Made that! ”  I should have guessed. SAM is her Hearth!



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Petals of Promise



And each soft one

reminds me of this University

called Life.


1,000,000 Pictures

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Lone Soldier

Upside down plait, she said.raycatcher 

Getting a hold of sunshine that was always there

MAY 2, 2013


Thinking (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn)

Lone Soldier

So we’re going to visit a kidney patient today. Yeah, you know those bean-shaped organs that regulate water and such? That kinda slacked a bit. If this girl gets a new one it would be good. Anyway hope she gets better.

This^^ is what I thought of health problems; they won’t affect me whatsoever, therefore I needn’t worry. For others, well, there are medicines, prayer, you name it, you can always do something about it. If you can’t then, well, that’s sad.

I didn’t realize what a toll it takes to have even a tiny disruption in normal health cycles. A few weeks back I got up, clutching my stomach, and stayed like that for three days. Unable to eat or sleep or read, it was terrible; yet the doctors said it was a common problem with girls- just a cyst, just gastritis; Just.
I tried to remember all the times friends told me they had a similar did they bear it and later on act like nothing happened?
When you’re in pain, and you don’t know what to so, you’re under the power of your parents, doctors with their needles, and scariest of all, a body that you can’t control.
It’s only then that you realize how helpless you are against circumstances, against situations that don’t ask for your permission to hit you in the face, it just happens. and what can you do? Just brave it out, grabbing at hope even if it’s a bitter tablet in your mouth, just coz it promises to make you better.

This is a "thought bubble". It is an...

” Wh…. UH ??” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When you’re in pain, you long for people to understand what you’re going through; to not eat chocolate when you can’t, to not burst into the room and aid the hammers that are already banging your head open. Yet you don’t want pity, you just, oh please just, want to be normal, breathing, moving, you, again.
You’re robbed of your powers, you’re ordered by your own slaves. You’re made to jump off cliffs, many in fact, if it’s gonna make you better. Sometimes taking a risk is worth the jump, sometimes it lands you into something worse. It can take days to heal into what you were; it can take a lifetime. There are points where you wonder if you’ll ever be the same again, if it’s worth the struggle.

She smiles at me every Sunday at church, and I never thought twice about her; yet now when I think of how scared she must be, I shudder. She walks about at home with tubes from inside her, and has treats of self-administered injections everyday. Injections! Dreadful things that invade your body. And that’s the part which gives her relief from of her pain.
‘Should I just give up?’, you cry in defiance at the sickness that dares to challenge your rights to a normal-functioning body.
‘Hey, yeah everyone, that’s right, I’m not some weakling here bent over with the inconvenience of my pain, I’m a fighter, battling for my life. It’s a wonder I’m even here’, you think, mentally putting other people in your place and seeing them completely thrown over if they faced the same thing.

Sunday Morning

Routines(Photo credit: jspaw)

But they do.
And this girl with her kidney problems, she’s facing much worse. That’s what astonishes me.

Thinking of how I’d dismissed her problem before as something of her concern, and not to do with me, I feel ashamed. That’s exactly the worst thing I could’ve done- to treat it as though it were nothing.
That face that smiled over broken self-worth, covering all its miseries and putting up a barrier between the whole world and her lone self; that has to be let down. It’s bad enough to bear something without the comfort of others lending a hand to lift it off your back.
Maybe they can’t, but at least they cared to try.
Who knows, maybe I can lift it off today, just an inch: anything to let her know she isn’t the only soldier in her fight for her life.


Getting a hold of sunshine that was always there


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The Art of Friendship

what can I say


This beautiful Lady ? LIDIA TOHAR  Studio 101My Life, My Art  : Boca Raton, Florida

We met via FB, and she has ever ceased to amaze me with her talent and everything else that makes a woman a real human being. She worked against odds, and rode every wave, to get to Studio 101.  Art & Humanity drips through her Life,  across the miles, to where I live, surrounded by my own challenges. Every single time I go quiet, Lidia’s there on my wall…. ” Ray, how are you ?”

The day she opened her Studio, and I so wanted to be there too, she asked, ” Why don’t you write me a poem, I’ll paint it into the Show.”   It was something about, ” A Woman wears many hats…”

She couldn’t have known I was going  sitting upside down in a rollercoaster,  but here we were, somehow together in a  display of friendship, I will never forget. If you are anywhere near Florida, people, check out her Studio 101. You will meet a phenomenal Person.

 Good Morning Rayla, just a quick hello to you and the family. Hope everyone is well . Hope your still writing and painting and just being you. 🙂
    • RN   you just went and got better Tohar!
    • Lidia Tohar thx Rayla just like you we just keep getting better don’t we . Thx GD for our Art madness ! Getting ready for my next show tomorrow.
      • RN All the very best fabulous person, you ‘re always writing in and chinning me up. LOVE YOU. Allow me a Pic to promo you on any of my sites, if you wish.And do send in a quote of yours too. I’m TIRED Of all my own words ha ha
      • Thx  Rayla. . I never tire of your words..  love them! You can pull any picture you want from my work .As for my words . I shall say what I always say to people , “That if you dream it then you have it …

Lidia Tohar

Colouring my world with thoughts of love , happiness and magic. Color for me is all of that . Magic needs to exist in this world . Life is all about movement and change with that comes light and color . I journey each time I paint to wolds unknown but exciting and mysterious. The stories they tell are full of rich characters , symbols and places that unfold with each stroke I make . I never know where it is going to lead me I just know it will entice my Imagination and stir my passion and the is the thrill of it . In the act of Art I best understand myself. Alchemy for the spirit and soul. Believe in the magic of Art!!!! Life is all about that not just the day in and out but that which takes you and pulls you away to dream  for a while …Feed your spirit don’t die before your time.Lidia Tohar

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Ms. Splendid ‘ red lips’

‘Man imitates Nature,’



Martine my Belgian artist friend said between silences and her Rembrandt pastels all over our tables. I say our tables, we were painting together, though it is still very hard for me to be creative in company.  And look at us, we both look like ….ah. Maybe dogs.’

I didn’t dare laugh yet. She was serious! The last time I did that, she wouldn’t speak to me and when she did, her creole accent was harsh. Like an angry violin. Later that evening,at the beach we saw weeds and some fish – they looked familiar. Ha ha.  Later we had shrimp and lime rice in the shacks by Aruna tea stall. Last week when Martine wrote in, with a new pic of herself and her gorgeous family, it all came back, her stories of how the earth is related to each other. Then I found this pic, had to share.

The best things in Life are really, real.

Na ?


Splendid red-lipped bat fish


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DARE your sub conscious !

Remo Conscious

Remo Conscious (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There are two things I am afraid of, the old man said to his young

nephew :

” I am afraid of Nature, for she is unpredictable. And I am afraid of myself. The rest is nothing..”



Called the Lion Man : Kiven Richardson. See U Tube.

A. Zeppelain This is NO photoshop ! I have seen this guy on German tv ! He lives in Africa together with a whole family of lions ! It’s beautiful and fascinating to see that


Autistic artist Stephen Wiltshire draws spellbinding 18ft picture of New York from memory after a 20-minute helicopter ride over city

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