Insomnia II: A Cartography of the Relentlessly Awake Mind

Insomnia II (24"x24")

I remember the nights, or perhaps endless days, when *Insomnia II* began to take shape on the canvas. It wasn't a planned vision, but an unfolding of what my mind looked and felt like when the world outside slept, and I did not.

When I first laid down that vibrant teal, creating the window-like structure on the left, I wasn't just thinking of a window to the outside. No, I was trying to frame the fleeting thoughts that drift in and out of consciousness. Within those panes, I found myself sketching clouds, some weeping with rain, some holding a single number—perhaps a fragment of a forgotten dream, or a calculation that refused to settle. And the lightbulb? That was the sudden, sharp idea that flashes in the darkness, only to fade as quickly.

The expansive yellow block in the upper middle... that was the relentless, unfiltered brightness of an overactive mind. It wasn't the warmth of the sun; it was the artificial glow of my own thoughts, keeping me tethered to wakefulness. I layered it thickly, feeling the texture of the paint, trying to capture the sheer volume of mental energy. And then, the abrupt black rectangle in the top right, peppered with stark white stars—that was the brief, tantalizing glimpse of the night sky, a stark reminder of the slumber I craved but couldn't reach. It was a fragment of the quiet universe invading my internal chaos.

The zigzagging line, like a haphazard staircase climbing from the bottom right, became my mental journey through those long hours. Each step, each tiny square, represented a thought pursued, a memory revisited, or a question pondered. I found myself incorporating snippets of text, almost illegible, like whispers from an old newspaper, or the half-formed sentences that haunt the edges of sleep. The prominent "THE" in that collaged section, it felt like the beginning of a sentence never finished, a story perpetually paused. And the geometric shapes I scattered around, the circles and triangles—those were the attempts to find order, to create a system where none seemed to exist.

The gray block, textured and somewhat muted, felt like the anchor of reality, the mundane wall of my room, or perhaps the dull exhaustion that sets in. But even there, a splash of vivid blue, almost an 'X' mark, appeared. It was an unexpected surge, a moment of piercing clarity, or perhaps simply another elusive thought demanding attention within the monotone.

*Insomnia II* is more than just a painting to me; it is a cartography of my inner landscape during those sleepless nights. The "II" in the title signifies not just a sequel, but the ongoing nature of this internal dialogue, the recurring theme of a mind that refuses to rest. It's the silent hum of ideas, the weight of unexpressed feelings, and the quiet, persistent struggle to make sense of the ceaseless flow of consciousness. Every brushstroke, every scratched line, every collaged element, is a testament to those hours when sleep eluded me, and all that remained was the raw, unadulterated experience of being utterly, relentlessly awake. This piece is a window into that very personal, yet universal, human experience.