The Risk of Being Present: Ancient Wisdom for a Fast-Paced Digital Life

In a world that prizes the instantaneous, we often forget that the most profound shifts in human understanding, both artistic and personal, require a deliberate deceleration. To build a practice that sustains itself across a lifetime, one must move beyond technical execution and into a more intentional way of being. This brings us to the core of my practice: a philosophical framework rooted in the intersection of materiality and mindfulness.

I often think of this as my own version of the “Slow Art Movement”. It is a philosophy that encourages us to trade the 'scroll' for a more meditative pace, encouraging people to spend 10-12 minutes with a single artwork rather than seconds. It counters fast-paced, consumption-driven culture to foster deeper, more personal connections with art, and to support mental well-being. 

I would say that I have taken the same approach to my art making process too right from the beginning. Which, at times, felt like the wrong strategy — especially when being prolific is the mantra of social media driven lives.

In the modern creative landscape, there is a constant, underlying pressure to produce at scale and get instant feedback. We are often told that to stay relevant, we must be visible, and to be visible, we must be fast. Instant gratification culture has created an illusion that success happens overnight, fuelled by dopamine-driven apps and curated success stories. Yet for those of us drawn to the tactile and the layered, this pace feels fundamentally at odds with the soul of the work.

Cal Newport's Deep Work argues that intense, distraction-free concentration is a superpower in modern life — one that provides immense professional value and deep personal satisfaction. Focused work increases productivity, improves skill mastery, and allows you to produce your best work while reducing anxiety.

I won't pretend I have never fallen for instant gratification. And truthfully, which artist doesn't enjoy having their work seen and discussed? There is nothing wrong with wanting that. But I realised some time ago, even if I keep finding myself straying back, that chasing visibility wasn't serving me or the work.

I also don't see the point of being admired only after I am gone, as happened with Vivian Maier. Her story is remarkable, but it is not one I find romantic. Speed as a working philosophy doesn't suit me either. It doesn't bring joy, and it leads to burnout.

The balance I am after is not about is about staying anchored in the work first, and letting visibility follow from that. It is also worth remembering that before social media, artists who made meaningful work were still discovered. The work itself has always been the most reliable thing.

The Philosophical Framework: Integrating Stoicism and the Gita into Mixed-Media Art

This is where the Slow Art Movement meets the ancient principles of the Gita and Stoicism. It is a quiet rebellion against the instant.

I grew up in a household where the Ram Raksha and the 15th chapter of the Bhagavad Gita were recited every evening. My rebellious teenage years taught me to question a great deal. While I became a free thinker, the spiritual learnings of the Gita stayed with me. I didn't appreciate them much when I was young, but those learning and introduction to Stoicism through Rayn Holiday’s Daily Stoic remind me to focus entirely on what is within my control: my effort, my intentions, my reactions. And to remain indifferent to external validation or the frantic pace of the market.

When I sit down to work on a piece from a series such as A Cry Still Unheard or Imperfect Perfection, I am entering into a contract with time.

Mixed-media is inherently slow. It requires patience during the chemical process in the studio, precision with the tools, and the thoughtful layering of materials that carry the concept. If you approach it with a mindset of getting it done, the work suffers. But if you approach it as a meditative practice, the process becomes a form of internal grounding. Each action is a choice. Each layer is a reflection.

Books like Susan Cain's Quiet and Newport's Deep Work helped confirm what I already believed. Though at times, life on such a path feels lonely. But walk it long enough, and you do find the right companions.

The Impact of Manual Intervention in Photography

There is a specific kind of honesty that emerges when a piece takes forty hours rather than forty minutes. In art history, we see this in practitioners like Edmund de Waal, whose ceramic installations are built from thousands of repetitive, singular acts of creation. His work is not just about the final vessel. It is about the space and time inhabited during the making.

As De Waal has written, porcelain is a material that remembers everything you do to it.

For a junior artist or photographer, there is a great deal of clarity to be found in slowing down. Some often worry that if new work isn’t being posted every day, they will be forgotten. But curators and collectors are rarely looking for the most frequent voice. They are looking for the most resonant and consistent one. Resonance requires depth, and depth requires time.

Choosing consistency over speed

Prioritising methodology over speed is a long-term plan. It is a commitment to the belief that this is the not-so-secret recipe for living longer, staying healthy, and making work until the last day. By adopting a slow approach, I have learned to find joy in doing. That mindfulness not only gives me lasting satisfaction, it also gives me the time to notice flaws (in the process or the concept) and, more importantly, the time to address them.

The physical resistance of the process and the slow appearance of its outcome become teachers. They remind me that the most effective way to express difficult subject matter is through honest, unhurried application of skill.

In the end, art is not about being inefficient. It is about being intentional. It is about ensuring that every detail of a piece is there because you were present enough to put it there.