Text by the artist Bill Viola: 

 

"Joakim Eneroth’s new work of images and texts, Short Stories of the Transparent Mind, is the vivid record of a personal journey to uncover the fundamental emptiness that lies beyond and beneath our day-to-day experience of the world. Punctuated by stark and sometimes personally revealing texts, he presents us with a series of striking photographs – naked, vulnerable figures standing in a nocturnal landscape; empty rooms miraculously animated by light and mind; a jumble of footprints, tracks, and vacant streets leading nowhere; signs emptied of their meaning, rooms emptied of their contents and individuals emptied of their personas and limitations.

Eneroth’s meditation practice, and his camera’s trained inner eye, allows him to peel back the layers of the self and the external surfaces that obstruct our inner vision. The result is a profound meditation on the key Buddhist concepts of Impermanence and Emptiness in contemporary life, and the fullness that emerges within us when our inner mirror is finally polished and the clutter long blocking our vision is cleansed. Joakim Eneroth has said that his goal is to reach the point when 'the story line fades away' and we arrive at 'a moment of being no one going nowhere'. His is a journey we all should take."

SHORT STORIES OF THE TRANSPARENT MIND

Retitled

My transparent mind, your transparent mind, his transparent mind,

their transparent mind, our transparent mind

Alone at last

One month, one room, one window and seven hours of meditation a day.

No telephone, no television, no radio, no internet, no video, no DVD,

no books, no newspapers, no computer, no mobile phone, no music,

no reading, no writing, no talking, nothing.

Just me and my mind.

Turn Around

It is march 1985 and I am fourteen, two months before my mother dies.

I stand before the unknown men that shaped my life and would change my future.

The surgeon, who was reported to the discipinary board for severe negligence 

after performing the transplant that would cause my mothers death.

My father, who I didn't know well but who is the person that I soon will move in with.

My mothers boyfriend, who shared her life in the summers in Ireland.

A life where I didn't exist.

And my mothers psychoanalyst, maybe the man closest to her

during my upbringing, but whom I never met.

Not seeing, not responsible

Habitual Being

Delusion

The past is gone, future is cancelled

I'm not there

Being no one going nowhere

In absorbed concentration the inner voice turns silent,

the story line fades away.

It is temporary, but a reference point I keep returning to,

a moment of being no one

going nowhere.

Thirst

This subtle unease of mistaking thoughts for reality

Naked recognition

Here then, form is no other than emptiness,

emptiness no other than form.

Form is only emptiness, emptiness only form

feeling, thought and choice, consciousness itself

are the same as this

 

(From the Heart Sutra)

1 hour after sunset

 

 
 
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The ashram of Vishnu avatar Sai Baba in Kidai Kanal, central India

 

The temple of the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala, north Indian Himalayas

The eleven floor skyscraper ashram of the saint Anna, the hugging mother in Kerala, south India

 

The Bodhi Zendo, the zen monastery in Perumalali, central India

 

An hour after dawn