Behold: the bindu.
A single black sphere floating in a white void — which, in today’s contemporary art ecosystem, already makes it more honest than 99% of what gets funded.
This is the smallest possible mark, the point where meaning should erupt — and where contemporary culture instead inserts a price tag, a press release, and a “collaboration opportunity.”
In tantric cosmology, the bindu is the seed of creation.
In contemporary cosmology, it’s the last thing left after meaning has been bulldozed by branding.
This piece doesn’t perform.
It doesn’t posture.
It doesn’t “activate space” or “interrogate boundaries” or whatever phrase the grant-writers regurgitated this month.
It simply hovers — a perfect sphere of unspent violence — and quietly mocks the whole circus.
Because while the contemporary world hyperventilates for novelty, the bindu commits the ultimate insult:
it withholds.
It refuses to bloom into content.
It refuses to convert itself into a concept deck.
It refuses to be yet another commodified narrative for the bored and overeducated.
This bindu is a pressure chamber of potential.
Not the inspirational kind — the dangerous kind.
The kind that makes a viewer realize, with a faint nausea, that nothing happening in the “cultural moment” is remotely worthy of release.
In the tantric sense, the bindu is where the universe condenses into a point.
But in this series, it’s where the universe sighs, rolls its eyes, and contemplates deleting itself out of embarrassment.
It is not the beginning of creation.
It is the critique of creation-as-commodity.
The refusal of creation-on-demand.
The middle finger of the Absolute pointed directly at the fever dream of the present.
This bindu does not care about your interpretations.
It does not care about your academic frameworks.
It does not care about your thirst for cleverness.
It sits there, immaculate,
a perfect sphere of “no.”
The contemporary world wants revelation.
The bindu offers ridicule.
The contemporary world wants spectacle.
The bindu offers stillness weaponized.
The contemporary world wants meaning.
The bindu offers a black dot and the implication that you are the one who showed up empty.
This isn’t the seed of a universe.
It’s the autopsy of one.
So the real question is not:
What universe might be born from this bindu?
The real question is:
What made you think you deserved one?
