What I’ve Learned About Stillness and Motion in Art (and Life)
Art mirrors life — and Ritu Raj explores how stillness and motion shape both. From monochrome introspection to fluid, gestural color, his work is a meditation on change.
Delta Variant, 5ft x 6ft, Ephemeral Atmospheres, 2020
Art has a way of revealing truths you didn’t know you were looking for. Over time, I’ve come to see that two forces — stillness and motion — quietly shape not only my paintings, but the rhythms of my life.
When I look back at my earlier work, I see a period of restraint and introspection. These were paintings composed of minimal forms and monochromatic palettes, born in moments of solitude. There was a deep kind of stillness in them — not absence, but presence. A pause. A space to listen inward. At the time, I was navigating questions of identity, uncertainty, and transition. I wasn’t trying to make a statement. I was learning how to be with myself.
Stillness taught me how to notice. It taught me how much can be said without saying too much — how a subtle texture, a slight shift in tone, can hold emotional weight. It gave me permission to slow down, to be patient with the process, to allow space for silence in both art and thought.
Then something shifted. I fell in love. I got married in India. Life expanded outward. And with that expansion came color, movement, exuberance. My palette opened up. Gestural marks began to appear. Compositions loosened. There was a new kind of energy moving through the work — not chaotic, but alive.
Motion entered not just as a visual language, but as a state of being. I began experimenting with new materials, introducing organic movement through string, resin, and CNC-machined wood. These weren’t just techniques — they were responses to how I was feeling: more fluid, more open, more connected.
Stillness and motion are not opposites. They are partners. In art, as in life, one prepares you for the other. Stillness gives you the ground to stand on. Motion gives you the courage to leap. My practice now is about holding both — creating space where the quiet and the dynamic coexist. A field of color can pulse with motion while radiating calm. A geometric form can anchor a composition even as texture swirls around it.
I no longer see stillness as passive or motion as erratic. Both are languages, and both have taught me how to move through change. Sometimes life invites stillness — to reflect, to listen, to pause. Sometimes it demands motion — to act, to risk, to engage. The studio becomes a place where I can practice both.
Every painting holds that dialogue. It reflects not just what I see or think, but what I’m learning to feel and live. That’s why, when someone asks what a piece is “about,” I often smile. Because the truth is, it’s about everything. It’s about the breath between moments. The weight of silence. The burst of color after months of gray.
It’s about motion. And it’s about stillness. And always, always, it’s about learning how to live with both.
You can view the full Ephemeral Atmospheres Collection here.
