Passion
There exists a moment in viewing certain abstract works where the boundary between observer and observed dissolves entirely. The canvas before us ceases to be a flat surface adorned with pigment and transforms into a portal—a gateway that draws us beyond the physical realm into something far more profound. This transformation occurs not through representational imagery or narrative content, but through the pure psychological power of color itself. Pastel pinks, oranges, yellows, and blues swirl about the sky-like expanse before us, each hue carefully orchestrated to evoke not just visual pleasure, but a complete sensory immersion. As these colors wrap around our consciousness, we find ourselves transported to a realm where synesthesia reigns supreme. We can nearly smell the fresh, sweet air that such colors seem to carry on invisible currents, feel the setting sun’s warmth penetrating our skin despite standing in a climate-controlled space, and hear the wind whirling past us in whispered promises of distant horizons. What makes this experience particularly remarkable is our response to this sudden transportation. Rather than feeling disoriented or alarmed by our journey into this fantasy world, we discover an unexpected sense of peace settling over us. This paradoxical reaction—finding calm in the midst of such vivid sensory bombardment—speaks to the artist’s masterful understanding of color psychology and its influence on human emotion.
This phenomenon challenges our most fundamental assumptions about emotional states. We are conditioned to believe that intensity and tranquility exist on opposite ends of a spectrum—that to achieve one, we must sacrifice the other. The cultural narrative tells us that peace requires stillness, that calm demands the absence of turbulence, that serenity is found only in the void between experiences rather than within them. Yet here, suspended in this swirling cosmos of color, we encounter empirical evidence to the contrary. The very elements that should overwhelm us—the dynamic movement of brushstrokes, the saturated interplay of warm and cool tones, the sense of being caught in a chromatic whirlwind—instead cradle us in profound stillness. It’s as if the painting has discovered the eye of an emotional hurricane, that centered space where maximum intensity paradoxically creates maximum calm. This artistic achievement aligns with emerging understanding in neuroscience about how our brains process overwhelming sensory input. When we encounter stimuli that is intense but non-threatening—beauty rather than danger, passion rather than aggression—our nervous system can enter a state that researchers call “eustress,” a form of positive arousal that enhances rather than diminishes our well-being. The colors themselves seem calibrated to trigger this response. The warm oranges and yellows activate our sympathetic nervous system, creating alertness and energy, while the cool blues and soft pinks simultaneously engage our parasympathetic response, promoting relaxation and receptivity. Rather than canceling each other out, these opposing neural responses create a complex harmony—like a musical chord where individual notes retain their distinctness while contributing to a greater resonance. What the painting achieves is remarkably similar to what psychologists call “flow state”—that optimal experience where intense engagement merges with effortless ease. Athletes describe it as being “in the zone,” musicians as losing themselves in the music. In each case, maximum intensity of experience coincides with a profound sense of peace and rightness. The visual field before us creates this same phenomenon through purely aesthetic means. We are intensely engaged—our senses fully activated, our attention completely absorbed—yet we feel no strain, no effort, no resistance. The intensity becomes the very medium through which tranquility flows, like water finding its course through a landscape rather than fighting against it.
This artistic insight has profound implications for how we navigate our own emotional lives. Most of us operate under the assumption that we must choose between feeling deeply and feeling peaceful, between passionate engagement and centered calm. We compartmentalize our experiences, saving intensity for certain moments and seeking tranquility in others, as if they were incompatible states of being. The painting suggests this is a false dichotomy. It proposes instead that the most profound peace comes not from emotional numbness or detachment, but from learning to dance with intensity rather than being overwhelmed by it. The key lies not in the elimination of strong feelings but in the cultivation of what we might call “spacious intensity”—the ability to experience the full force of sensation while maintaining an inner landscape vast enough to hold it without being consumed by it. The artist seems to suggest that without this inner tranquility—the kind that comes from following our deepest callings rather than fleeing from them—our experience of life’s intensities would be fundamentally different. The sun’s warmth would transform into dreaded heat that oppresses rather than nurtures. The wind would no longer whisper possibilities but would strike us with harsh reality, its voice a howl rather than a song. Our entire outlook would shift from one of wonder to one that is joyless and bleak. In an age increasingly dominated by digital mediation and emotional suppression, works like this serve as crucial reminders of our full sensory and emotional potential. They invite us to step beyond the safe boundaries of detached observation and into the richer realm of felt experience.
Are you following your passions?
Artwork: Rikka Ayasaki
Love the mirage of color Ayasaki uses in this image. It also creates a very vibrant intensity that causes one to think about the larger implications of even simple actions in life.
The strength, immensity, and creativity of God reflected in Ayasaki’s brain and his ideas.