The Art of Perception: Observing Mind, Senses, and Self
- Karenina Fabrizzi
- May 1
- 2 min read
Lately, I have been dedicating time to observe my mind in a more objective and alert way.
It is a quiet and subtle practice, nothing dramatic, no loud internal revolutions, just the conscious act of watching thoughts arise, linger, and dissolve.
I try to understand which thoughts carry a positive energy, which ones help me evolve, and which ones perhaps keep me in loops I no longer want to be part of.
This act of observation, done without judgment, is transformative.
It allows me to see patterns not as flaws but as opportunities for transformation.
The goal is not to silence the mind, but to become more attuned to it, more present and responsive rather than reactive.
Every time a familiar thought pattern reappears, especially one that might limit or sabotage, I try to catch it with kindness. “Ah, here it is again,” I say to myself.
Not with annoyance, but with curiosity. “Why is it here? What is it trying to protect me from? Is it serving me now?” This gentle questioning begins to shift the energy. And this, I believe, is the beginning of self-evolution, being alert, honest, and kind with ourselves.
This practice mirrors art in many ways. As an artist, I often catch myself judging my own work: “This is good,” “This is bad,” “This isn’t finished,” “This is too much,” or “not enough.” But when I step back, I realize that every creation, even the ones I’m tempted to discard or hide, is a pure reflection of my inner self in that specific moment.
Art is not separate from us, it’s filtered through the lens of our perception, through our emotions, our thoughts, our experiences. And just like the mind, it deserves to be observed with care, not condemnation.
So often, a piece I deemed “unsuccessful” turned out to deeply resonate with someone else. This reminds me that what we call “good” or “bad” is so subjective, so relative.
If we’re always critical, always editing, always perfecting, how many unique, daring, and truly expressive works will never see the light? How many pieces die at the hands of our inner critic before they even have a chance to live in the world?
It all comes back to perception. The senses gather impressions, the mind interprets them, and from that alchemy, our version of reality is shaped. But what if we paused before interpreting? What if we trained ourselves to sense, to feel, and only then to respond?
This small pause between stimulus and reaction can open up a new dimension of living—more present, more authentic.
My reflection lately is this: try to enjoy each moment with openness, without regrets.
Allow yourself to be in the experience, rather than always trying to control it or label it.
Life, like art, is already whole. It doesn’t need to be perfect to be meaningful. And when we truly embrace this, we begin to see that life is not happening to us, but through us.
In that awareness, life becomes art itself, fluid, expressive, imperfectly perfect.
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