If I was an artist…ART begins with inquiry
As child I always wanted to be famous. I didn’t know the difference between famous personality who is an artist and a sports personality who is not an artist. I was trapped in the technical definition. I wanted to see myself on the ground. I wanted to be a player. I wanted to represent my country. I loved playing cricket. I did reach some stage but couldn’t go further. I always wanted to see myself on the stage. The stage where these famous artists keep performing, I was at awe with the performing arts.
I was fascinated by the music.
I was fascinated by the colors.
I was fascinated by hearing the voice of an orator.
I tried my hands in everything and I couldn’t figure out my place in those spaces…I was constantly finding myself misplaced on those places.
Colors always attracted me and I indulged in colourful things and playing with multiple colors without knowing how color combination works and what color patterns appeal to people. I was randomly trying my hand at sketching and painting but never was able to control the stroke of straight brushes and the color always splattered outside my canvas.
There was no pattern in my coloring and I could never see any pattern in those famous abstract paintings I keep seeing when I used to visit these wonderful art galleries. I used to console myself, after umpteen attempt of creating something colourful on the canvas that I can still be a painter and I’m in the journey of being a painter, as I was not able to figure out any pattern in what I was doing. I placed my verdict on my missing patterns in my painting…it was random and I was clueless. Nobody could see any purpose in my endeavor and of course they could see no pattern, not even my family members or close friends, all well wishers tried their best not to discourage me but there is a limit to protect me through the prism of false assurance and sugar-coated encouragement…I could slowly understand that I lack the basic instincts for becoming a painter. I could see their level of interest started dwindling and they started deserting my display of work.
The color was there but there was no combination on the canvas.
It did appear as child’s play but I was never called as child artist and nothing changed in my engagement with color and canvas even after I became an adult. I was nowhere near being called a painter from any standard. I wasn’t made for playing with colors though I loved colors and I realized these two are different aspects of creating and consuming the artistic work. I’m good at consumption not at creation.
I didn’t give up.
I didn’t quit.
I kept trying, trying different strokes and wanted to get into different set of canvas. Yes, I was not sitting idle as I was realizing that painting was not my cup of tea, I started trying a different stroke. I wanted to be a singer and tried desperately in imitating the popular singers and did so loudly when nobody was in home, and when somebody was there I took the role of a bathroom singer. I was enjoying the song but not the singing. I was constantly visualizing myself on the stage and in front of fans waving and cheering to my tunes.
I started dreaming.
Many times I woke up to face the ground reality, there were no fans and it was the creaking sound of the old ceiling fan that disturbed my sleep. I did try singing in my friend circles and amongst close gatherings but found no takers and there was somebody or other who was perpetually much better than me and the crowd gravitated to the better singer. I was left to be in the crowd and could never compete as I had no flair for singing.
I was quick to realize that singing is gifted; either you have it or you don’t have, it is the binary state, there is nothing called as in-between state as singer.
I was indeed craving to display my creative work but I was failing in every color I mixed, the voice I provided to lyrics and the ground I took to excel in sports. None worked. I was feeling helpless. I was constantly looking for avenues to channelize some of my perceived talent but I was clueless on my hidden talent. I was increasingly feeling that I was devoid of any creative talent and I was getting devoured into a self-defeating mode of consolation and acceptance of final defeat.
But one thing that was keeping me on hold and not allowing me to fully get succumbed to the fire of frustration, it was the words of wisdom of great thinkers and great philosophers. They always said that every individual is born with some unique quality, it is only that they fail to discover their talent; it is hidden and not visible to an average eye, it needs a magnifying lens to spot the creativity lying within each one of us
I was constantly wandering around and trying to figure out and fathom my hidden creative talent. I knew from the bottom of my heart that there is some art form that will give me the much-needed break. I was frantically looking for that sweet spot and I did finally managed to spot the hidden creativity in the form of writing.
“I loved playing with words.”
“I loved coloring the canvas of my imagination.”
“I loved giving my own voice to the stories that keep writing.”
“I enjoyed being a storyteller.”
“I cherished the joy of writing.”
I feel really good when my writing makes a difference in other’s life. I get the inspiration from writing and good writing keeps me meaningfully engaged. Writing as art form has given a purpose to my life and living, and I’m truly indebted to the art of creative writing. I may not be a good writer but I keep enjoying the company of writing, and good writers and it gives me immense gratification after every sitting I have with writing.
I don’t know whether I am an artist but I am really enjoying every moment of being a writer.