Diving into my Art-Hour
How I draw from my daily experiences and convert them into lines, filled with colour
Yesterday I cleared my art-desk after tolerating a long spell of clutter, all shapes and kinds of papers and colours literally stacked on top of each other. I left a piece of cardboard and a few sketch-pens, markers on the side, should inspiration strike.
It’s a Monday, one of the dreary ones, where I could barely snatch off a 10 min lunch break, to stuff myself with whatever food I carried from home. And before I could gulp it down, there were two at my door, bursting with points they wanted to close on a project. I hate it !! No, not people barging in (yes, I dislike but don’t hate), but folks catching me with half my lunch stuffed in my mouth! No choice, I had to mutter out feedback in order to close the chapter, all the while trying to grin and keep a straight face.
I draw a line, as if to neutralize that moment and get rid of it, on the discarded Amazon cardboard piece in front of me. A line is a moment and I never run out of moments and memories, so there’s adequate inspiration all the time. You know, when you draw lines, you can almost sense where you paused, stumbled, panicked and then picked yourself together, paused, grew confident and finally decided to move on to completion. Lines are almost like body-language. A line, if carefully observed by the one, who created them, especially, is a complete story in silence.
I used to throw the Amazon cartons, until one day I saw an urban landfill catch fire and spew out thick fumes for many days. That sight stayed on. Seven years on, almost and now I repurpose a lot of what folks throw away. Cartons for me are my go-to canvasses for creating artworks, sketch, doodle, practise etc etc. I don’t buy papers, canvas rolls anymore on a whim. This is real beauty. My way of contributing, by using less.
At times, sitting inside a cool urban office, with an enviable view, my eyes still wander to spot a mammoth heap at a distance, what I naively used to think was a mountain, it was, albeit one made of trash. A giant landfill.
It’s 7.30pm and suddenly, I’m angry at the landfills, at people not taking responsibility at work, at projects that are languishing, suddenly thoughts barge in, rudely, with a lot of force, as if a whole mob walked into my room, such strong emotions all around and I look at the cardboard and the sketchpens. Start drawing lines. There seems an endless list of to-do. Today is also the earliest I ever sat down to sketch. Straight back from work, I’m at my drawing-desk. Tells me something about the day! I pick up the red marker, intuitively and start filling up a few gaps and something emerges. There’s a momentary delight, maybe the color or maybe because this marker is a steal for Rs.10. I fill up the wings around this lady who’s staring at me, as if she’s just emerging from a cocoon, looks like she’s a butterfly ready to take off or maybe her wings are turning into pretty flowers, I don’t know really. But I like the way she looks back at me. Making portraits scared me the longest! So recently I decided to start creating faces, drawing them, struggling with the angles, the eyes, I’ve made a couple of them now. Far from perfect. But I’m glad, I attempted them.
All my women are firm with a clear gaze. I never plan my composition, I do so much planning at work all day, that when I dive into my lines and colours, I don’t plan anything, just thoughts, emotions and spontaneously I let everything flow. This is my art hour. My expression of what I see, experience all around.
I finish the white lines and I’m stuck. I stop. An artwork has a life of its own, it always tells you, when you need to stop. And as if on cue, there’s a quick playback of a question someone popped to me — why don’t you write, what do you want from life? I don’t know, to be honest. I take a look around. There’s a gentle breeze outside, maybe I should do a quick walk to clear my head. Too much information. Music on, I’ll face tomorrow and maybe get back to my art-desk to complete the lady.
