Pencils and Colours

I was only awkward until the robe came down; once it was down I was bare and felt liberated. In my head, it all sounded poetic, like there were gongs of freedom chiming in the background. But when I took a quick look at the faces around me, it brought me back to think how normal it actually is to pose nude for drawing. All artists in their own rights, going about drawing me like they would draw any other model, learning and practicing how the light played on the contours of my body. Not to say that the sense of liberation I felt was not legitimate.  It all boils down to the aspect of where I come from. If and when my parents or the extended family back in India comes to know that I pose nude, I wouldn't know how they would react. They maybe okay with it or taken aback by the very act. It wouldn't change my view or decision in any way, but still I just indulged in these thoughts, like trying to interview myself in my head. I recently came across this article from a few...

During my contextual studies in art, the one painting that stayed back on my mind even after the lectures got over is Guernica  by Pablo Picasso. An anti-war statement, it portrayed in abstract form the tragedies and horrors war inflicts upon innocent civilians, and to this date it holds a monumental status among the masterpieces depicting war and its aftermath. It was hard to not get engulfed by the painting's grandness. And, thus started my own rendition of Guernica. Even as our nation reels back from severe blows of corruption, war, terrorism, domestic violence, rape, it's equally dismaying to see that nothing majorly happens to prevent them. There is an uproar, then debates, then discussions, then mentioning, then whispers, and then people forget and move on. I'm no saint either, for I have my share of drawbacks. But,  I believe there is a great deal of power in a piece of art to change the course of history.  I remember a quote by Picasso I recently read. He sa...

I'm sure every artist, every writer faces a slope down to rock bottom where it seems that the creative mind has gone AWOL. I can say this for I have faced it during my relentless quest to write a series of short stories. It doesn't give you any clue, but this total lack of inspiration just hits you home when you least expect. So, what was I supposed to do? Sit back and wait until my muse shows up? Well, that's what I thought I would do, and that's what I did. Only two days later it started to grow on me that my muse, my inspiration, was not going to show up. All I had was two unproductive days. My guilt having half-eaten me by then, the third day I took the sheets of paper and pen, and rode down to the place where I always wrote my stories. That day I sat with the blank sheets of paper staring back at me with indifference. My muse didn't come. But, there was a sense of satisfaction nonetheless. The fourth day I went again, and again it was the same story. The ...