The Artist In me

I painted the way I wrote, like I lived, like I thought within the framework of my strange world.A  strange world peopled more by old people since people my age seldom could tolerate my strange ideas. So I sat amongst the loud banter of  old men arguing about politics, old women arguing about cooking recipes and painted artwork nobody wanted to have a second look at. I painted out my art (weird to others) and amidst all that clamor of old heads yapping away each others' ears/years, I would hold my art work up hoping someone would notice till I felt that 'invisible to others' pinch on my upper arm. Dad would continue his share of the conversation after that famous rare pinch My dad did everything his individual style, whenever I had the chance to receive that pinch, apart from the mild pain(he pinched me just twice in my life) I also noticed the style and dignity of the punishment. Nobody around would know I was being punished and that helped me smile away.

 So I knew my artwork was not worth over  what professors thought about politics (over which they could only banter). But I never could stop that addiction. A pen and paper nearby meant fingers that itched to write or draw or paint. Well, they still were artwork to me. I drew families of four, a dad, a mom, a brother, a sister; the sister always the younger. I drew cats that looked like pigs and pigs that looked like babies. I just was a miserable artist addicted to scribbling what to the onlooker never seemed much of artwork. But then people needed to know what it was that I intended...pig or baby. When I grew tired of trying to explain, I decided to keep silent since I too felt the baby I drew looked more piggy than babyish.

 But there was this 'masterpiece', right from my first form I drew a lady's visage which even my dad wanted to know who it was about. Since that was one artwork that met its intention I drew it away with angular variations. I drew that face wherever I could,on school ground, on walls, between pages...with sticks, chalk and pencils. It took me less than a minute to complete the visage and infuriated most people with a meaningful aesthetic sense, and er.. it still does...