Letting the light in…

This narrative is not about the pandemic. The only part it played is that of a sound-proof door that shut out the noise of the outside world. The silence created shock and anxiety initially, and then, gradually settled into stoic acceptance. The sense of urgency vanished with the world coming to a standstill. Staying alive became the only agenda.

Amidst the relief at staying healthy and the despondency at the suffering of so many, thoughts found their way into my head. Thoughts that probably had been trying for a while to make place for themselves in a mind occupied with matters of routine. Most of which, as it turned out, were not essential to existence and hence the vacant space.

I paint and write. For a few months I continued to do the kind of work I did during pre-Covid times. The number of paintings created, brought joy. At this rate, I felt, I will have a large body of work to exhibit when normalcy returns. The enthusiasm did not last. I began to slacken and wondered at the point of it all.

I thought I had it figured that writing fictional short stories was a genre that I could grow into. With reality becoming stranger than fiction, that fascination seemed to fade.

A relook at the recent paintings did not thrill me. In fact, it made me realise that I needed to slow down or even totally stop - to think.

I needed to have an answer to just one question -

'Why am I doing this?'

'I like to paint and enjoy the process of being alone with an idea to create something from nothing' did not wash.

The childhood dream, to draw and paint to the exclusion of all else, had become my reality and yet, I did not quite feel the elation. I decided to step back and ponder.

Doing nothing is difficult. To completely come to a halt felt like a tremendous waste of time. The devil was beginning to set up workshop in my head.

I recalled moments of insecurity that had happened during art fairs. Seeing the work of others had made me wonder if I had put my best foot forward.

Weren’t some of them just winging it? Maybe, but did I want to be yet another ‘also ran’?

What is it that made the works of say a S Ramachandran or a Thota Vaikuntham stand out? ..Aaah, their unique life stories played out on their canvases. But there is nothing unique about my life story - I have lived a cosmopolitan life in a metro city. Despite that, is there a distinctive quality I might have? Do I have ingrained tastes, preferences and beliefs that makeup my identity?

Gradually I realised that my question had changed. It was not 'why do I paint?'. It now seemed to be 'Why do I paint what I paint?' I needed to arrive at a subject that makes me feel that it was worthwhile to create or maybe recreate.

This thought in itself was liberating. It lifted the burden of creating something that was supposed to please the eyes of viewers. The unconscious baggage of wanting to be like the much admired Master artists, fell aside. As did the doubts regarding whether what I was doing was original.

After all, mankind has been engaged in creative pursuits for a few thousand years now. Just about everything has been done before. What I create has to be a reflection of me and I have to believe in it. This reasoning, that I can only paint or write my reality, is appealing.

As I look for my voice, the clarity helps me choose subjects with a little more thought. The message in my creative endeavours has gained significance. This progress in itself is delightful.

It has felt somewhat like peeling the wispy layers of an onion before finding the useful portion within.

Hindsight has brought home the wisdom, that sometimes doing nothing at all is the best thing to do. Quoting Leonard Cohen, the Canadian singer, song writer, poet and novelist - it can be the crack that lets the light in!

I do not claim to have reached any destination. All that has happened is that the journey has become a little more enjoyable.

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Published in colour Canvas issue of 15th May 2021