Art, a play of tangible articles, has always been about the intangible. Passion towards drawing has been there for as long as I can remember. Drawing interested me more than painting. Deft use of the pencil and white space is more challenging than using a palette of colors to render thoughts.
Drawing can be of two types – one where you draw random objects, not showing any special sense of belonging to its neighbors. Another is to start out with a theme and all items in the picture are more or less in sync.
I can incessantly keep drawing the former. You would find it present in the margins of my textbooks, notes; randomly distributed, sporadic and unrelated to the text near it. At the same time, I can never manage to draw themes consistently one after another. To sketch a theme is to invest a lot of ‘artistic inspiration’ into the soul of the illustration itself. You know when you look at an exalted painting its beauty is merely not just coloring. It’s not just the painting. It is much deeper. Once I take up a task of composing a picture, I’m unable to do another for a long time. I feel drained of essence – that which is required to make the illustration happen.
I don’t know why I thought of writing about something as obscure as this. Of late some have begun to draw ‘art’ (or poetry for that matter!). For them this is just a contrivance, a publicity gimmick. A means of getting likes and double likes. But even they amongst all the gibberish they produce, often rarely, yet do produce a piece of art; real art. It could be as trivial as a shade, a different curve, a closed eye or a twisted lip. But it is art and demands appreciation, irrespective of the illustrator. So who am I to judge why and what they have drawn.
Drawing can be of two types – one where you draw random objects, not showing any special sense of belonging to its neighbors. Another is to start out with a theme and all items in the picture are more or less in sync.
I can incessantly keep drawing the former. You would find it present in the margins of my textbooks, notes; randomly distributed, sporadic and unrelated to the text near it. At the same time, I can never manage to draw themes consistently one after another. To sketch a theme is to invest a lot of ‘artistic inspiration’ into the soul of the illustration itself. You know when you look at an exalted painting its beauty is merely not just coloring. It’s not just the painting. It is much deeper. Once I take up a task of composing a picture, I’m unable to do another for a long time. I feel drained of essence – that which is required to make the illustration happen.
I don’t know why I thought of writing about something as obscure as this. Of late some have begun to draw ‘art’ (or poetry for that matter!). For them this is just a contrivance, a publicity gimmick. A means of getting likes and double likes. But even they amongst all the gibberish they produce, often rarely, yet do produce a piece of art; real art. It could be as trivial as a shade, a different curve, a closed eye or a twisted lip. But it is art and demands appreciation, irrespective of the illustrator. So who am I to judge why and what they have drawn.
