THE PAINTING SPOKE
It was a lame evening and I had gained nothing watching the boring interview of Mr. Sodium Gandhi. So, I had to pick a new resolution for the day and it was shopping. It’s been years I’ve bought a painting for my room. Being a writer, I knew that even buying a painting is nothing but an art. Patience again was a show – steal-er here.
I was looking for a unique portrait in the art gallery. It was a hectic task. It felt as if you are in a room filled with beautiful lasses and you have to select a perfect match out of it. However, for me the process was not that tardy, though I could manage a fast glance at few artworks.
The gallery contained almost all kinds of paintings; it even included a portrait of Osama wearing a sari, which was quite enough for a chuckle.
THE “SWEPT OFF MY FEET” FEELING
After a 500 feet – journey, I had come cross an unique oil art. The artist had his signature written as anonymous. Then I realized, a true artist does not explore for fame, but does it for himself.
The painting was as simple as possible; it was set up in a sultry desert. There were four oldies sitting on the courtyard of their house and peacefully sharing a hookah. On the other hand, there was a camel feeding its baby calf and a beautiful damsel carrying a bag filled with grass.
It was more than enough for a buy and I came back home wrapping the masterpiece.
THE ORTHODOX REACTION
I was desperate to show the masterpiece to my father. Even he had some inclination towards art, but it had an orthodox angle.
The moment I came home, he wasn’t surprised. However, he didn’t wanted me to hang another portrait on my wall, which already boasted of a few. And when I finally showed him, he threw me a vexed look. My dad was an ardent follower of RSS, but he was not a hypocrite. He was not happy about my decision.
Only then, I realized, why he was blurting out at me. The painting contained some sheikhs and he was not happy about it. I was numb for a moment. I was at the gallery for almost four – hours and I myself could not see the Muslims in them, as I was an artist myself.
I didn’t want to create a havoc , so I silently walked back to my room carrying a message for myself and on the other hand I realized, I was a true artist.
“A TRUE ARTIST HAS TO BE BLIND WITH HIS EYES AND KEEP HIS HEART OPEN“. Sounds a bit colloquial, but that is a ‘BITTER FACT’.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
© Written by VISHAL ARYAN KOMARA.