Going back to school especially after decades feels very scary . Although this time it is a different type of school , an atelier ( a workshop of an artist) but  the feeling is the same. I am so nervous .

Day one , I will never forget it

  All the required materials, the pencils, the eraser, the paper have been bought ---but I later learn they are not the right ones . Along with me are three other novices ---well, not  novices  really, because each one is a  graduate of an Art College and is well versed with the fundamentals of making art.

 The instructor explains what is required of us .

First –sharpen the pencil with a utility knife not a sharpener .

Sounds so easy , but it is’nt. Especially if you are not skilled working with sharp blades . Five minutes of struggling to keep the the pencil steady while I shave it with the blade, and my finger is dripping like a leaky tap . Beautiful bright red patterns are forming  on the floor!!!

First aid and a Band aid later, I watch, as my new comrades expertly sculpt the pencil into a needle  pointed lance . How do they do it ? This my first challenge –I make a mental note to try and practice it at home .

Next, the paper is taped onto the drawing board and the students sketch loose ghosty bandy lines, straight, curved, zig-zags and S shaped.  My lines are dark , wavy and no where near straight ( I could never draw straight lines without a ruler, much to the annoyance of the drawing teacher in middle school ) .

Then the same lines are erased by the kneading eraser (no idea why we make the lines in the first place ) . The kneading eraser is new to me . It is soft, sticky , pliable and with the graphite it picks up,looks like snort . Yucky .

The session is over and I catch the bus home wondering what have I let myself in for . I have second thoughts about returning to this Academy of Realist Art. 

I am  attending a wedding in one of the small towns  of India . The whole affair is  very traditional and not the big tamaasha ( spectacle), Bollywood style , which seems to have become  quite a norm thses days .

The ceremonies are attended by family and close friends and they start a few days before . From the bride’s side –every evening we gather together to sing  Bunni  ( bridal) songs  which are folk songs teasing the bride ( bunni) and and are peppered with  motherly advice . They are accompanied by lots of clapping and dancing by the family . There is the official Sangeet , the day Mehendi ( Henna ) is put on the palms and feet of the bride , her friends clap, dance and sing . All these are accompanied by plenty of feasting .

The young ladies of the house are dressed in their finery with jewels and zardosi embellished skirts and veils on the day of the wedding ---but they pale in front of the Bride –who is dazzling , yet demure in  her  attire of red and gold .

The look on the faces of girls when the bride steps out of her room is something that stays with me .  The eyes big  , the look of excitement  . Their mood is infectious and I try to capture it on  canvas …  

Acrylic on canvas 
11 x 14 inches 

A  BLANK CANVAS                                    …

Did I say a few hours later I had my first painting???? At that  time it seemed like ages .

Have you ever sat in front of a blank canvas and gone BLANK !!!!! The canvas  stared back at me and seemed to mock me ---“come on ”, it taunted , “lets see the great artist at work , lets see the brushes fly over me , the paint going swish swish and a masterpiece ---who do you think you are –Michalangelo reincarnated ?? ”

A few minutes earlier there were hundred scenes going through my head –I knew what my finished painting was going to look like and now –when I looked at that new clean canvas my brain  had Stage Fright and went into a shut down

 I prayed for inspiration and silently cried out “Mama ”.

Mama must have heard my plea in the heavans ,because I felt my hand pick up a brush , dip into the little pile of acrylic paint and gently glide the umbers onto the blank canvas  and it  was blank no more .

After that I felt like a victor,  stronger and confident –I did not think a blank canvas could ever mock me again. I was very niave and still had to learn how wrong I was .

My painting gradually evolved with my mother in my mind ---I could sense  her presence ,even though I could not see her face . Still having her near, made me feel safe . I painted her hair , her eardrops , the brilliance  of the hibiscus flowers in she loved to wear in her hair. It was a fulfilling time .

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Mama ---acrylic on canvas 11x14 inches 

The Legend continues……

It has been raining for the whole week and I am longing for some sunshine . My pink raincoat draped gracefully on the white chair seems to say –"Hey! get up –lets go for a walk –get some fresh air" .  It seems like a good idea , even though I have been walking in the rain daily, recently.

Anyway, soon I am sloshing through puddles and peering through my rain pocked spectacles ( why are’nt there  automatic  wipers for lenses,  like cars, yet !!!!) . I pass  shops , dripping trees and  people huddled in bus stop shelters , all looking at me and probably thinking “What a crazy woman”

I enjoy this attention , this fresh air , this shield  that the rain envelopes me in . In a way I feel exhilarated  . I pass an Art Shop , enter , buy  some materials  –go home ,set out my new paints on the dining table and soon I have started my first painting – after so many many years .

My age  seems to melt away… The next phase of my life is beginning--I can sense it .

The Legend of the Pink Raincoat

It was  January  when we landed in this new country. The airport was huge and seemed empty. Outside it looked  grey and gloomy . As we drove home , the greyness persisted . The landscape was flat with  barren, spindly trees waving a feeble welcome with their toothpick like branches   . It was so cold so cold and windy.

The once pristine snow had already lost it’s cheer of the festive season. It would continue to absorb dust and fumes till the next snowfall covered the grey with a fresh white blanket.

I hoped  , the sight of  colors  in the city would  cheer me  . Unfortunately the greyness grew and even  turned a couple of values ( in an artist’s vernacular) or shades darker . There were people scurrying around rushing in and out of  buildings  –all of them in black .

I felt I was in a black and white movie and the director was an expert in Chiaroscuro , who had some how tripped in his depiction of the light

To diffuse my gloom I  walked the neighborhoods , looked into shops and felt terribly homesick .

The shops festooned with stale  Christmas decorations and Large SALE banners did not tempt---till something caught my eye in a shop selling coats . This thing seemed so alien and lost in this shop of blues, browns and blacks .  It seemed to cry out to me ---save me  from all this darkness . I had to save it –I could not let it drown –it was the only bright color  I had see in the whole month . It was the Pink Raincoat . It cheered me and restored hope .It made me smile

It has been many years now and I identify with my Pink Raincoat . I wear it in Spring , and when ever I need to . It  hangs in my wardrobe  where I can see it and it never fails to lift my spirits .  It is big for me , so there is lots of room inside it , but then with the sleeves rolled up , it is fine –. I can never get hit by car during a heavy shower –even a half blind can see me from far. In a sea of dark grey the pink stands out .

People may laugh at me-- ,at my choice of color ---but at least the sight of me in the bright pink raincoat makes them smile ……. and reduces the greyness  in their lives a little  .........