Pencils and Colours

I had the pleasure of watching the movie, Lust for Life , recently. Vincent Van Gogh's life rolls in front of our eyes with crisp colours and sharp chiaroscuro  all around. I was just amazed that the filmmakers actually managed to bring out the characteristics of Van Gogh's painting into the movie itself, and this was back in 1956. The entire movie is weighed on the dialogues that flow quite poetically, and Kirk Douglas's Vincent Van Gogh, Anthony Quinn's Paul Gauguin, and James Donald's Theo Van Gogh are apt and convincing in their roles. The warmth and love between the brothers, Vincent Van Gogh and Theo Van Gogh, the conversations and conflicts between Vincent Van Gogh and all other real-life  characters (Paul Gauguin in particular), the narration of the letters from Vincent to Theo in the background, the representation of Van Gogh's real paintings and more, everything adds to a delightful experience.  Paul Gauguin's sarcasm and qu

During my contextual studies in art, the one painting that stayed back on my mind even after the lectures got over is Guernica  by Pablo Picasso. An anti-war statement, it portrayed in abstract form the tragedies and horrors war inflicts upon innocent civilians, and to this date it holds a monumental status among the masterpieces depicting war and its aftermath. It was hard to not get engulfed by the painting's grandness. And, thus started my own rendition of Guernica. Even as our nation reels back from severe blows of corruption, war, terrorism, domestic violence, rape, it's equally dismaying to see that nothing majorly happens to prevent them. There is an uproar, then debates, then discussions, then mentioning, then whispers, and then people forget and move on. I'm no saint either, for I have my share of drawbacks. But,  I believe there is a great deal of power in a piece of art to change the course of history.  I remember a quote by Picasso I recently read. He said

I've often met with derisive sighs when they find me reading a graphic novel. It can be credited to the fact that in India graphic novels are not generally excepted as a literary piece or even a piece of art for that matter; but the bigger reason is the lack of knowledge about what goes behind the conjuring of a good graphic novel. Let me not use a fancy term as Graphic Novel. Let me just call it a comic book. So, what's not to like in a good comic book? The artwork is amazing, the literary material top-notch, the story a thoughtful experience! So, why is it that generally it's labelled to be read only by kids? Why not adults? I attribute it to the perception that adults (as opposed to children) know better. I believe as we grow we start compartmentalizing our experiences - these are childish, these are immoral, these are stupid, these are bad, these are good; all categorized in that invisible shelf inside our head. It's not our fault; it is because of the reg

I'm sure every artist, every writer faces a slope down to rock bottom where it seems that the creative mind has gone AWOL. I can say this for I have faced it during my relentless quest to write a series of short stories. It doesn't give you any clue, but this total lack of inspiration just hits you home when you least expect. So, what was I supposed to do? Sit back and wait until my muse shows up? Well, that's what I thought I would do, and that's what I did. Only two days later it started to grow on me that my muse, my inspiration, was not going to show up. All I had was two unproductive days. My guilt having half-eaten me by then, the third day I took the sheets of paper and pen, and rode down to the place where I always wrote my stories. That day I sat with the blank sheets of paper staring back at me with indifference. My muse didn't come. But, there was a sense of satisfaction nonetheless. The fourth day I went again, and again it was the same story. The

The weather in Bombay (I still prefer calling it 'Bombay') was as searing as a frying pan this Sunday (Oct 27th, 2013), but somehow it only mattered for a small stretch of time as I settled myself around my paintings to display at  Art Hop  in Bandra in that late October morning. The excitement was building up inside me minute after minute. Technically it was the third time I was displaying my artwork to public. But, for me, it was first such display where people came only to take a look at artwork and nothing else. I wouldn't want to talk about the first two times now. You and I are going to have a long journey together, and that is when I'll slowly tell you the side-stories. For now, lets talk about what I felt at Art Hop. It was only a day before the actual event that I realized how big a deal it was. People from various parts of the city hopped from one venue to another to witness and revel in the sea of artworks that consisted of paintings, photographs, inst

This was the question that made its way into my head when a friend of mine brought it up. Being a student of an unconventional art school, FAD International , people (or rather artists) around me are quite open-minded, and listening to their thought processes making way to ceaseless discussions is a delight for someone like me. It was in one of those discussions when my friend said that Art is business after all. Before saying anything, for that one moment, it did cross my mind - Is it a business? I wish I could agree with him, but I don't. If making money was my sole purpose of getting into art, I would rather have stayed and slogged as an engineer, eating dusty wada-pavs and sugary tea on site. In fact, as far as I can see, not one artist is into art because it will bring him money. I believe the moment you start measuring your art as business, it loses its meaning and your creativity becomes a horse with reins; the purity of art is corrupted and all you have in yo