A couple of years back, I joined sketching classes. The classes included study of still life, perspective as well as the study of human anatomy. But I kind of got stuck at still life!
There is something about putting pencil to paper, and just looking at an inanimate object. Its just sitting there, patiently waiting for you to make its portrait. It doesn’t feel conscious of your presence, it doesn’t move about, and it definitely does not need breaks.
Like I mentioned earlier, every sketch has a story behind it. Here’s one of them:
Our sketching batch was wound up within a couple of months and our faculty member had told us to continue sketching and show him our work. But, as it turned out, I had stopped doing anything. As the months rolled, I began getting negative thoughts. I was sad most of the time and maybe I was on the verge of depression. I felt like I had nothing to do, a feeling of utter uselessness. I remember crying miserably on my mother’s shoulder and telling her how I felt.
She somehow consoled me, and although my tears had dried up, I was still sad. So, out of sheer desperation, I picked up my sketchbook, emptied a little ‘kullad’ (a small earthen pot) and began drawing. It was late at night and everyone had gone off to sleep. I stayed up till midnight and completed the sketch.
The very next day, I attempted to sketch a rare, odd-looking seashell right next to the mud pot. Soon I felt my self belief returning.
My mother remarked that the sketch looked sad. But I will always respect it. It’s not the best, but it is the sketch that saved my confidence.
Musings of an eccentric mind 