Doing Nothing and Writing Something..

09:04AM

February 7, 2010

I am not a painter or a visual artist for that matter but I write stuff (like what I’m doing now) and I can try and empathize with those artists who occasionally experience “painter’s block”.

When drawing a portrait, sometimes you have to figure out which part of the portrait you’ll have to start on. If you’re drawing a scene, you might want to start sketching the clouds or the little bird that is fatefully perching on the branch of the tree that is the ‘main model’ or center of your masterpiece-to-be. Or you might choose to start on the little flowers that silently sway in the wind, as if calling you to give them attention. Seasoned painters might find this easy but for those who haven’t painted in a while or who haven’t ever painted yet, it is a chore that they must go through before finishing a work of art. Sometimes, they get downtrodden because of the fact that they can’t seem to start it in a ‘good way’ and thus, they can’t start at all. They later fall into the thought that they aren’t capable of painting or that their talents are not bent on painting.

I don’t know about artists really but soon, for those who gave up, it will be a life of regret and the persistent thoughts of missing the chance to meet the stroke of inspiration that is required for any form of art to succeed. On the other hand, for those who moved on, it will be a life of misery and sadness painting after painting lost, and canvass after canvass of unintelligible lines and strokes but as soon as that brush hits the right place and the invisible dots are consecutively traced up, all those things are forgotten and washed away as if nothing would’ve prevented that moment to come. And you smile and feel light as stroke after stroke, you feel that it should be that way. And you end up, wipe your sweat, and look at the piece of work that will cost around $1,000,000.. Kidding. and you look at the piece of work that will give you the contentment and happiness that comes after persistent heartaches and failures.

That’s how a beautiful portrait is born. Out of angst-driven hours, out of wasted canvass and paint, and out of the silent yet treacherous whispers of incapability.

Failure always comes from the assumption that we can predict the outcome of something based on how things are working out. Blind faith mixed with craziness and a little bit of persistence will help you realize that things are possible, that things can be better and things will usually come at the right place and at the right time when all things seem broken and impossible to patch up. After all, what you think is very different from what you know. Know that a beautiful portrait will soon be possible after years of failures, and it will.

Thank you for the beautiful portrait.

ALTASHHETH

9:41AM

February 7, 2010