I remember the very first time I picked up a paintbrush. I was around 8 or 9 years old when Mom thought that it would be a nice idea for me to learn to play chess and some simple computer applications like MS Paint, etc.
As a kid, I was more introverted and shy than I am now (if you can even believe that) and didn’t like the idea of attending classes during summer vacation, as I could instead be spending my days indoor, chilling with the cousins and with some ice cream in hand. But somehow my mom coaxed me into going, along with two other friends.
The class was run by two women in their early twenties, who would be watching over nearly 20 little kids for about 3-4 hours each day. Just now, I asked my mom if she sent me there just to get rid of me for those few hours and be at peace, but she says it was more about me learning new skills. I’m not sure if I believe her on that.
But I did learn a few things there, like how to paint, how to beat everyone in the class at chess, how to make friends with kids that didn’t go to my school, drawing buildings on MS Paint using simple tools, and several other cool things that I now cannot seem to recall for the life of me.
The day I got my first painting tools goes like this: One fine morning in May, before class, Mom took me to the stationery shop nearby and bought me a watercolour paint set. It was not the tube kind; it had 6 boxes, each containing a different colour like white, yellow, red, blue, green, black, linked together and came with a free brush that was not at all efficient. Then she walked me to the class where the same day, I learnt how to paint for the very first time.
One of the teachers gathered everyone around on the floor and showed us how to give life to what was once a blank sheet of paper. After the demo lesson, she made us each try on our own. Every one of us was given a piece of paper on which we drew green grass-like patterns and then, using our thumb prints, we brought to life brightly coloured chicken-like birds.
That was a memorable “un kai arputham senjuruche” moment for me.
This may seem like a silly thing to an adult, but keep in mind that most of my class population was about 6-10 years old. So obviously as an 8-year-old, I was on cloud nine, getting ready to offer the world all of my brilliance and talent.
That day, I showed my “painting” to my mom, grandma, grandpa, our neighbours and basically anyone I could find like I had just finished the world’s greatest painting. Then I went on to recreate my chicken in the field painting several times, until my yellow paint became orange. Young me didn’t have the wisdom to not put the paintbrush into the yellow box right after using red.
So, I soon bought another set of watercolour paints, this time in tubes, and continued pumping out artworks to cover all the surfaces of the house.
One of my favourite things to paint back then was the scene of a rainy morning filled with thick, grey clouds hovering over cars and people with umbrellas moving about. The bright red and blue cars, lush green trees and yellow umbrellas against a grey monsoon day spoke volumes to me as a kid. What can I say, I have always loved rainy days a little too much.
I recreated that painting a few more times and gave them away to my aunts and cousins. I kept one for myself, sticking it to the side of a bureau in mom’s home office. It nearly broke my heart when someone accidentally destroyed that painting when we were shifting to a new place. But I knew that I could always make more such pretty things.
So from then on, whenever I was free and not watching old movies on K TV or playing with the kids in my building, I picked up my materials and painted my heart out. They weren’t masterpieces but young me was just happy to replace the empty whiteness of the paper with a multitude of colours.
Over the years, I have continued painting from time to time. From paper to old ketchup bottles to mud lanterns to phone cases, I keep changing my canvas. My eye for detail and my prowess with the brush have improved, leading to artworks that are much more neat, vibrant and pleasing to look at than my old works.
Someone recently told me that a specific blue shade I use in my art was very soothing. Me being me and not great at accepting compliments, I made a joke about how I was like Seenu from the movie Thozha, merely using colours that felt right to me and he was Prasad, finding deep meaning behind those colours.
He still went on to say that he found one of my cat paintings therapeutic and that he could almost feel grass under his feet while looking at my painting of a meadow. Hearing things like this brings me boundless joy at times.
I rarely look for meaning behind the things I paint. I mean, I don’t make artworks with alien-robot-jellyfishes with octopus arms carrying scythes and pistols against a backdrop of cherry blossoms and duck ponds that make no sense. But I’m also not equipped enough to convey philosophy through my painting yet.
The references I choose are mostly pictures that made me stop and look for an extra second while scrolling through social media. They might even have had me thinking or smiling for a moment. Or they might be something that I felt would be fun to paint or look at.
As much as I would like to make a fortune selling my artworks, that’s not why I began or still continue. Mostly, I paint because it’s my therapy. One that is almost as expensive as real therapy.
Other times I paint because my work becomes someone else’s therapy. Whether it is displayed on the walls of a dorm room or locked between the pages of a book or sticking through the mess of a work table, my art reminds people to look up and stare at something other than their screens.
It reminds people that life exists outside these computers and phones. It gives us something tangible to hold on to and remember something we love. It connects people by making us remember that someone else had once touched this sheet of paper and that they had put their time, energy, love and talent into bringing this piece of art to life, just for us.
There could be many more reasons to why I make art.
But one main reason is that the act of painting brings me in touch with the 8-year-old that believed that she could conquer the world with a paintbrush. So I paint.
Do you have any hobbies that act as therapy these days? Share with me in the comments because I’m looking to pick up a new skill!
Both the silhouette paintings are amazing.
This one is funnnn to read😂😂😂❤️❤️❤️❤️
Looking forward to read more like theseee😬
And I guess I've never said you that I'm a admirer of your drawing in school. I remember you drawing buildings on MS Paint. I got inspired by your work and still do the same drawing first whenever I open it.