Reality Bites
"My paintings are a fantasy of horses- expressing their desire to be the master"
These were the only words that the artist spoke.
Huge and not so huge canvases decorating the walls in bright colors. Horses with limbs shaped like humans, involved in some chore or the other.
Bright colors.
My intention of going for the show was an interview with the artist, a middle aged lean figure, bright eyes covered behind thick glasses. A small diary with the telephone numbers of prospective buyers.
The conversation lasted a complete 7 minutes, the reason I have started this blog and a brief introduction of myself- the artist working as a designer etc etc, lasting for 5 minutes. "Thank you, but I don't have anything to tell you, please see my paintings and leave your comments."
Silence followed for a minute.
The sound of fingers on the telephone keys, while I sat there clueless.
Travel plans on the background and questions about the time of buses, I realized its time for me to get up and get going. Anger, depression and something else hit me.
If I had flashed a card of some prominent magazine,declaring that I write for them, would things have been different?
On retrospection, maybe the guy was simply shy and not good with 'self marketing'.
I'd like to believe in the fact that he was not very verbal, like the normal bunch that I have met.
Now, why do most artists suffer this verbal constipation?
These were the only words that the artist spoke.
Huge and not so huge canvases decorating the walls in bright colors. Horses with limbs shaped like humans, involved in some chore or the other.
Bright colors.
My intention of going for the show was an interview with the artist, a middle aged lean figure, bright eyes covered behind thick glasses. A small diary with the telephone numbers of prospective buyers.
The conversation lasted a complete 7 minutes, the reason I have started this blog and a brief introduction of myself- the artist working as a designer etc etc, lasting for 5 minutes. "Thank you, but I don't have anything to tell you, please see my paintings and leave your comments."
Silence followed for a minute.
The sound of fingers on the telephone keys, while I sat there clueless.
Travel plans on the background and questions about the time of buses, I realized its time for me to get up and get going. Anger, depression and something else hit me.
If I had flashed a card of some prominent magazine,declaring that I write for them, would things have been different?
On retrospection, maybe the guy was simply shy and not good with 'self marketing'.
I'd like to believe in the fact that he was not very verbal, like the normal bunch that I have met.
Now, why do most artists suffer this verbal constipation?
Comments
guess, most of the times its their super-ego which doesnt want
everybody to understand the 'art'!
or else their arrogance about being 'above all' and their need to stay
there!!
or simply coz maybe there was no concious effort in their work which
the onlooker unexpectedly commented on!!!
just being nasty here :)
cheers
himani