Category: Housewife Tales

How Art Creates Itself

Artwork created by author: Khushboo Shah 

Yes, controversial ‘easy-to-make painting selling in millions’ exists. But, do not get carried by those who say that “art is easy.” Though we choose to create differently, a creator lies in all of us. There are five stages to any artwork. The first one includes the ‘Stage of The Muse’. This is when inspiration seeks you. Remember that if you ever try to seek inspiration, then you’ll fail – because inspiration can never be forced. Once inspiration arrives, the next step is to ‘unleash’. It is an over-exaggerated idea that an artwork is perfect with its first, initial paint strokes. The early brush strokes, pencil sketches, charcoal drawings are just the preliminary stages. They’re the stages that help you decide between what feels right and what does not. The next is the ‘decision state’. That’s when you decide what element of the artwork should be kept and what should be discarded. The phase is one of the most clandestine stages of artists. Most amateurs deny that this stage exists for they believe that this accepting the existence of this state for them is like “questioning their credibility.” And this is the – ‘Planning stage’. Though I’ve placed this as the fourth stage– there is no one, particular way when this state is exercised. Sometimes, the ‘planning stage’ is the first step. As an artist, it is very important to balance the light, tone, mood, aesthetic composure and visual narrative of an artwork. This stage establishes whether the artwork is moving in the right direction or not – and if not, then provides the incentive to correct the flawed areas.  While these stages are being executed by an artist, simultaneously, the artist also experiments with his/her artwork. ‘Execution’ is a stage which runs progressively throughout and consequently – even when all other stages are being carried forward. The end result – or the finished artwork is always something that satisfies the artist.

And what I mean by that is that, an artist is someone who will always works for himself/herself. It is not fame or popularity that are an artist’s identity. Instead, it’s art and the ability and necessity to create are an artist’s identity. Subtle layers of an artist’s imagination are embedded in the artwork. To comprehend the depth of these layers one needs to learn how to ‘feel’ art and not merely view it. For even though art is created, it’s depths need to be felt.

Watch this video – you’ll know what I mean.


The uncracked egg


“To the egg only one thing mattered – what it told the big, black, dilly dally sky. The sky was the most magnificent thing it had ever seen. And though the egg knew it was going to crack soon, it somehow comforted itself that the cold blanket of this dark paradise was enough. The egg knew that its death would always come as a foul stench, with it breaking into deep ridges. It had been informed that there was something growing inside it. Something big, something translucent. Something that was magic yet cancer. This thing grew on its own and was *alive*. For the egg who was just a crisp white layer, this thing growing inside it felt like a voluptuous ball of life and inferno. Somedays, when it was frustrated, it asked the sky whether dying for this yellow ball was worth it. The sky never replied. It only flirted through light drizzle and cockeyed winks – the clouds always so brilliantly conveying its rapturous decisions. The egg always waiting for an answer grew jealous of the sun’s flamboyance and the moon’s mysticism. The egg was paranoid and was beginning to assume that the sky was not only in love with these two aerial objects, but also, cheating on one with the other.  The abrupt echoes of his mind wouldn’t shut up until one day when he felt a split in him. It was delicate at first, and then like an earthquake. It tore him apart to set him free. Yet, he didn’t feel any of it. In the evening, when the farmer’s daughter required these pieces for a ‘best out of waste’ contest, the leftover pieces of his shell were cleaned up. She dug her hands through his remains and dipped his skin in glue, sticking him to the crumpled cardboard.

In the silence of the night, though the egg dead – began to acquire the most soothing solace of all time. Its cracked parts began to wonder why.Little did he know that, she had made clouds from his remains and stuck them to her model of the big, black, dark sky.

Everything is always so close, yet so far, eh?”