“I paint music!” declared a man with all his wild energy, during one of the storytelling and art discussion evenings of Kharkhoda. This man who was a painter had wild white bedraggled hair and this declaration was made because of the discussion that was going on on the forms of painting. The discussion had almost brought him to tears, as the painter favoring the realist artist form had almost successfully convinced the gathering that that is the only art form and that depicting the things how they are in reality as skillfully as possible, is all there is to art. After making this declaration, the wild painter was overcome by very strong emotions as he was very sensitive and an introvert, and he spoke like this very seldom. Also, the truth in his statement that he knew was there, made all the electricity in his body move towards his brain. So, in the remainder of the meeting, he sat with his head bowed and didn’t speak a single word.
There were two painters in Kharkhoda - one was this wild painter who said he painted music, and the other was the realist painter. Their styles were very different from each other.
While the realist painter was capable of creating art as if he had stopped the world midway, like a photograph. He was very skilled and took care of minute details working weeks on a single painting, and the results showed his skills. Once, he painted a pair of pigeons sitting on the branches of a tree. It looked as if they would fly any moment, their pink eyes were done in soft colors very accurately. Everyone loved his paintings, and he was a very methodical, thoughtful person, also a teacher in one of the few schools of Kharkhoda. His painting skill didn’t show up in the way he lived - he wore gentleman clothes, was calm or angry but never musical. He was steadfast, but the sudden change of life was not present in his paintings. His paintings were beautiful but still paintings, they didn’t move. Manu liked his paintings but he missed the wild music, the imperfect energy, the tears of rhythm that he found in the paintings of the wild painter.
The wild painter was a poor, struggling man, much younger than the realist painter. The realist painter was known everywhere, but the wild painter was loved by a few people. He was a friend of kids. The energy in his paintings came from his sensitivity. He painted in his little poor hut, sometimes the kids peeped through the holes in the walls to have a look at him painting. They enjoyed having a look. The process of creation was more important for him. He listened to classical music while painting. His strokes were ecstatic. It was as if he was possessed by the music. Sometimes, his strokes took the lush colors of the music. Sometimes, his painting was formless, as the music danced abandoning all forms and reached the formless state. He didn’t know what he was painting, but he knew that he was being guided by an unknown force. When sunlight came into his hut, the warmth and music of the rays had an effect on his painting. When the moonlight filtered through the windows, they also left their mark. Kids loved the man and the man loved kids.
The realist painter didn’t appreciate the wild painter’s work, but the wild painter saw beauty and love in the realist painter’s paintings, as he did in all things. Whenever he wanted to congratulate the realist painter, and approached him, he didn’t get a good response. By and by, he stopped approaching him but his considered that the realist painter’s work was more perfect.
One day, the wild painter created a painting all day, in the sun and during the night when the magical moon came. This was his most wonderful and perfect piece. He had created Goddess Sarasvati, on her White Swan. The piece had music, form, perfection, love, devotion, and something more. The colors flowed like a dance. The Goddess’ eyes were so deep, you felt the fabric of the universe when you looked into them. The Swan’s white whiter than a white cloud was peace to the soul.
When the painting finished, the wild painter suddenly died. When people came to know, they reached his hut - the painter was found lying in front of the painting in the feet of Goddess Sarasvati, clutching to his painting brushes, and a divine expression of calm and love in his eyes…
© Manan sheel.
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