Seeing in Colour Again
"We might be doomed not by a lack of skill, but by an absence of hope".
- Alain de Botton and John Armstrong on Art as Therapy
As a child we are all drawn naturally to colours and soon by way of comics we also learn how to doodle. Also at times the art and craft classes in kindergarten ignite our senses to colours around us. However, as we grow up gradually we drift away from putting paint on paper as fears of being less than perfect and public shaming gets the better of us. I remember many long, happy summer afternoons painting golden laburnum petals over and over again at my desk. It made me delirious with joy watching each petal bloom on my sketchbook. There's definitely a sense of calm which washed over my mind with each stroke painted. If that's not therapeutic then what is? That's something I lost as I grew up. It happens to be a key element which I missed maybe the most. But was always unsure if I should let it blossom out of me as it wished. As if I'll be committing a felony if it wasn't brilliant enough. Sometimes seeing beauty is said to be dumb and definitely in one's adolescent years that's something one doesn't like to hear. So, if you're not Banksy you try to forget. Thereafter, life becomes colourless and age of the rat race begins as we enter adulthood. One moves from one certificate to another degree and to be economically independent for financial security, especially in a low-income country such as India completely forgetting self-love for the soul.
Gradually as life happened I lost touch with my favourite pass time of painting the world around in colour. Then in after some traumatic losses of loved ones kept piling on me and to this day I'm very shaken by loss. My doctor advised I start doodling again. She said this will help me cope with my sadness. It would allow me reinstate joy in my existence. So, I picked up my sketchbook in search of solace. That was five years ago. I enjoyed this renewed connection with my sketchbook. But I still couldn't bring myself to confide in her. No matter how much I tried I just couldn't see anything in colour and could only doodle in grey scales. So I bought colour pencils, thinking that might help. But no nothing happened. So our unsure relationship went on like this for the last five years. I would pick it up every now and then and try but nothing could make me see the pigments. All I could see were lines. And I would abandon the beloved sketchbook again. Then completely out of the blue couple of weeks ago I picked up where I had left my old friend. I could again see colours. I saw a little flower and made it my own. It's such a relief to see and project on paper once again. Somewhere, time has been able to heal the wounds and now I can expand my horizons creatively. It doesn't have to be good for anyone else as long as it is good enough for me. I am what I am. Love me or leave it doesn't matter any more!
It's no denying that art has the healing touch. So pick up whatever your doodle is today!
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