"What do you do?"
This is one of the most common questions that roams around this world. It is unavoidable and inevitable. Everyone, irrespective of their age, profession and gender are supposed to answer this one. I had many unpleasant encounters with this particular question throughout my life. Whenever I'm asked, I was left with dilemma to express what I do.
But finally I'm now man enough to reply "I'm an artist."
This is what I love. No matter what I do to make money, this is the place around which my mind revolves.
Last week I was fortunate enough to meet Gilbert, an old gentleman, in a meet up, who offered me, his words of wisdom.
"Never be ashamed to acknowledge the fact that you are an artist. It is not about how good you are, it is about how passionate you really are!"
So, it got me thinking
'What kind of passionate artist am I?
Well, I love to create stories through films and photography. Those are my passions. But this article is not about those visual mediums. This is about a painfully addictive art form called 'Writing.'
Nowadays, quite frequently I'm indulging myself in writing. Writing, in my perspective, is clearly not my cup of tea. But I couldn't stop moving my pen around.
'Why?'
'Is it a passion?'
'An obsession probably?'
No!
I have a peculiar answer for this question.
To quote Gilbert again, he said
"An artist can be very lonely. Even when he is surrounded by so many people, he would struggle to fit in."
This exactly describes my life. I have no one that I could rightfully call a 'friend'. I don't have that someone with whom I could talk about 'how beautiful the day is' or 'how fascinating the woodpeckers are, or 'how magnificently boundless the ocean seems to appear '. Being alone has its moments, but sometimes, at rare sometimes, I feel the need to express myself to someone. I usually carry my camera with me, so that I could capture all those precious moments that I experience in a day. My ideal day would involve lots of photographs, peaceful moments while sitting at the edge of the bluffs, watching the ocean, observing life style patterns in Sea Gulls and then long and hesitant night walk towards home. This paved way for all my attempts in writing. White paper is the only place where I could express my feelings, where I could talk without the slightest fear of being judged. Initially I started to write, just for this but gradually it grew on me. Years of writing, inspired by various landscapes, ranging from lush green grassy meadows to sandy banks of blue ocean had a mesmerizing effect on me. I could never stop writing. I attempted to write more frequently. 'Weekly once' shifted to 'twice a week' and then to 'everyday.'
But something happened last week which made me realize an important fact which I failed to notice before. My interpretation is that I might have hit the lower end of my learning curve. I'm writing this article to document all of my random thoughts over the past week to gain a better understanding.
On one fine jobless morning, I was reading all my articles , stories and poems and found a critical fact that could help save my writing. It is my lack of description. Like the previous sentence, most of my descriptions fell flat, not giving enough room for the readers to imagine. My major problem is that I conclude things. In my research, conclusive style of writing has a negative impact over the readers. Author has no rights to conclude or declare. I'm not supposed to write
"It is the best pizza I ever had."
In this sentence I declare that that was the best pizza! But I must understand that it is from my perspective. There would be people who would willingly agree to disagree with me. Critical thing is, this doesn't kindle the reader's imagination. He doesn't feel the pizza's taste. Instead I could write
"The pizza was so hot and steamy, with its melting French cream cheese on the top, accompanying some home cooked spinaches and spliced vegetable servings which included green peppers, onions, red peppers, mushrooms and olives."
Even before finishing the previous sentence one would have imagined the taste of that smoking hot pizza. Far better if an imagineer reads this, since he/she would have probably felt the sumptuous creamy cheese rolling over their tongue.
I recently read an interesting article written by Ernest Hemingway.
This is what I love. No matter what I do to make money, this is the place around which my mind revolves.
Last week I was fortunate enough to meet Gilbert, an old gentleman, in a meet up, who offered me, his words of wisdom.
"Never be ashamed to acknowledge the fact that you are an artist. It is not about how good you are, it is about how passionate you really are!"
So, it got me thinking
'What kind of passionate artist am I?
Well, I love to create stories through films and photography. Those are my passions. But this article is not about those visual mediums. This is about a painfully addictive art form called 'Writing.'
Nowadays, quite frequently I'm indulging myself in writing. Writing, in my perspective, is clearly not my cup of tea. But I couldn't stop moving my pen around.
'Why?'
'Is it a passion?'
'An obsession probably?'
No!
I have a peculiar answer for this question.
To quote Gilbert again, he said
"An artist can be very lonely. Even when he is surrounded by so many people, he would struggle to fit in."
This exactly describes my life. I have no one that I could rightfully call a 'friend'. I don't have that someone with whom I could talk about 'how beautiful the day is' or 'how fascinating the woodpeckers are, or 'how magnificently boundless the ocean seems to appear '. Being alone has its moments, but sometimes, at rare sometimes, I feel the need to express myself to someone. I usually carry my camera with me, so that I could capture all those precious moments that I experience in a day. My ideal day would involve lots of photographs, peaceful moments while sitting at the edge of the bluffs, watching the ocean, observing life style patterns in Sea Gulls and then long and hesitant night walk towards home. This paved way for all my attempts in writing. White paper is the only place where I could express my feelings, where I could talk without the slightest fear of being judged. Initially I started to write, just for this but gradually it grew on me. Years of writing, inspired by various landscapes, ranging from lush green grassy meadows to sandy banks of blue ocean had a mesmerizing effect on me. I could never stop writing. I attempted to write more frequently. 'Weekly once' shifted to 'twice a week' and then to 'everyday.'
But something happened last week which made me realize an important fact which I failed to notice before. My interpretation is that I might have hit the lower end of my learning curve. I'm writing this article to document all of my random thoughts over the past week to gain a better understanding.
On one fine jobless morning, I was reading all my articles , stories and poems and found a critical fact that could help save my writing. It is my lack of description. Like the previous sentence, most of my descriptions fell flat, not giving enough room for the readers to imagine. My major problem is that I conclude things. In my research, conclusive style of writing has a negative impact over the readers. Author has no rights to conclude or declare. I'm not supposed to write
"It is the best pizza I ever had."
In this sentence I declare that that was the best pizza! But I must understand that it is from my perspective. There would be people who would willingly agree to disagree with me. Critical thing is, this doesn't kindle the reader's imagination. He doesn't feel the pizza's taste. Instead I could write
"The pizza was so hot and steamy, with its melting French cream cheese on the top, accompanying some home cooked spinaches and spliced vegetable servings which included green peppers, onions, red peppers, mushrooms and olives."
Even before finishing the previous sentence one would have imagined the taste of that smoking hot pizza. Far better if an imagineer reads this, since he/she would have probably felt the sumptuous creamy cheese rolling over their tongue.
I recently read an interesting article written by Ernest Hemingway.
Yes!
Hemingway the revolutionary writer of the golden era.
To be honest, I've never read Hemingway. I'm one of those readers who made Sidney Sheldon and Dan Brown what they are now, rich and famous! I had my own comfort zone. For many years, until yesterday, I was lying beneath the comfort of cozy commercial modern fictions. I had never, not even once, came out of my shell and ventured the works of Ernest Hemingway or Scott Fitzgerald. My regret started, the moment when I went through the first few lines of "The sun also rises", the very first novel of Ernest Hemingway and one of his finest too.
But never too late right?
So, to move back on track, I was reading an article written by Ernest Hemingway about his life in Paris and about the expatriate circle there. After the initial few lines, somehow he dragged Picasso into it. He started with a little description about Picasso. That was a very fine simple sentence, not exceeding few words, combining Picasso's appearance, origin and profession.
"A tall black eyed, haunted Jewish Italian painter" is what Picasso, according to Hemingway.
Can you imagine the depth of this sentence?
The words 'tall' , 'black eyed' and 'haunted' describes Picasso's appearance. Readers would imagine a tall man with a very sad and shallow black eyes. I would probably argue that this sentence can't get any better, words can't be rearranged in a more meaningful manner.
The same phrase was then used in a recent Woody Allen's movie called 'Midnight In Paris.' It is used by Adriana, Pablo Picasso's mistress to describe Pablo's impression on her. On a very different note, Adriana was then swept away from Picasso by Hemingway.
Hemingway the revolutionary writer of the golden era.
To be honest, I've never read Hemingway. I'm one of those readers who made Sidney Sheldon and Dan Brown what they are now, rich and famous! I had my own comfort zone. For many years, until yesterday, I was lying beneath the comfort of cozy commercial modern fictions. I had never, not even once, came out of my shell and ventured the works of Ernest Hemingway or Scott Fitzgerald. My regret started, the moment when I went through the first few lines of "The sun also rises", the very first novel of Ernest Hemingway and one of his finest too.
But never too late right?
So, to move back on track, I was reading an article written by Ernest Hemingway about his life in Paris and about the expatriate circle there. After the initial few lines, somehow he dragged Picasso into it. He started with a little description about Picasso. That was a very fine simple sentence, not exceeding few words, combining Picasso's appearance, origin and profession.
"A tall black eyed, haunted Jewish Italian painter" is what Picasso, according to Hemingway.
Can you imagine the depth of this sentence?
The words 'tall' , 'black eyed' and 'haunted' describes Picasso's appearance. Readers would imagine a tall man with a very sad and shallow black eyes. I would probably argue that this sentence can't get any better, words can't be rearranged in a more meaningful manner.
 |
| Hemingway at work! |
The same phrase was then used in a recent Woody Allen's movie called 'Midnight In Paris.' It is used by Adriana, Pablo Picasso's mistress to describe Pablo's impression on her. On a very different note, Adriana was then swept away from Picasso by Hemingway.
Coming to the movie again, it is set in Paris, the land of love and arts. Owen Wilson plays a character called Gil, who is a successful screenwriter in Hollywood, but inside, he is an artist, a writer, craving for the artistic warmth of Paris.
In the movie he gets to meet Ernest Hemingway, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald and he also gives his first novel to a very fine writer, a poet and a well known critic Gertrude Stein for a review. The movie is an every artist's dream. I can surely say I was more than just inspired by the movie. Midnight in Paris was the major influence of my new interest and subject of exploration, 'The Golden Era.' 
Hemingway's novel 'The Sun also rises' has a lead character and narrator Jake Barnes. Even though Hemingway imposed a different personality on us in his novel, after few pages, it was evident, that it was Hemingway all along. Hint that Jake Barnes is passionate about bull fights and pretty ladies, the expatriate life among artists, dreamy descriptions about the night life of Paris, in 1920's, narrows everything down to him. Just as Hemingway hid under the shadow of 'Jake Barnes', Woody Allen tried to hide under Gil in 'Midnight in Paris.' I wonder what is it about all those writers, creating characters that has a very close resemblance to them. Maybe it is much easier to go through the emotions of their creations. After the critical lesson about description, this is another thing which I feel like I must cling on to. I would like to try a short story by creating a lead character who has a close resemblance to me, both in appearance and in characteristics. Let's see, how well that works out for me!
Another surprising thing which I noticed in all of Hemingway's works is the use of 'first person's perspective' except for his very famous work 'Old man and the sea.' Even the 'Old man and the sea' is partly from the first person's point. First person's point is one of my favorite approach in writing. I feel that the readers could relate and dwell into the story as soon as they possibly can. When I did further research on this method, I came across something called 'The stream of consciousness.'
Stream of Consciousness, a term coined by William James, in his work 'The Principles of Psychology' describes an approach that makes fiction writing, a voice of mind. It helps the author to emote with the characters and deeply describe the way they feel and instead of author writing the story, the story would actually drag the author throughout its way.
'The Old man and the sea' is a third person's point story, but Hemingway partly used the first person's view to get into the skin of the old man. This is another important thing to keep in mind. I feel so comfortable using the first person's point. But whenever I try to use the third person, the story would fail to move on.
It is apparent that my comfort zone lies within the arms of 'first person's perspective.' I need to alter this. I'm thinking about combining all my previous week's lessons into one single short story.
To sum it all up
'A third person's point short story which is vividly descriptive, involving a character who closely resembles me in every aspect.'
It seems like a Himalayan task!
But I must work my way through it, at least as a tribute to the previous week which inspired me in so many ways, ways that I didn't even imagine. It walked me through the life of an artist and his love towards the rainy and dim lit Paris streets of 1920's, the patios of authentic French coffee houses where most of the revolutionary ideas and creative masterpieces were developed, the dark basement of the 'Shakespeare & Company' a bookstore where almost every writer, painter and poet in the city would meet to converse and inspire each other. I'm no more alone and as it introduced me to a few like minded strangers namely Hemingway, Picasso, Adriana, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein. These are the people whom I could rightfully call 'companions.'
Most importantly it made me realize the meaning of a pure yet powerful art form called 'Writing' and the critical role it plays in my life.
It was indeed a 'Golden Week' for me!
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