WE PAINT

‘I’m dreaming, yes I’m…’ and the whole hall plunged in the laughter. I was aghast to see, they all stood up & started clapping in my praise or to be specific in my humility. Actually I was getting truthful not humble. I hadn’t painted the painting & the auction was done showering really real big bucks on me. Somebody one who called himself painting connoisseur bought my painting for almost big buck.

It was a free weekend for me The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City was the obvious choice then. Truly speaking I was longing to visit the place since my School days. I’d one duplicate Rembrandt, one original Raja Ravi Varma both were my priced possession. Especially Rembrandt self portrait was in true sense since I used to brag its ownership saying it was the original one. ‘Can we too come with you this time?’ I just couldn’t refuse my daughters’ cute & pleading gesture & took both, her mother, too to my forthcoming official visit to New York City. It was nice till we were passing through titans of art world like Frida Kahlos’ self portrait, Andre Derain. Andrea Mantegna, Vinci’s’ work, religious & emotional work by Rogier van der Walden, Jen Fouguet. Even my daughter liked Albrecht Durers’ Head of an Apostle I took longer before Peter Paul Rubens’ The Judgment of Paris while my wife lingered before Nocturnal Composition of Georges de La Tour. ‘Dad’ she shouted & caught everybody’s’ attention around. I reached her leaving the Judgment being passed on those beautiful ladies behind. ‘I can draw this Milk Pouring maidservant’ she was pointing her finger towards Jan Vermeer’s’ all time great. I admonished her to keep quiet & the first frame caught my attention was Eugene Delacroises’ Liberty Leading the People while my daughter was spending some more time in front of abstracts of Turner, Kenneth Noland, Jackson Pollock & of course of Pablo Picasso. Wife had switched her position to ‘A wheat field with cypresses’ obviously by Vincent van Gogh.

‘Will you teach me to paint?’ kids can ask for anything pulverizing parents’ ego to shame. Her dad & mom took few minutes to shut their mouth while we were returning from the museum. I had to lower the glass to get some ice cold breeze to bring my senses to normal. ‘I can buy canvas, brush, paints & that’s all my baby; I can’t even hold a brush’ the truth is you can shamelessly express your inability before kids only. ‘Well, get me those dad’ she was more than reluctant to resort to means than the end. I was actually an accomplished painter in my own right & my limits were drawing two to three hill tops with sun rising from behind any two of them, with a blue stretch of river as if originating from the ball of sun. To fill the canvas I might paint a hut or two with a number of flying objects which might resemble with birds & yes coconut trees. With such accomplishment what can I say or do before the kid who had seen the worlds’ best brush men?

To really quench her thirst I bought a dozen canvas of different sizes with heap full of water colours & oil paints with different sized brushes, stands etc. etc. my wife cleared our store room for her paintings & we took a dip sigh as the summer was going to be rather cool. But my first evening after office hours at home was going to be just different. Not only canvas but entire home was drenched in water colours & oil paints. Each of walls turned into frescoes by my darling daughter. Her mother was laying on sofa seemingly popping painkiller for her obvious headache. She had to be taught to use brush & paints on the canvas only. To teach her we too started to try our skill at the brush. Later on our golden Labrador too tried its luck by intruding himself in the store room & churned himself on the laying canvas. Our mewing cat too then followed the suit like her big foe turned friend. Meanwhile even the black coffee got splashed onto the very canvas while my wife slipped on the soiled floor. I then took the decision to keep the canvas onto the terrace to dry it as early as possible. Yet the plight of the canvas war far from its end. It had got drenched in rain showers that summer night.

Contemplating her priced painting closely the little kid said, ‘Dad can we keep our painting at The Metropolitan Museum of Art?’ I was more that stunned even it was me & my wife to hear our sweet & innocent little daughter. Yet, to please her I took a nice photograph of the canvas which was terribly spoiled & far from getting anybody’s attention. Mailed my daughters’ creation to all of our relatives. Her aunt at Orleans called back to enquire more about the painting. Behind me my wife lied to her elder sister saying the painting was done by me. How can her daughter do such a damn thing?

My sister in law had arranged all that at Paris even the auction of our painting contributed by us all including our lab & cat even the rain showers in painting it. ‘Frame it with the best of wooden borders’ she didn’t forget to ensure through her numerous calls & e-mails.

I was sinking in shame while the auction was going on. My wife, her sister & her husband were more than happy dreaming of owning big bucks. Daughter was happy too; her painting was kept on silver stand.

Art connoisseurs were examining the canvas with their sharp eyes covered with spectacles & lenses in their hands. Their delight was spreading through their upward curved lips. I was nervous, with my downward curved lips.

By

Vijay Yelmelwar