by Harshi Lal
Upon walking through the gallery
I see the art
And all I can think
Is how it is SO wrong.
Me: broke; unable to pay the bill and rent.
Me: trying hard to come up with something for an exhibition as the last resort.
Me: looking for inspiration in both the obvious and absurd places.
Me: failing to find any.
Me: suffering from a lack of motivation.
Me: throwing paint onto the paper sheets in frustration.
Me: covering brushes in paint and splashing it onto the paper in anger.
Me: running paint-smeared fingers over it in despair.
Me: pouring the remnants of the bottles as a last attempt of fooling myself I can do it.
They picked them out of the trash can
and looked at it like you look at some strange new-found species of a sea creature.
They decided to frame it and told me that I wouldn’t starve.
Because anything you don't understand
Is contemporary art.
But they got it all wrong.
They named the one born out of frustration,”despair"
And the one painted in anger,
They called " euphoria".
And now they admire my art
Like people admire an ocean:
They appreciate the beauty of its waves
And the way the sunlight hits the surface.
Forgetting the corals that lie at the bottom
And the sharks that swim in its depths.
Harshi Lal is an aspiring Indian artist and an amateur writer. She loves to surround herself with aesthetic things and wonder about the philosophical aspects of art and the endless possibilities created by words.She works as the art director at http://inwords.co.in/