REKINDLING SOLACE

Today, I got a call from my old friend Indie and we decided to have a get together at her gallery. I soon readied myself and left for Indie's workplace. I preferred walking over driving as it would allow me to gaze at the beautiful creations.

As a writer, I have been acclimatized to observe my surroundings profoundly.

This always gives me a chance to enter a new world wherein I can sense others' feelings and thoughts to a greater extent. And this makes me proud to be writer as being philosophers, we are gifted with a sixth sense to look at the world through someone else's window. This further provides us with a different view and hence changes our way of perceiving things.

With these gleeful thoughts, I reached at the doorsteps of Indie's grand gallery.

Her gallery was filled with a plethora of paintings and abstract arts. The colossal paintings hung on the peach colored walls while the small sized ones were displayed on the desks protected within the glinting glass. Unfortunately, her gallery had piffling spectators. Nevertheless, Indie's sparkling eyes were a hint of the contentment with what she did.

We met with a warm hug and broad smiles. She immediately took me to a tour of her regal gallery and I too took a keen interest in her lovely and magnificent paintings. 

Indie is a indeed a gifted one. Her wizardry and skills were reflected in her paintings. Every blade of  grass, every outline of cloud and every vein of leaf was drawn with great perfection.

Indie explained to me the meanings hidden in each of her paintings and arts.

We then came across one of her famous paintings which had once attracted lot many people. The colossal canvas was painted in black with a lovely lady in its foreground wearing a white dress. She stood barefoot with an expressionless face. Her fragile hands held a candle which she had blown off. She stood in a poignant pose. The painting seemed to come to life. Much could be felt and seen. My engrossment broke when Indie explained that the lady in the painting was a personification of hopelessness, darkness and grief. She blew away the candle because all hope seemed to fade away. She was forlorn and engulfed by the darkness. Indie told that the she had portrayed herself as that lady. At one point in her life, she felt dejected and hopeless. Pessimism prevailed in her world and she had accepted the darkness as a part of her life. 

Indie told me that most of her works were either the part of her own life or were the realities of the world around us. Painting was portal to her solace and an outlet to all her emotions and feelings. I could too experience the same because I believed there wasn't much difference in the worlds of artists and writers except that one described the inner feelings through colors while the other through words.

I soon realized that art and literature are the embodiment of emotions, feelings and experiences. They are the reflection of the unheeded realities of the world.

They are the lifelines without which one would face the pangs of loneliness in this fast pacing world. They form the veins of every civilization which carry the blood of life and color.

People through their poems, writings, songs, artworks express the feelings that lay beneath the layers of apparent smiles.

I had to give a halt to my thoughts as now was the time to gossip with Indie and remember past times with sigh. The gallery reverberated with the peals of laughter. Thanks to the lower number of viewers in the gallery that we could spend a merry time with each  other without much trouble.

Time passed and I had to leave unwillingly. We parted with a warm hug.

I walked down the street which was yet illuminated with the final rays of setting sun. I took with me the lovely memories of the day. I walked back with the thought that the art and literature walked hand in hand. They had an immense power to move and rekindle the lost solace among people who are entirely entangled in their walks of life. 

In spite of this, they disparage art and philosophy with the thought that these weren't the honorable professions or no one could live writing or painting throughout life.

This saddening thought prompted me to think that a part of world still lives in fallacy.