An Artist's Voice

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 42; the forty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "COLOR"

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Visitors were arriving at the exhibition hall in large groups.

There were students from schools, who were being brought in as a part of their one-day excursion. There were students from the College of Fine Arts, who came to see the paintings, to inspire the projects they had to submit as part of their curriculum. Some representatives from reputed firms of architects had also come, to purchase the paintings for their new residential projects. Some of the visitors were art connoisseurs, who had come to while away their time in the company of some thing they loved.

She stood at the corner, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of the roses that had been arranged to welcome the visitors, and to add to the décor of the hall.
She was the artist.
The one who dipped her brush into the soulful colours to produce these paintings which had recently hit the headlines as “ The Best of the Brushes in Modern Art”.
She had recently won the ‘Artist of the Year’ award, instituted by the leading art and architecture magazine, The Designer.
She smiled to herself, as she thought of the editor of the magazine, who had asked her to send him a portrait of herself, painted by her, to publish in the magazine. No photograph of hers had been published before, and none knew the story of her life. He wanted the honour of publishing it.
She had said, she couldn’t do it.
That wasn’t simply her way of working !

Somewhere along the hallway , a group of people were discussing one of her paintings.
“Where do you think she draws inspiration from?”, someone asked.
“ The world around her, as every artist says,” someone replied.
“ Or may be her own dreams”.
“ It could be from travelling also, you see. Probably she paints what she sees in her tours”.
“ They are excellent, anyway.”
“ Yes, so soulful. See that ? The painting , ‘The Lady in Pink’. Look at the way she has painted the smile on her face?  A secretive smile. I bet she’s been inspired by the Mona Lisa..” , the voices dropped to a whisper as she approached them in carefully measured steps.

She heard an ‘Oh’ from some one….

The crowd turned silent as they saw her approach.
She stopped and turned to ‘The Lady in Pink’.
She stood there for some time, smiling at the painting.
She spoke to ‘the Lady in Pink’, as she did to all her subjects.
She smiled as she thought of the way she painted, inhaling the fragrances of her paints, to know the effect of their colour.

She turned to go.

The crowd looked on, as she tapped her way with her stick, to go back to her corner with the roses.
They now knew her life had only two colours.
Black and White.

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