By MC
It is interesting how in the midst of any creative pursuit, be it writing, painting, composing or anything else, one sometimes gets an intimation from the ether that this is going to work. By that I mean, work not just for me but even those who might engage it with it. This morning that it is this rapid sketch of horses.
As is often the case with me, I did not start out wanting to sketch horses. In fact, I know precisely which line was the first one that I drew on an impulse. Initially, it shaped up to be a couple of women caught in the middle of their swaying. Then suddenly my hand movements changed and started drawing horses. The curves are similar.
It is my habit/technique to just let myself go on paper or canvas to eventually get at something identifiable. Not being a trained artist by any measure keeps me liberated from the rules of the craft of painting and sketching. There is no schooling to interfere with my creative impulses.
While doing this particular work, I was reminded of the time when I took an entrance test for an admission at the National Institute of Design (NID) in Ahmedabad in either 1974 or 1975. One of the questions was about drawing a sign denoting danger without lifting one’s pencil off the paper once you started drawing. What to draw was a no-brainer to me—skull and bones. As I finished it in a few seconds the test supervisor tapped on my shoulder and said in Gujarati, “Admission thai jashe. (You will get admission.) This is good.”
Unfortunately, I was not among the 20 they selected. I was number 21. Life might have turned out differently had I been accepted at the NID. Soon afterwards, I watched ‘The Odessa File’ featuring John Voight playing Peter Miller, an investigative journalist. Although the movie was released in the U.S. in 1974, by the time it came to Ahmedabad it was probably 1976 or 1977. There is a line in the movie that goes something like “I am Peter Miller. I am a journalist.” Ever since I heard it, I wanted to say that myself. I started saying it in 1981 on joining the Free Press Journal.
So, what do my horses this morning have anything to do with why I became a journalist? Nothing really except perhaps that the NID did not admit me. I am glad it did not.