Friday, February 13, 2004

The Artist and his Muse

Read recently about
a well known American artist
and his obsession with
a model for 15 years.
He had made some 200 odd
of this one single woman,
shown standing, sleeping,
pensive, in the nude, brooding,
staring, sitting etc., etc.,

What kind of an artist is he?
Ha, no imagination at all, I dismissed
him, arrogantly. And the sketches
drew no more
look from me than of the
of the lecherous kind.

But later, being bedridden
for a couple of days due
to a leg problem, I went through
the book again. Out of
idle curiosity. Wondering, what
was in this one woman that the artist
could shut out every other woman
from his vision.

For 15 years.

She looked plain Jane, sharp featured.
But as I kept seeing the sketches,
I felt she was not the same
in any two drawings.
Every one of them seemed
the same, yet, different.
And I started to look
at her with fascination.
She did look ordinary,
but extraordinary, too.

I knew, the artist would
have been honest and would
not have bestowed on her
any more vitality than
what she possessed. If he did, he
wouldn’t have been the
great artist he was.

So, what he had captured
in essence, was her inner glow.
The woman no longer looked
to me,
like I’ve-seen-one-sketch-of-her-

I was glad that maybe I do
have something as an
artist streak going for me, as
she started seeming
half as alluring to
me as she did to him.

Now, if only, I could get
a willing model…

On a serious note, though,
someone had once said,
a woman needs to know
just one man and she’ll know all
Men. Whereas , a man might know many
women, but will never
understand a single Woman.

This artist could be the only
exception to that.

I salute to him.


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