affairs of the art

as a child one of the highlights of my new school year was the buying of new stationary and art supplies.  the no-frills geometry box, fountain pens and rulers were pleasing enough –  symbols of hope for a better and brighter year at school. but it was the standard issue water colour set and crayons that were so much more evocative  reminders of what school really had to be about- less math (a lot less),  more maps,  more diagrams pertaining to geography  and biology. and plenty of art.  renewed hope that at least here on the art teacher would permit my cityscape illustrations into the “scenery” category – where so far she had always marked them a zero and insisted on the DMK  inspired  rising sun and two mountains as the only acceptable depiction of scenery.

apart from ‘official’ art supplies, i was frequently  plied with special treats.  a parent or relative who had traveled abroad was often thoughtful enough to buy me some indulgent felt- pens,  tubes of acrylic paints and  assorted boxes of water colours bearing beautiful names, such as cerulean blue, dark puce, chartreuse and fandango pink, that i loved to repeatedly read aloud.  these paints were never used in my school drawing book keeping in mind the doggedly philistine attitude of the aforementioned arbiter of scenic art. i may have on occasion  spared a few daubs of this “foreign” paint  on a map of the oceans or diagram of the earth’s molten core but the bulk of it (all 5 ml) was for weekends of unbridled romps- watercolour posters, cards, bookmarks and endless pictures of trains, bridges, cars, skyscrapers (about five storeys i think) and other non approved components of  urban scenery.

years later in graduate school abroad i was lucky enough to have to buy more art supplies.  those were financially lean years and  i was likely to forfeit a topping on my pizza and make do with a plain cheese slice so i might  continue to splurge on art equipment – colour pencils (a green is not merely a green- it is either mint, chartreuse, shamrock, lime, persian, tea, teal, turquoise, jungle or forest green ) water colours in hitherto unexplored shades and (gasp) natural sable hair paint brushes.    my studies in landscape architecture, at this point, was a happy blend of two great loves- plants and painting.

just a few years later though, the professional practice of landscape architecture drifted away from the hand rendered and colourful presentation drawings to CAD sheets of a rather anemic and austere nature. my tech updated presentation drawings had all the personality and pizzazz of an amish prayer meeting.  the office was  deprived  of so much colour (literally) and  the pleasurable world of creating art drifted slowly away from my life .

after nearly two decades of ascetic “artlessness”, my daughter and fellow art lover  sam -who as her going away to college gift (leaving my world in only the bleakest shades of grey- pewter to lead) gave   me an adult colouring book .  i tentatively re-entered the realm of art although it was  a rather simplified version  with basic  colourpencils and a stay- within-the- lines approach.  but as months (and pages) progressed i was caught in the all too familiar tug of shading, blending and burnishing.   the ever unresolved questions  of  using black outlines or not,  of painting light to dark vs the opposite way, careful studied details vs  fleeting ephemeral impressions – taunted me to take the plunge once more. i sensibly yielded and  can now  be frequently found drifting around  the art supply store with a blissful yet covetous eye at many other media and possibilities.  

my art table, while not exactly groaning under the weight of the supplies,  is a paradoxical presence – it is my ever calming oasis at the end of too-long work day and is also the spring of much cheer and energy.

a little chaos

i recently came to watch this rather unique period- drama movie “a little chaos”. there are so many movies where the main character is a doctor, a lawyer, a life guard, a music teacher or even an architect but this was one of the two times  i’ve seen the protagonist as a landscape architect. and the first time ever a lady landscape architect (as my father would say).  having been a landscape architect for over twenty years and a lady a lot longer, i was drawn to this story. the film is essentially about  a rather unknown and unconventional  landscape architect – the fictitious madame sabine le barra, her work and  her romance with andre le notre  (who was in fact louis XIV’s  real landscape architect responsible for the splendours at  versailles,  chantilly, fontainebleau) .

the flaws in this poorly researched drama are more numerous than the weeds in my lawn, the plot wilted  and clichéd, historical “facts” pruned into alternative truth and the script lines worthy of a quick compost. there is no real feel for the manners and zeitgeist of the 17^th century bourbon court life. fancy wigs and  brocaded costumes are about the only touches of that era.  however, the lead actor kate winslet, does an admirable job of playing landscape architect – her passion for plants and beauty, for the raw elements of earth and rain, her eye for detail and the sensory delights in recreating her own garden of eden (the original now long lost ). all beautifully delivered by her while  she brings alive the scope of her profession itself.

the sensuous  pursuit of landscape design is a hedonistic vocation that engages body and soul. there’s no dearth of tree hugging and pot lugging, dirt under the nails, carting water pails, designing ponds and fountains, making molehills out of mountains, planning drainage and sluices, ignoring dirty bruises, dealing with contracts and workers, stepping in when surrounded by shirkers, rapture about new plants, delight on sighting bugs and ants, seeing gardens as places of pleasure, creating outdoor experiences to treasure.  this is my own  temporal and rather chaotic world of landscape architecture - and how madame la barra lives it in the movie.   only she portrays all this with  stately and spirited beauty and with endless charm. (having a hot adonis-like le notre helps tremendously too- he broods a lot through the movie but strangely isn’t into doing much else – like drawing up impressive prints for a never-been-anything-like-this -or- be- put- to- death garden for the le roi soleil . the drive to create, to nurture, to change,  to give pleasure- this is a truly gratifying vocation and in showing this the film does a gallant job.

as for the title- a little chaos – it fittingly describes the whimsical processes of designing outdoor spaces and working with the caprices of the earth and its elements.  it also sums up (three centuries later)  a day at my own landscape architecture office. even if the client list doesn't comprise louis XIV.

Hope springs

A few days ago, a butterfly fluttered past my ninth floor balcony. At least, I think it was a butterfly. It could have been a moth. Do moths fly around in the middle of the day? I’m not sure. This one was mostly deep brown, rather different from the sunshiny yellow and orange visitors I’d yearned for, ever since I’d moved into this apartment and started to fill the bright, sunlit balcony with an assortment of colorful  planters from the local garden shop. The bright pink petunia was in full bloom, swaying gently in the summer breeze, the Chinese honeysuckle - though its buds were regularly chewed up by a pigeon on the eighth floor window ledge- was lush and green, the tiny bluebells – well, there were six of those. I know. I counted.

The man at the nursery was quite tickled when I asked him what plants I’d need for my little garden to become a butterfly magnet. “Look around”, he said, as I stood there clutching the tiny pot of pink petunias I’d just selected. Hybiscus (hybiscii?), petunias, roses, dahlias, pentas- flowers of all shapes and colours, were all neatly arranged, row after meticulous row. But he was right. There was’nt a single butterfly. Not one. “I’ll just try with this one“I said, now feeling a little forlorn, but hopeful nevertheless.

And the petunia did its best. Every single day, the Mediterranean blue basket  would spill over with pink striped blooms. They reminded me of my favorite ice cream- raspberry ripple. Surely a butterfly would pass by and be lured? So the days passed and I kept hoping.

But on that sunny day in March, the butterfly, (I prefer to believe it was one), moved on by.  It perched for a few moments on my house proud neighbor’s balcony rail, next to the extensive collection of buckets, brooms and mops, impervious to my silent and frantic willing. When I looked again, it had gone.

Was it my shattered heart that brought about the thunder and lightning yesterday? I think it must have been. It rained until I went to bed, and this morning I woke to blue skies- raindrops sparkling on the petunias, the very first honeysuckle blossom- the pigeon seemed to have taken a rain holiday- and ten bluebells. A rainbow portal unfolded within me and my heart flooded with hope. A butterfly will visit my garden one day. Of that I’m sure.

a day well spent

when the weather turns a bit cloudy and there’s a hint of rain (anywhere in the same hemisphere) i am filled with hope for the garden.  botanical struggles ( lost or abandoned) are forgotten and i happily make plans for new additions to the slice of eden - chez moi.  one of the decadent pleasures of my  fast-living life is visiting the local plant nursery.

at this den of temptation and allure,  i am greeted at the entrance by new “exotics” (the equivalent of candy at the grocery store check-out line- tempting but does you no good) and “in-bloom plants’ in impossibly small pots and packets  with only four leaves on a tiny twig but  huge psychedelic flowers (the elixir they must use for this feat is ranked just one notch below hair re-growth tonic in the list of magic potions– is it out there? I want - both!!).  next are beautifully arranged bags of pebbles, rocks and marbles – didn’t realise i needed them till just now.  a tranquil statue of buddha reminds me to inhale and think gentle non-covetous  thoughts.


 i sigh and  move on to the ‘core’ plants-the knowledge of whose name and  provenance separates the amateurs from  us badass  pros. indoor shady this way – outdoor sunny that way – indoor but bright light here - outdoor but semi shade there - plants i know i have once had but mysteriously are no longer in the garden- imported plants (eeeks- do the culture police know?)- bizzaro succulents - water plants floating languidly in large pots- herbal plants to satisfy the druids-so much to see and touch .

i  force  myself to inhale and exhale again. do i take photos (to go home and relive the joy- many times) or be mindful and enjoy arcadia in the here and now . it’s so stressful being restful.  the more utilitarian shade trees, fruit trees and vegetable saplings are next and i have renewed visions of being an urban farmer – however too many failed attempts in this department inhibit my otherwise unhindered  selection.  “cluck it” as the imaginary rooster of my imaginary urban farm would say.  i move on.  after careful deliberation, plenty of  returns and revisions to my ideas and lists – i am done- the narrowing down to the barest minimum (want not waste not, that's me).

now the billing.  the owner’s face lights up and he  says how terrific it is to see me and hasn’t it been atleast a fortnight? gives me an unasked for discount and hands me a complimentary pair of garden secateurs.  i cursorily check the bill - an amount like that would have seen me wringing my hands in grief if buying clothes but now appears to be  a sensible allocation of monthly expenses.

 the good times roll – we load up the limo (who needs a back seat ??-a very overrated feature if you ask me.  what i  do need however is a pick up truck). my head is buzzing with happy ideas for my little garden that is bigger than the pen of my aunt. but as i forsake the pleasure campus of the nursery a sneaking suspicion creeps up on me that maybe  i’ve bought too much- again.  when i drive onto the highway, i realise that i can’t see much in the rear view mirror except plants – i am sure there’s a metaphor in this somewhere but i can’t see that either.  people stare at me at traffic lights- because there a lush leafy branch next to my ear (flower included).  maybe the sedan looks better this way?  no time to be all smirky- i reach home and  unload the car very quickly and quietly before the rest of the family might see me and then comment  in incredulous tones “again? you went to the nursery???”and then the inevitable but silly “do we even have  place for all this?”

city at dawn

city at dawn

cities are noisy places. be it the noise of the all pervasive traffic and honking, sounds of construction (and destruction) in the neighbourhood,  borewells being sunk, sounds of vendors hawking their wares , noises from the neighbours’ kitchens and tvs,  airplanes thundering during  take-off, loudspeakers blaring at torturous decibels, dogs barking at unearthly hours, motors and engines clamouring in all directions, car alarms wailing away for reasons unknown,  jarring sirens of ambulances and obtrusive VIP convoys, phones tooting  intrusive ringtones and most of all -people talking incessantly to each other – noise appears to be an unavoidable part of urban life. loud and constant noises adversely affect one’s physical and mental health – it strains our nerves, wears thin our patience and generally pulls us down.  so are cities and noise inextricably mixed?

i offer that there are stretches of quiet in the noisiest of them – it’s a question of when  to find them. a foray at daybreak into the markets, streets, corners, playgrounds and neighbourhoods that one finds  noisy and overwhelming during working hours, shows them swathed in the most appealing and tranquil shades. the city reveals details that get blurred in the circus of daytime. it’s almost an alternative world which is yours alone..

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at that hour the day is not yet started for most and  markets and neighbourhoods seem such peaceful havens. buildings doze quietly  without any lights or noise, cars and trucks parked at the edges of the roads appear  innocuous, streets deserted – the previous night’s excesses done with and new ones not revealed, the gods of religion (and politics) are uncharacteristically benign with their loudspeakers  now mute and muzzled,  dogs (and guards) rest blissfully having defended home and hearth through the night, the shrill sirens of  law enforcement (or not) incongruously dormant ,  store fronts tightly shuttered  to customers and commerce,  people still slumbering, nourishing  their souls and bodies so they may tackle the caprices of the coming  day,  school playgrounds cloaked in mist and  fresh dew,  homeless street dwellers sleep covered from head to toe as if to block out the realities of their circumstances,  trees and their avian dwellers take respite in the quiet and bring in a feeling of reassuring permanency.

but is there anybody out there at all? citizenry that doesn’t generate noise? one occasionally sights a coffee shop with a small group of regulars quietly enjoying  their  brew with a newspaper or two,  delivery boys throwing the newspapers with bored ease, an odd bus or two carrying a lone commuter to work, the milkman measuring his supply with a careful eye  to his sleep blurry customer, a few travellers arriving on a too-early train or bus. the sun is not yet on the horizon. the moon fades slowly in the western sky. the mystique  of the night fades away like the mist of a breath on a mirror.

the spirit of promise that  this day will be somehow different blows softly as a zephyr. the potential for solitude is fleeting but invigorating.  for now, the city is resting. when absent of population cities show their tenderness, timelessness.  all is calm. all is quiet.