I used to be into art, if you can believe that. Ah, I guess it’s not such a stretch. I wanted to write and draw my own comic books, and no, this wasn’t just some childish fantasy. This was a twenty-two year old I’m-serious-about-this fantasy wherein I worked for about five or six hours a day on top of my studies and part time job.

  My studio apartment was just one giant canvas. The walls bled more often than they were dry, fresh swashes of colour – half finished – running down one wall or another, a monstrous mural in various stages of completion, the rainbow-flecked skirting boards never immune to my haphazard experiments. Avant-garde DIY. Near the end of that stage of my life, when I was working on Mangaka no naka Sekai, a Japanese-influenced manga that would be my swan song, I even began planning how I could install tiles in my bathroom that would light up different colours as you stepped on them. My world was an aesthetic one. And then it wasn’t.

  What changed? People. Circumstances. Me. But mostly, mostly I realized that I’d reached the peak of the pencil – I could see that I wasn’t going to get any better. But my writing, my scripts and stories, the backbone and the second fiddle simultaneously, there was mileage left in that tank. I realized it wasn’t India ink or acrylics or pastels that were my medium, it was words, prose, iambic pentameter.

  I knew my life had fully changed tracks when I started carrying a luxurious ball-tip pen instead of a stub of a pencil to accompany my notepad, whose plain pages were now lined. I still doodle. I still draw. I illustrate my own books. But my relationship with art will never be the same. I cheated on it. Ran off with another. Someone more compatible. And maybe, in the end, the tryst that broke the love-triangle was a happier solution for the lot of us. But I still get the feeling, whenever I open up Photoshop or sketch something inane in the margins of my notepad, whenever I turn to my old friend in the face of writer’s block or boredom, that art still hasn’t forgiven me. A grudge I’ll never shake.

  Hell hath no fury like a abstract-personification scorned.


~ by Joseph Blame on May 21, 2011.

2 Responses to “Kaleidoscope”

  1. i like this

  2. […] hundred boring words, but then I thought, heck, I’ve got an hour to kill, and what with me being SUCH A GREAT ARTIST, I should show you guys my talent. Hope you enjoyed […]

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