Log # 10
For a very long time now I wanted to get back into two things, writing and sketching. I think both may have been a way to express myself when times were not great and life was hard. My mom is an Arts graduate. Back in the day she had made paintings and sculptures etc. Some of her work, I was fortunate enough to witness too before they were all destroyed by some scums who happen to be our relatives too. I consider myself lucky that she had art in her and she introduced us to these hobbies too. For a couple days I am trying to recall but so far haven’t been able to unlock my very first memory of me holding a color pencil or drawing something but I do know that I was very young. I remember drawing a house, mountains, car, trees and people on pages and making stories out of them. I actually have an image of one of these story drawings still in my mind. As a child, it was essential for me. The things and circumstances I had to witness, accept and live with at my home – it was essential for me to be busy doing something so I forget what is happening around. I never forgot what was happening, but may have been distracted enough to get through it all.
I am not from a poor family. It’s a very well to do family, have everything anyone can think of and was also well known in the city. However, I understand now that the way you will brought up a child has less to do with how much you have in your pocket for them and more with how much you have in your heart. In my well to do family, I never meant much to anyone. I assume it was mostly because I was a girl and boys have always been worth more to them, or because the hatred for my mom was far more than any love for me. My mama had always shown up for me for things that I wanted or needed. She didn’t have a lot of money despite my father having a great job at the time. She worked in a school from the very beginning and would buy us things like colors, water paints, drawing books, dough etc. A child younger than 8 years old would not think much of it, but a 33 years old adult now understands how much these little hobbies may have played a role to save me.
After my parents divorce, my mom still continued to work to support herself and my brother. She always bought me and my sister different art materials. She was not rich by any means and would cut on her own necessities to save money and get things for us. Mama taught us fabric paints, glass paints, sketching too. I painted a small pillow cover with a girl carrying a small teddy and a turtle – it was still there when I left Pakistan. I wonder if it still exists or was thrown away like most of my things were stolen and thrown away somewhere. Glass painting was not my strongest suit, but I had painted a flower lookalike in a small yellow glass frame, no idea where that is now. The one my sister painted used to be in my dadi’s room, I don’t know where it is now.
The artistic hobbies or interests, the kindness that I was introduced to and the green thumb that I have now all comes to me from my mom. The little hobbies that I was introduced to at a very young age, I still hold them so close to me. I am mostly afraid to sketch, paint or photograph because I fear failing and not being good enough. If I fail I may not be able to carry it on and I want to carry it on. In one of my sketch classes recently, our instructor said “do not worry about a wrong line in your sketch. It’s your art and it can be however you want it to be.” In my life’s sketch, the most beautiful lines and drawings are those that I was able to draw when I was with my mom even if the lines in those drawings were broken. I am 33 years old and I have lived with my mama only in my initial 8…