Some poems I write from a picture or a prompt. This one I wrote from my own life. "For the love of art" is the story of how drawing found me as a child, how I lost it for decades, and how it came back strongly enough to become Paintology. I wrote it for an AllPoetry contest for art lovers, after an excerpt from Hokusai reminded me of my own journey.

The poem

At the tender age of four, I was intrigued by sketches in books
Black and white they conjured up mysterious images in my head
A silhouetted galloping horse on the edge of a hill rushing to someone's aid
It was not until six, I was proud of my first drawing with a pencil I did
A hazy sketch of a town with a policeman in the townsquare directing traffic
Standing on a block of stone, as tall as the statue of liberty

I dabbled only for laughs, since I had many other adventures to conquer
Growing, developing, maturing, a wondrous sense of adventure
Fixated in one thing, would surely make my life uninteresting
When I reached eleven, my interest in drawing took a turn again
I noticed teachers were duly impressed with the creations of their requests
So much so, a teacher approached me with ten quid to draw some allegories
I stepped up to larger drawings to show off to visitors of our house
They were impressed indeed and accolades came by the dozen
My art continued with a different frenzy but stayed secondary to my agenda

Come on fifteen and my art teacher approached my parents
Proposing that I should take art seriously but to no avail
Parents were convinced that my chosen path was predestined
A departure far removed from art through the subsequent decades
A logical mindset trained to solve the most demanding complex problems in science
Art skills, I thought was lost to the wind, until a time when it came to me like an avalanche

A paint by numbers was the catalyst for me, renewing the lost confidence to a high energy
An unstoppable run, I did continue, overshadowing my teenage counterpart
Various mixed medias, bring it on, I was alight with this renewed vigour
The run could not be maintained as other priorities became more inflated
Yet times of depression and a solitude unknown, I did pick up this brush yet again
Art was my comfort and an escape from reality, but other facts come into play, sadly

As the vicious cycle subsided, a renewed vigour then unfolded
A new lease of life with a dear old friend of mine
An app that was long forgotten, brought back to the front stages
A purpose of some kind that showered me with the future of golden delights
Paintology I called it, a marriage of my art and technology, true prowess all in one

I get into the swing but faced with an uphill battle but only a few people can imagine
An inventive idea it was but solitary in the eyes of so many
A reflection of the mass marketing, a clear indication of other's targeting
Only the few do survive as my previous battle scars have revealed
In an age where very few become very lucky and wealthy
The spotlights do turn to them, as do many clamber to emulate them
Little do people understand the complexity of life and how misguided it can be

Yet, I continue to ponder and seek yonder
I am resilient and strong just like my artworks
That stay hanging on most walls

© Jan '23, Ferdouse Khaleque

A life told in ages

The poem moves like a timeline, and the ages are its signposts: four, six, eleven, fifteen. At four it is pure wonder, black-and-white sketches in books that "conjured up mysterious images in my head". At six comes the first drawing I was proud of, a town with a policeman standing on a block of stone "as tall as the statue of liberty". That line is a child's sense of scale, and I wanted to keep it exactly that way.

By eleven, drawing had become something other people noticed. A teacher paid me ten quid to draw some allegories, and visitors to our house saw my larger drawings. Even so, art "stayed secondary to my agenda".

The turn at fifteen

The heart of the poem is the moment my art teacher went to my parents and said I should take art seriously, "but to no avail". My path had already been chosen for me, and it led to science: "a logical mindset trained to solve the most demanding complex problems". For decades I believed my art skills were "lost to the wind".

Many readers will recognise that moment. A lot of us had a talent that was set aside because something more practical was expected of us. The poem does not blame anyone for it. It simply records what was lost, and what came back.

A paint by numbers, and the way back

What brought me back was something very simple: a paint by numbers. It renewed my confidence, and the run that followed was "unstoppable", with mixed media and more energy than my teenage self ever had. The poem is honest that the run did not last. Other priorities grew, and later came times of depression and solitude. But each time, I picked up the brush again. Art became my comfort.

That is why I believe so strongly that anyone can come back to drawing at any age. The skill I thought I had lost was waiting for me the whole time.

Where Paintology comes in

The fifth part of the poem is where my two lives meet. An app I had long forgotten came back to the front of my mind, "a marriage of my art and technology". That app became Paintology.

The traditional art I did before going digital shaped every part of it. I wanted drawing on a phone to feel like pencil and paper, so Paintology lets you make a whole drawing with one brush and its opacity setting, building tone with your hand the way you would on paper. You can read more about that in Does Paintology Teach the Fundamentals of Art?

The poem does not pretend the road was easy. An inventive idea can look "solitary in the eyes of so many", and in a world where the spotlight falls on the lucky few, it is an uphill battle. The last lines are my answer to that: "I am resilient and strong just like my artworks / That stay hanging on most walls".

What I hope you take from it

If you drew as a child and stopped, you have not lost it. Pick up a pencil, try a paint by numbers, or open an app and follow one lesson. My own way back started with something just that small.

Start drawing again

Paintology

Categories: Art