An Artist by Accident

There are two kinds of people in this world. Those that are artists and those that are yet to be discovered.

Now, allow me to tell you a story to validate this claim.

This was around the time when I was a young girl of 8 or 9, with big brown eyes, a mushroom cut and a toothless smile.

On weekends, my parents would often drive me to these regional art competitions held on big open grounds, under flimsy tents, in and around my hometown, New Delhi. I was no child prodigy, in fact I don’t ever recall managing to even land a consolation prize, but my parents refused to lose hope.

This competition was no different. I remember it was summer. I was sitting under perhaps what felt like my 100^th flimsy tent, amidst at least a thousand other little kids, trying hard to keep my drawing paper from flying off, from the air of the big noisy portable fans placed all around to relieve us of the scorching Delhi heat, as we drew.

As kids uncomfortably got down on all fours and drew one of the generic topics that were assigned (draw a house or draw a landscape) inside the tent, the parents waited on fancy round tables placed out on the lawn and enjoyed snacks, while boasting away about their child’s artistic talents.

As I sat down with my pencils and watercolors, I remember being very uncomfortable sitting on the floor and consequently, very distracted. So, I began to look outside to find where my parents were seated.  Whilst looking, a waiter carrying a big hot bowl of steaming soup caught my eye. Next, I noticed a small bump approaching on the carpeted path he was walking on with his chin held high up.

Naturally, my imagination ran wild.

I envisioned the waiter tripping on the bump and dropping the hot bowl of soup he was so proudly carrying, everywhere. The more the fiasco played out in my head, the more curious I became to see what would actually happen. So I stood there, waiting in the shadows for the big moment.

The waiter stumbled, but regained his balance and continued to walk on. He was embarrassed, but no one seemed to have cared or even notice his minor stumble, and life moved on. That is, no one, except for me. 

I immediately ditched the landscape, forgot all about it and decided to draw the waiter tripping and the soup falling instead.

After the time limit was up, my parents came by to check on my drawing. Upon seeing what I had drawn, my mother was furious. She believed my drawing would immediately be disqualified since I didn’t stick to the assigned topics. My father, however, was more forgiving, and encouraged me to submit it regardless.

A month passed. The results were out. My mother didn’t care to check them, of course.

That afternoon, our telephone rang.  It was one of the judges from the competition and they immediately asked my mother to bring me down to their office.

The whole ride there, my mother was angry. She kept scolding me, telling me they were just calling me in to return my disqualified drawing in person. 

So when we reached, I went into the office hiding behind my mother, frightened by the idea of a formal rejection.

However, when I came out, life was different. This time, it was my mother who was tailing behind me, proudly holding the giant storybook collection, which was in fact the 1st prize for the drawing competition.

They said I deserved it, for thinking “outside the tent”. And the ride home, was surprisingly pleasant.

Art Competition Fiasco, a painting by Zain Ali

Pablo Picasso, one of the greatest artists of all times once said, “All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artists once he grows up.”  

Truer words have never been spoken. We are all born artists, each with our own idiosyncrasies. However, to gain confidence in how one sees the world, or what we call an “artist’s vision”, requires a moment of realization. And that moment of realization must come before one subdues their deeper inner voice in order to conform to society.

I’m Zain Ali and that was my moment of discovery, of self-realization, and of gaining confidence in my own decisions, however unconventional they may be. However, as I grew up in the confines of a very rigid educational system, the artist inside me went into a state of limbo. I came to college in the United States of America to study Mathematics and Economics, and just that, until I took an analog photography class with John Shimon and Julie Lindemann. That changed everything. The artist inside me was resurrected. And I began to take more and more art classes, using art as an excuse to “keep me sane” from the insanities of imaginary numbers and Keynesian theories. Last week I decided to drop my Mathematics major and I am now, no longer just an art enthusiast but a proud Studio Art and Economics double major instead.

When it comes to my art, be it instantaneous sketching in my sketchbook or developing a photograph in the dark room, I’m driven by deep private emotion. I use my personal sketchbook as a visually diary, recording memories from my childhood. When I decide to make an art piece, I find inspiration deep within, often times reflecting on my cultural upbringing and life in India. “The Golden Peacock”, a life-size peacock made simply by wooden sticks and a hot glue gun stemmed out of spending my childhood memorizing “the peacock is the national bird of India” in my early school days.

I don’t have a set type of art I want to pursue for the rest of my life. I simply want my art to serve a purpose. The form of art that has come closest to giving me such internal satisfaction is photography. My black and white photographic series titled, “Secrets”, serves as an outlet for 10 different subjects to anonymously disclose their deepest darkest secret and relieve themselves of the burden they have been carrying around for the entirety of their lives.

I want to use this blog to showcase my work in the coming months. How my art grows and evolves around the core concept of private emotion, and attempts to serve a greater purpose. As an artist, I can only hope and pray that perhaps someday my words can inspire one of the many undiscovered artists still out there in the world, unaware of their potential.