indiVISUAL: January 2008

A little something from my favourite horbit writer...

The artist

In my perfect world, Marlia is an unsigned rockstar and I get to hang out with her. Why compare her with the cookie cut blondes on MTV? She’s different. And I get to hear that special voice that no one else can replicate. She may work in IT or a bank. She may move to Alaska and work on a fishing trawler. But to me, she is and always will be an artist. And to me, she should sing often – even if there is no one to hear it. She should sing even if it is just to express a longing.

I’m reading this book called “The Treehouse” by Naomi Wolf. Naomi Wolf is an intellectual and I get lost in some of the fact and history that flies thick and fast from the book. But it is her simple wisdom that astounds me.

She talks of her late father – Leonard. Leonard was a poet and a poor Jewish immigrant who lived a difficult childhood of violence. To deal with all this, her father did not become practical or hardened. He lived in his imagination and in books about indescribable beauty.

Leonard says a work of art has its own life. It is not even what the artist intends it to be. In simple words, Imran may think he is doing a trick I’ve seen before. He may have intended nothing. He might be skating for the heck of it. But his art means something different for me. For me it means freedom. It is to me, a world of my childhood recreated in a heroic art of daring. It is my little haven. It is a place where if you’re sure and you believe, just sweat it out and your foot will hit the curb straight and true.

What is your art? It could be something you picked up. Is it an air of debonair and elegance you got from a diplomat parent? Do you have a quiet kind of charisma and gentleness that holds people together – if only in your presence? Maybe that is the artist in you (Kenny). It is the aroma of your tasteful habits. It is a sort of perfume that you wear about you that is inherent and completely unique.

It might not be something you can actually put on your resume. You can’t actually write, “I make people laugh at me so that they forget their sorry lives.” You might not even think it is of use to anyone. But believe it. It made all the difference to me (Jemo) when I was feeling sorry for myself in my easily-bruised skin. It is the artist in you that makes me laugh. In my mind, I really do have a hit man on hand. In my mind, those annoying red ants had better watch out. It’s not real but it makes life bearable. Smack that y’all!

In my mind, I have a wealthy friend with a sassy attitude to match. In my mind, we only buy CK underwear and eat at Sizzler’s. In my mind, her quest for something better is already over. She is a princess of obscure origins. In my mind, her Persian cats are a necessary addition to her royal court. Her father travels the land while her mother holds an audience at the court. We can go out together in sweaty jeans and yucky tops but in my mind, we’re royalty – Nadia. We really are. :)