Womankind – August 2019

102102

on a small pastel. I love oil pastel for

its creaminess and delicious feel. The

magic of creating marks on paper as

a child led to my love of painting

and writing. Nine years ago, I began

writing a daily journal and it travels

with me wherever I go. Last evening,

I realised I have a drawer full of 17 of

them. If I had begun a sketch a day

I would have had the same number

of sketchbooks by now. This morning

I have decided to make a ‘drawing a

day’ kind of pictorial journal. I know

this would help greatly in my creative

process. More than anything I would

draw as I write, free of any external

pressures knowing I shall be showing

them to no one unless I choose to.

The question is, will I be able to paint

as I write? With total freedom?

Day four: Sundays are always

full of chores, from bathing the

dog to tackling tasks on my ‘to do’

list that keep getting pushed to the

bottom. I have managed to set aside

an hour to spend in my studio. The

drawing I did today was quite odd.

My neighbour, a Buddhist, requested

me to complete her class assignment.

For every 10 minutes of meditation

she has to colour a square and there

were a few hundred! Her excuse was

that she is 78 and doesn’t have the

time or patience for “all this childish

rubbish”. I smiled to myself as she

said this. Honestly, I quite enjoyed

the task, as colouring takes me back

to my childhood and the repeated

action stills my mind. I realise this

is no different from repeating a man-

tra, only that a mantra in the guise

of a religious activity achieves a false

sense of importance.

Day five: Quite sad knowing this

is the last day of the challenge. All

my reference material and sketches

are ready for this afternoon’s work.

I don’t have a dedicated space as my

studio. I share the space with my

ate practical things that just have to

get done. The choice-less stuff. It is

always discouragingly lengthy. The

bottom tier is the stuff I really want

to do and never manage to get to.

There - amidst the other neglected

aspirations, such as “finish nov-

els”, “restring cello and practise”,

“do hormone yoga exercises”, “edit

documentary footage”- is “paint

canvas”. That bottom tier calls out

to me sometimes like a plaintive

child locked away in some enchant-

ed universe that is forever beyond

my reach. How strange life is. We

fill it with the tasks and trivial ac-

complishments that could be done

by anyone and never get around

to the stuff that makes us feel truly

alive. When the creative juices are

inspired and flowing, life just feels

better; richer. The vagus nerve is

nourished. Vital energy is regen-

erated. It frees us from the tyranny

of our speedy, discursive minds. It’s

like dancing, for a brief moment,

with the electrifying unfathomable

energy of life, that transcends our

usual solidification of mundane real-

ity. It’s also fun. So here I go. I have

paints and I have a canvas. And I

have so much beauty inside waiting

to be let out. Thank you Womankind

for the nudge.

Day two: I get home from work

at 7.30pm. The dishwasher needs

emptying. The dinner needs cook-

ing. The washing needs to be taken

off the line. I’m exhausted and feel-

ing the quiet gloom of encroaching

winter. I need to spend time with my

husband who has had a bad day at

work. Just before bed, I sit in front

of my canvas. So far it doesn’t even

resemble the embryo of what my

imagination is gestating. It certainly

doesn’t hint of masterpiece. I can’t

help feeling a little despondent by

the glaring abyss between what I

maid of 25 years. I remain indebted

to her for her help around the home

as it has allowed me to paint. But of-

ten the fact of this shared space be-

came an excuse for me not to enter

it. A meeting with a famous Indian

artist transformed this behaviour.

This wonderful man painted his

amazing works not in a huge studio

but one at a time in an enclosed bal-

cony off his living room. The space

was about 6 feet x 12 feet. Around

him family life played out. His wife

was going through the laundry list,

doorbells rang, family walked around

and about. All the while he spoke to

us softly showing us his newest work

propped up on an easel in front of

him. This has been a great learning

and applies to all. You don’t need a

meditation or a yoga room to start a

practice, you don’t need a studio to

paint, and you don’t need a backyard

to grow vegetables. The only thing

you need to do is to ‘act’. So here I

am, the third day of daily sketches

and I have Womankind to thank as

it’s been a fruitful five days.

WOMANKIND’S ART CHALLENGE Womankind Community

Dolma Gunther

Day one: For as long as I can re-

member, I have always relied heav-

ily on a daily ‘to do’ list. Despite

the fact that things occasionally get

crossed off from the ‘urgent’ section,

the list itself seems to only ever ex-

pand. The top tier is mostly immedi-

102

ona smallpastel.I loveoilpastelfor
itscreaminessanddeliciousfeel.The
magicofcreatingmarksonpaperas
a child led to my love of painting
andwriting.Nineyearsago,I began
writinga dailyjournalandit travels
withmewhereverI go.Lastevening,
I realisedI havea drawerfullof 17 of
them.If I hadbeguna sketcha day
I would havehadthesamenumber
of sketchbooksbynow.Thismorning
I havedecidedtomakea ‘drawinga
day’kindofpictorialjournal.I know
thiswouldhelpgreatlyinmycreative
process.MorethananythingI would
drawasI write,freeofany external
pressuresknowingI shallbeshowing
them to nooneunlessI choose to.
Thequestionis,willI beabletopaint
as I write?Withtotalfreedom?
Day four: Sundays are always
full of chores, from bathing the
dogto tacklingtasksonmy‘to do’
listthatkeepgettingpushedtothe
bottom.I havemanagedtosetaside
anhourtospendinmystudio.The
drawing I didtoday wasquiteodd.
Myneighbour,a Buddhist,requested
metocompleteherclassassignment.
Forevery 10 minutesofmeditation
shehastocoloura squareandthere
werea fewhundred!Herexcusewas
thatsheis 78anddoesn’thavethe
timeorpatiencefor“allthischildish
rubbish”. I smiled to myself asshe
said this.Honestly, I quiteenjoyed
thetask,ascolouringtakesmeback
to mychildhood and the repeated
actionstills mymind. I realisethis
is nodifferentfromrepeatinga man-
tra,onlythata mantraintheguise
of a religiousactivityachievesa false
senseofimportance.
Day five: Quite sad knowing this
is the last day of the challenge. All
my reference material and sketches
are ready for this afternoon’s work.
I don’t have a dedicated space as my
studio. I share the space with my

ate practical things that just have to

get done. The choice-less stuff. It is

always discouragingly lengthy. The

bottom tier is the stuff I really want

to do and never manage to get to.

There - amidst the other neglected

aspirations, such as “finish nov-

els”, “restring cello and practise”,

“do hormone yoga exercises”, “edit

documentary footage”- is “paint

canvas”. That bottom tier calls out

to me sometimes like a plaintive

child locked away in some enchant-

ed universe that is forever beyond

my reach. How strange life is. We

fill it with the tasks and trivial ac-

complishments that could be done

by anyone and never get around

to the stuff that makes us feel truly

alive. When the creative juices are

inspired and flowing, life just feels

better; richer. The vagus nerve is

nourished. Vital energy is regen-

erated. It frees us from the tyranny

of our speedy, discursive minds. It’s

like dancing, for a brief moment,

with the electrifying unfathomable

energy of life, that transcends our

usual solidification of mundane real-

ity. It’s also fun. So here I go. I have

paints and I have a canvas. And I

have so much beauty inside waiting

to be let out. Thank you Womankind

for the nudge.

Day two: I get home from work

at 7.30pm. The dishwasher needs

emptying. The dinner needs cook-

ing. The washing needs to be taken

off the line. I’m exhausted and feel-

ing the quiet gloom of encroaching

winter. I need to spend time with my

husband who has had a bad day at

work. Just before bed, I sit in front

of my canvas. So far it doesn’t even

resemble the embryo of what my

imagination is gestating. It certainly

doesn’t hint of masterpiece. I can’t

help feeling a little despondent by

the glaring abyss between what I

maid of 25 years. I remain indebted

to her for her help around the home

as it has allowed me to paint. But of-

ten the fact of this shared space be-

came an excuse for me not to enter

it. A meeting with a famous Indian

artist transformed this behaviour.

This wonderful man painted his

amazing works not in a huge studio

but one at a time in an enclosed bal-

cony off his living room. The space

was about 6 feet x 12 feet. Around

him family life played out. His wife

was going through the laundry list,

doorbells rang, family walked around

and about. All the while he spoke to

us softly showing us his newest work

propped up on an easel in front of

him. This has been a great learning

and applies to all. You don’t need a

meditation or a yoga room to start a

practice, you don’t need a studio to

paint, and you don’t need a backyard

to grow vegetables. The only thing

you need to do is to ‘act’. So here I

am, the third day of daily sketches

and I have Womankind to thank as

it’s been a fruitful five days.

WOMANKIND’S ART CHALLENGE Womankind Community

Dolma Gunther

Day one: For as long as I can re-

member, I have always relied heav-

ily on a daily ‘to do’ list. Despite

the fact that things occasionally get

crossed off from the ‘urgent’ section,

the list itself seems to only ever ex-

pand. The top tier is mostly immedi-