Wednesday, December 2, 2015

iPad Pro + Pencil + Fifty Three

K had pre-ordered his iPad Pro. And since day 1, I have been randomly sketching on it when he is not using it.

Here are some of the those pages/sketches from Paper by 53 (fifty three). It is different from the iPhone app that I use (Brushes).
  • The things you can do are limited (It is primarily for notes). There is ink pen, pen, brush. Still exploring. So these are more like doodles rather than brush art.
  • Also, the pencil on iPad makes it a different experience. Art is much easier and much less messy. Big screen helps a lot. Don't have to zoom in all the time.

Listening to some of my favourite songs and doodling at the same time has become one of the interesting ways to use it, and is so relaxing and fun as well. Indulge me please (that is why this blog exists).

We don't need no thought control

Practising different ideas. Love the large space. Still a WIP

And Robots. Different shapes and sizes.

A twist. Will make the proper one, with Friday, I'm in love.

Monday, November 9, 2015

Spring Colors

Imaginary fruit

" Beauty serves merely as a guide to birds and beasts , in order that the fruit may be devoured and the manured seeds disseminated. Several plants habitually produce two kinds of flowers: one kind open and colored so as to attract insects; the other closed, destitute of nectar, and never visited by insects. Hence we may conclude that, if insects had not been developed on the face of earth, our plants would not have been decked with beautiful flowers but would have produced only such poor flowers as we see on fir, oak, nut and ash trees, on grasses, spinach, docks and nettles, which are all fertilized through the agency of wind."
 --Charles Darwin, 'Utilatarian Doctrine, how far true: Beauty, how acquired', The Origin of Species.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Midwinter spring is its own season

"Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.

When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,

The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,

In windless cold that is the heart's heat,

Reflecting in a watery mirror

A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.

And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier,

Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire

In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing

The soul's sap quivers"

Monday, June 9, 2014

Colors defined

Time is a tree, this life one leaf


Black & White

This one is a bit old, made around the time I tried to revive this blog in November 2013.

Count it as an effort - en route to trying to make something different. More I work on brushes, more I realise, free form and landscape are the easier stuff to make than those with geometric boundaries. Something like this can take forever and still turn out imperfect.

Florentine Inspirations (2/2)

Or may I call it a room with a view.
(For the time I stayed in Florence, I woke up to a perfectly framed view from the window. On this day,it was about to rain. Instead of clicking a pic, I tried to revive the lost art of brushing. And glad that I did, after-all, I was in the land of the master and this one to remember it by)

Florentine inspirations (1/2)

Tree combos like these dotted the landscape - Florence & surrounds

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Spring in November

"What is the late November doing
With the disturbance of the spring
And creatures of the summer heat,
And snowdrops writhing under feet
And hollyhocks that aim too high
Red into grey and tumble down
Late roses filled with early snow? "
...some questions change their meaning completely as one changes hemispheres

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

To begin again

" So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—
Twenty years largely wasted, the years of l'entre deux guerres
Trying to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate—but there is no competition—
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business."
From East Coker,  (Four quartets)
TS Eliot

Friday, February 19, 2010

Kiwiland Inspirations - 5

Travel and baggage one of my fav places in NZ.

Kiwiland Inspirations - 4

Viewing the Pacific

Kiwiland Inspirations - 3

Self explanatory :)

Kiwiland Inspirations - 2

Cricket as observed by a non-fan.

Kiwiland Inspirations - 1

The tower to the sky...

Thursday, January 28, 2010

iPad launched

Thank you, Mr. Jobs. This one is to you. Eagerly awaiting brushes on the iPad.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Arz kiya hai...

tum nahii.n Gam nahii.n sharaab nahii.n
aisii tanhaa_ii kaa javaab nahii.n

gahe gahe ise pa.Daa kiije
dil se bahatar ko_ii kitaab nahii.n

jaane kis kis kii maut aa_ii hai aaj
ruKh pe ko_ii naqaab nahii.n

vo karam u.ngaliyo.n pe gi.nte hai.n
zulm kaa jinake kuchh hisaab nahii.n

Saeed Rahi

Meaning of life

Could have alternatively called this - Summary of the Universe

What are we if not sum of empty spaces...and that's why the 'hopeless emptiness' :p

An atom is more than 99% empty space, and the protons and neutrons make up a very small amount of the volume of an atom. Additionally, the electrons are much smaller in proportion to the nucleons (protons and neutrons) than we have depicted. The nucleons are actually about 1800 times the size of an electron.


This was inspired by a beautiful poem by Borges...who is one of my current favorite poets.

Throughout the course of the generations
men constructed the night.
At first she was blindness;
thorns raking bare feet,
fear of wolves.
We shall never know who forged the word
for the interval of shadow
dividing the two twilights;
we shall never know in what age it came to mean
the starry hours.
Others created the myth.
They made her the mother of the unruffled Fates
that spin our destiny,
they sacrificed black ewes to her, and the cock
who crows his own death.
The Chaldeans assigned to her twelve houses;
to Zeno, infinite words.
She took shape from Latin hexameters
and the terror of Pascal.
Luis de Leon saw in her the homeland
of his stricken soul.
Now we feel her to be inexhaustible
like an ancient wine
and no one can gaze on her without vertigo
and time has charged her with eternity.
And to think that she wouldn't exist
except for those fragile instruments, the eyes.

Jorges Luis Borges

After the beast...


Hippos have quite caught the fancy of certain poets, and it is quite a few poets Nash, Eliot, Herford, Belloc or Barrington. (Familiarity ranks high with Nash and Eliot right now). The hippo-cake goes to Nash though. How can one read Nash and not be delighted? Hence, have added my own musings on hippos (the art work :p).
Behold the hippopotamus!
We laugh at how he looks to us,
And yet in
moments dank and grim,
I wonder how we look to him.
Peace, peace, thou
We really look all right to us,
As you no doubt delight the
Of other hippopotami.

Ogden Nash

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Theme-d #5

I saw your face in a crowded place
And I don't know what to do...

To K for his curent favourite song.

Theme-d #4

Theme-d #3

Theme-d #2

Theme-d #1

Was meant to look like howtown...

Monday, August 10, 2009

sun moon stars rain

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.

he sang his didn't, he danced his did

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Let us go then, you and I

When the evening is spread out against the

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Evening at 30,000 ft

The aim of waking is to dream time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so(forgetting seem)
in times of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek(forgetting find)...

Edward Estlin Cummings

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

When the moment of greatness flickers...

Would it have been worthwhile,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a

To roll it toward some
overwhelming question,

To say: "I am
Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back
to tell you all, I shall tell you all"

Thomas Stearns Eliot

Monday, July 13, 2009