An artist in Paris

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Not so long ago, I took a vow that I’d create masterpieces in each of the art fields. Sounds stupid??? I know! Partly it was those delirious times and partly the company of the friend that I was spending considerable time with. And no it wasn’t a joint…

The dream or rather day dream was born on a lazy Sunday afternoon in one of the oldest cafe in Pune. Goodluck cafe. Good luck with your plans dude… Fast forward a few years (really?) and I was sitting in a Parisian cafe enjoying a cup of Java and so rekindled the dream.

That’s what I wanted to do, rather I wanted to be … an artist making ends meet in Paris. I wanted to create masterpieces in this masterpiece of the city.

Not everyone with brush and color pallet can paint though. I wonder what it’d be like studying art in Paris and getting by on your skills?

Maybe, I’d never find out how exactly it pans out for artists selling their skills on the street, unless of-course I decide to walk on the same path. The same path.

The proximity of my hotel to the famous Montmartre meant that I could simply walk there anytime I feel; the best time of-course was the late evening when the street was bustling with the tourists and the artists.

I walked to the nearby, Sacré-Cœur, the white marvel, and took the stairs down toward the Moulin rouge. On the way, I met another type of artists, con-artists, the trick was simple they’d tie a friendship band on your wrist which they claimed was for free. Of-course they were lying, that was their trick right there.

Moulin rouge with its red glow and a giant windmill looked absolutely fabulous in the night. Another set of artists worked there, dancing to the tunes of hit music are the cabaret performers (Helen anyone?) trying to do exactly the same… make a living.

Artists can’t be meager workers working to make money? Are they really even artists? I couldn’t live like that.

I didn’t want the fire in the belly to propel me, I wanted it to be the burning desire in my heart.

I wanted my passion to fuel my creativity. And nothing else could matter … Masterpieces would follow on their own then.