Every time our drawing teacher told us to make a scenery,we got flushed up. Pencil,sharpener,eraser and the most important tool, our crayons used to fill up our tool box.
The saga begun during Jr. Kg and continued till 4th or 5th grade. Although the scenery we ended up making every time didn't show a drastic variation, but yet we were eventually proud of the slight variations we could display to our piece of art.
These slight variations varied from drawing a tree with several fruits,which were perfect red spheres to a bridge drawn but the central framework remained the same.
The central framework consisted of two mountains,in between which we used to place the sun in it's rising position. Rest of the sketch consisted of green fields and sky. The fields were cut by a river,a perfectly blue one.
We were quite satisfied with these sceneries until the hard times begun. Our new art teacher,who was nothing less than a sadist,discouraged us. He wanted us to mature and we did. His constant criticism of our drawings slowly and slowly killed the artist inside us and we became a new type of students,who used to make market and parks and roads but not those mountains,the fearless artist inside us lost the battle to that sadist.
Every time I see the a child buying those crayons,I somehow relive those childhood emotions but yet that inglorious defeat has perhaps made me too weak to try making those sketches with honest enthusiasm again.
The saga begun during Jr. Kg and continued till 4th or 5th grade. Although the scenery we ended up making every time didn't show a drastic variation, but yet we were eventually proud of the slight variations we could display to our piece of art.
These slight variations varied from drawing a tree with several fruits,which were perfect red spheres to a bridge drawn but the central framework remained the same.
The central framework consisted of two mountains,in between which we used to place the sun in it's rising position. Rest of the sketch consisted of green fields and sky. The fields were cut by a river,a perfectly blue one.
We were quite satisfied with these sceneries until the hard times begun. Our new art teacher,who was nothing less than a sadist,discouraged us. He wanted us to mature and we did. His constant criticism of our drawings slowly and slowly killed the artist inside us and we became a new type of students,who used to make market and parks and roads but not those mountains,the fearless artist inside us lost the battle to that sadist.
Every time I see the a child buying those crayons,I somehow relive those childhood emotions but yet that inglorious defeat has perhaps made me too weak to try making those sketches with honest enthusiasm again.
