PAUL CEZANNE AND THE FISHING VILLAGE IN TRINCOMALEE, SRI LANKA.

 

I took the journey after seeing Cezanne's painting Mont Sainte - Victoire (1882-1885). Cezanne of course had painted this mountain countless times, but this one for me was different. It shows a large tree in the foreground and a road that runs into a village. This reminded me of a Village I had seen many years earlier. I wanted to go there again.

Being just 5 degrees north of the equator this is a very sunny country and this eastern part of the island is known to have the highest temperature. But the term dry zone is not very accurate, for when the north-east monsoon blows in, the landscape transforms unexpectedly, with luscious green vegetation sprouting up as far as the eyes can behold.

We finally arrived at the onion land where many women were harvesting, row upon row of green stalks. I strolled to the edge of the barbed wire fence where a large Tamarind tree grew. And on the opposite side was another large land with another barbed wire fence, beyond that another and it goes on and on like this forever until you meet the very edge of the sea. Around here the biggest threat was a wandering stray cow eating the plants and so a barbed wire was all that was needed.

The view was unrestricted, presenting an incredible sight. Trees and shrubs, bare open land, noisy insects, the smell of sand, a yellow flowering shrub that had a strong heady aroma, birds of the brightest hues, a sun so bright that it burnt the skin, what would Paul Cezanne have painted if he was born here. I felt a great energy come over me and I took out the oil pastels and started to draw. The picture I drew is posted below along with the picture by Cezanne that made me take this journey.

Illustration by me for the Science Fiction Novel "THE SONGS OF DISTANT EARTH"

 

Illustration by me for the Science Fiction short story "THE SENTINEL" written in 1948

 

The Dream that Flew Away

 

I once attempted to build wooden triplanes and biplanes and the first type of wood I stumbled on was Kumbuk wood. These were not toys but scale models less than ten inches long. I wasn’t an expert, I just read some really good books about woodworking bought some tools, and started making. Art is an incredibly enjoyable endeavor, but it is limited in some way because what you create is two-dimensional. Woodworking is three-dimensional, you can actually hold what you created in your hands, and in that sense, it is “real”.

Even the first plane didn’t look too bad, and by the fourth plane, I had almost perfected the technique. I painted the wings yellow and the fuselage sky blue with US markings, and it looked incredible. I felt I could sell it, I even took it near a shop to meet the owner, but turned back at the last minute. It was somehow too embarrassing to sell. The real problem that many people face is not making something good, but trying to sell, maybe it is a fear of rejection or shyness. But if they are employed by someone, who wants them to sell a product they will readily agree and walk a hundred miles to sell it.

I went home and decided to sell later after improving it further, but I never did. I told myself that I will increase the output by giving different parts to different people who used power tools and assembling it myself, but I was only lying to myself. As far as I am concerned there are only two kinds of people. Those who can sell things they create without embarrassment - are called entrepreneurs and the rest of us are called employees.

IF YOU MAKE A FRIEND OF TIME

If you make a friend of time

It wouldn't matter that you have no dime

For waves that break in the mangrove beach

Will pull your ship from that sinking reef

If the lighthouse is afar

And a misty fog blocks the North star

Follow the terns to the left

Or north or south whichever is best

A starfish near the beach

May swim away beyond your reach

But a crab that moves sideways

May even wish you better days

A seagull that you think is dull

May show you the way if you lose your hull

A whale that you feel is bland

May one day give you a helping hand

An oyster that pricks your feet

Could have a pearl on some distant beach

A raft that is blown to sea

Will reach the Island of Serendib

Watercolor

 

How it all Began

My paternal uncle, was once a world-famous scientist and inventor, but now nobody took him seriously. For all his brilliance if two words could be used to describe him they would be Extremely Eccentric. He had the strange habit of suddenly asking a physics question in the middle of a normal conversation and you were liable to be scolded if you did not give a satisfactory answer. For this reason some people including many of his former colleagues avoided him. Some said it was old age encroaching, some said it was an illness of the mind.

But apart from this eccentricity he was a kind and friendly man and as much as I avoided him I could not help feeling guilty so one day I went and met him. "Oh there you are at last, you numbskull, you have been avoiding me for one month" said he. "I had my exams, but it was all in vain for they asked questions from just the part of the syllabus that I avoided" said I. "Serves you right, now tell me how the Universe was created" said he. "Well according to the Big Bang theory it all started as an infinitely small primeval atom, and it expanded to form the stars, planets, galaxies and everything else in the universe. But what the theory does not explain is how the primeval atom came to be in the first place and what was there before that" said I

"That’s right, it doesn't explain it, but I found the answer for that too, though it is a secret and I don't want to tell it to you right now. But I have something interesting to show you look out of the window" said he. Outside was an enormous metal tower, and a field of what looked like huge batteries. "The world is facing an energy crisis, economies have fallen because of it and it is only going to get worse, but I solved that problem through this invention. Look what happens when I press this switch" said he. As he pressed the switch there was a crackling sound and within minutes dark clouds appeared over the tower. Soon it turned into a terrible thunderstorm. "You see Thomas this tower has a charge that attracts lightning, which leads to a chain reaction that causes thunderstorms" said he. Soon lightning discharged in the tower almost continuously making an ear splitting noise. "Cant you see what's happening Thomas, I am converting the static charge in the lightning into chemical energy in the field batteries which is then used to make an electric current that could be used by people” said he.

Two weeks later I returned and to my utter dismay he asked the same question, but this time I was prepared ......Well uncle, according to scientists when matter and anti-matter collide it leads to nothingness. So somewhere in the indeterminate past this process was somehow reversed and from nothingness we had matter and anti-matter, or in other words the universe formed from nothing. At this he laughed and said......just as I always suspected you are not overly bright.....but then we all have to be the way we are made.

But at least tell me what you know of the Theory of Relativity.

.......Well uncle according to it time is relative and not absolute. The faster you move the slower time passes for you. As you approach the speed of light Time stops” said I. “But what has the speed of light to do with time, you pinhead” said he. “I do not know though I have often wondered” said I. “No you idiot, Light and other electromagnetic waves move at the speed of light and even in a stationery object the small particles that make it move at the speed of light. But when the whole object moves the need to move is compensated so the small particles that make up the object move correspondingly slower making it look like time moves slower for it. But when I tell this theory to other scientists they call me a nut” said he.

“But uncle don’t worry about it, for your lightning machine will make you famous, nobody ever figured out the way to make electricity from lightning,” said I. My uncle’s face darkened as I said this and he said “That’s where the problem is Thomas, I can’t present my invention to the world for it would be misused. Imagine what a superpower could do if it got its hand on my invention. It could even be used as a weapon. I don't want my invention to be used to kill people, So I decided to destroy it, in fact I already have” said he. My uncle died two months later, I think of a broken heart because he had to destroy his precious invention. I do not know if his theory of the universe was correct but I know that he was the greatest scientist nobody ever talked about.

Oil pastel and black pen

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) was an American Poet. At the time of his death Longfellow was regarded both at home and abroad as the greatest American poet. His reputation in England rivaled that of Tennyson. His translations from German, Italian and Scandinavian had much the directness and sincerity of his own verse, and attracted many American readers.

When critical taste turned toward a sterner brand of realism, Longfellow’s faults were noticed more than his very solid virtues. He has been called “The poet of the Commonplace,” but he had the gift of illuminating the ordinary and surrounding it with music. The simplicity that endears him to children and many adults often is interpreted as triteness or mediocrity. Nevertheless, Longfellow has earned a permanent place as a skilled lyricist of pure, sweet and gentle tone. Longfellow’s mastery of the ballad form and his proficiency with the sonnet are generally acknowledged.

A tragedy occurred in 1861 that shadowed the remaining years of his life. While his wife was melting sealing wax, a match set fire to her dress and she was burned to death in spite of Longfellow’s efforts to save her. He was seriously burned. Though the poet’s fame continued to grow, the peak of Longfellow’s creative life had passed. His translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy (1867), to which he turned for solace after his wife’s death, was competent but too literal to possess the musical quality Longfellow ordinarily summoned.

At the 50th anniversary of the graduation of his class at Bowdoin, Longfellow read a poem “Morituri Salutamus” (“We Who Are About to Die Salute Thee). After being stricken with dizziness in 1881, he died from an attack of peritonitis on March 24 of the following year. He was buried in Mount Auburn Cemetery.

A poem he wrote was The Secret of the Sea and in it the following verses appear.

Ah! What pleasant visions haunt me

As I gaze upon the sea

All the old romantic legends,

All my dreams come back to me

Till my soul is full of longing

For the secret of the sea

And the heart of the great ocean

Sends a thrilling pulse through me

Oil Pastel

 

Why I Draw

Many years ago when I was a kid I had a great fascination with the sea. As I grew up it didn't leave me, the sea seemed to be the fun place it had always been. But one day I went to the beach and found it all very dull. The sea seemed mysterious and menacing rather than the magical place where all my dreams were formed. As I was returning home by train after the disappointing trip, I was shocked to find out that I had lost the thrill of travelling by train. One by one as the years went by I found that I had lost interest in most things. It was then that I discovered art. Though my drawings and paintings were not very good it gave me a great thrill to draw something new every day. Later on I got interested in writing short stories, few people comment on what I write and those that do so out of sympathy, but still I enjoy writing. I think having an idea either in art, music, carpentry or any other thing and then implementing it is one of the greatest thrills life has to give. So one day I decided to revisit the sea. It was one of the best things I had ever done. It seemed through art I had found an old friend again.