Today, I chanced upon a snatch of an article I had
begun writing some time back and left halfway through it, and some old photographs which
brought with them a rush of memories. Memories of a short trip I made a couple
of years ago. A whirlwind of a holiday. Or call it a dream. A dream of a
holiday. Because it was like a dream in every way. It came upon me out of
nowhere, when I was least expecting it. Like a dream, it was beautiful. And
before I knew it, I woke up at home, on my own bed, to my regular routine of a
life. But whenever I reminisce this surprise of a holiday, the memories never
fail to bring with them a rush of joy. A holiday to a beautiful city where
art throbs in its heart.
Art can manifest in different places. An artist’s
mind is a canvas, their home an environment of art and artists. A street can be
an easy space for art. A place can be home or a memorial to an art or artist.
An event could be a dedication to art. But for an entire city to look like a
single, extensive work of art! And that’s Paris. The colours and the designs,
the art and the architecture, all seamlessly blend with each other. The roads
are like an unravelling of a story without an end. The city, from every angle,
is picture perfect, and its people merge into the picture. Any shopping street looks
like a page out of a fashion magazine. A sidewalk might as well be a ramp. It’s
not for nothing that Paris is called the world’s fashion capital. The city far
exceeds your expectation.
Art can co-exist with the business of life. Paris is testimony to that. Art not only co-exists, it lives and thrives even with the mundane day-to-day existence of its people. In fact it mellows the monotony in the mundane. Art breathes beauty into every activity in the city. Paris is proof that it is possible to have art in every square inch and around every nook and corner of a city. It is possible to have art in every phase of its evolution. Art can nourish and nurture civilizations, and carry the spirit of the times through generations. Again, Paris proves it.
Every region has its history, its dark pages and
golden ages. Throw light on them, expose them, or celebrate them. Accept them
for what they are and/or leave them. But let not go the art of those times.
Preserve it as it has always been. The art will speak for itself the history of
its times, its journey and its evolution. For every piece of art we celebrate
today, we are indebted to its past, our past.
Time and tyranny could have destroyed or defaced
the works of art of a region. But why not restore them if you can, and preserve
them anyway. Let the art narrate the stories of your land. Let the stories be
told in all their truth. Stories of love and loss, wars and battles, victories
and defeats, conquests and invasions. Stories of repression, revolution and
redefinition. Let nothing destroy the art of your land, let nothing spoil the
aesthete in you.
©
