Resurrection of Expression

I will, I will re-start painting. This swearing has been going on for a while now. Nothing, absolutely nothing in my last 4-5 months of velaness, except for that silly 5^th standard-ish thing I did for mum’s b’day. 3 ½ years ago, I did away with it, because I was sick of my lack of imagination, I had enough of my Warhol/Lichtenstein copies. My dad having nothing better to say of my creations, commented, you have a good sense of proportion…in transferring whats on the screen to paper! But now, I am so out of touch that I marvel at these copies, for they held some promise atleast in the skill dept. (yes, I insist pop art requires skill). I did resume however, during my last stretch in Delhi (original too and possibly its only credit), much encouraged by Dopester’s woohoo! and silly dancing at the sight of every one of them. And believing they held promise, I packed them up and couriered them all the way home (rather expensively), only to receive tolerantly quizzical looks from my parents. So another full-stop. I can’t even bring myself to do the finish with the egg yolk or egg white or whatever it is. Anyhow, I bravely present them here:

The money plant in Delhi office

The view from Thane balcony (on looking rightwards)