I SELL MY ART, NOT MY HEART.

We often eyewitness although movies being the best source, The man juggling 7 red balls or the lady strumming her guitar strings on Taylor swift’s tune or paintings put for sale of a popular monument and if at all lucky a street play or an energetic flash mob. Lost in my own zone, I tend to miss out on appreciating them. On contrary there are days where all sense lit up. The freshly watered lilacs mixed with the air are inhaled and the warm summer breeze tangling my already messed up hair.
Strolling casually and clicking a bundle of memories at the national monument, a pride for the Malaysian’s. The world’s tallest free standing bronze sculpture in the honour of the brave martyrs.

Some places activate the curiosity in you and next you happen to walk up to the person ready to shoot some questions. Spotting the man in pink shirt with shoulder length hair partially grey busy with his eyes fixed on a white sheet, putting his art on the paper. I walked up to him with a broad smile giving him false hopes about being his next customer. I quietly examined his mini art exhibition showing lakes, woods, a kid with a yellow balloon on a busy street and known monuments.
I asked my first question on the pen he was using for the art that he was working on and he replied in a calm voice saying “0.10 mm”. His voice was an open invitation for my next few questions.
I waited no more and invaded his privacy by asking what his daily inspiration is. The same smile fixed on his face and now I observed the under eye bags and rugged skin denoting he has been incautious about his health and skin. The grey locks were more than it appeared from a distance. The answer took a long more than usual which put me into a dilemma if the question could be framed more politely avoiding the awkward stare. ”I only sell art, not my story” said the man leaving me in an awe of surprise. Putting a full stop to my curiosity and awakening the sleeping philosophical lady in me. He happily let me click his picture where he posed with his sketch. Walking back to the car I noted down the wisdom learnt from a single statement.

Getting to the point without the unwanted blabbering, not being an open book when not needed, plastering a happy frown to not disappoint the clients and what touched me is not selling his heart with the art. The man wasn’t cold hearted or rude but such locals leave an impact what the great ones couldn’t. Their words are not powerful enough to be written on stones but prove to be an advice they gained from the roads they have walked and experience they have faced. Walking half-heartedly and storing the questions for a new human who could add to my diary of life. I looked up and sun beaming with its rays of hope, I knew it was all right and time to come across another story.