Swish, swish, dot. Thick lines here. Thin lines there. Broad strokes to fill an area. I squint at the photograph placed in front of me. I imagine. Reds, blues and browns materialize in the black shadows of the arch. What holds the arch together? I try to visualize the web of force interactions in the intricate assembly of brick and mortar as I paint. Will it fall like the London Bridge, with some imagination? Or will it fall like the Tacoma Narrows, due to the right wind speeds? Painting in watercolor unfettered my curiosity, providing a sanctuary for my thoughts and imagination. Scrutinizing the photo, I dig deep. I am determined to see beyond the ostensible, to make this more than a mere photo. Colors clash. Objects vie for attention. Perspectives come forth, bringing the inanimate to life. Is one better than another? Instead of weighing the freedom of choice and life in social issues, the scales tip between Ultramarine and Viridian, this tree and that building. Yet, is what I paint real? Is it any more real if I make it more photorealistic? And to what end? A painted tree is a painted tree; in any case I won’t be able to touch, see or smell it the same way I do a real tree. Consequently, this seems a trivial endeavor in Singapore’s parochially pragmatic …show more content…
Red melds into blue into green. I see the parakeet through the photographer’s eyes, awed by the detail of its feathers, the lovely blend of colors, and its regal posture. I see the crafted pots, glazed in myriad colors. What’s the story behind the parakeet, the history of the potter? In the same spirit, I found myself exploring people’s stories beyond watercolor, delving into the potpourri of hardships and passions, identities and cultures. I listened, paying attention to their adventures and misadventures, probing deeper and then penning them down to spread the word. To spread, in the written form, the excitement and the disappointment, the humor and the