Ancient - Blog Posts
~ Helmet of Gladiator.
Date: A.D. 1st century
Medium: Bronze
~ Wooden figure of the Anubis-jackal, with long tail.
Cultures/Period: Late Period
Place of origin: Egypt
Medium: Wood
~ Crab Vessel with Double Spout.
Place of origin: Colombia, Calima Region
Period: Ilama Period
Date: 1500 B.C.-A.D. 100
Medium: Ceramics
the water engulfed without a moon to reflect. Ashes from desperate cries left burning magnesium through the rues. Starry hands sought the earth, and withdrew as if scalded, scorned whispers echoing through the lifeless home. The heavens grieved and stroked the rivers of fire, flowing ever so serenely now, sobbed harder and washed off memories to a place better deserved. the once bright lanterns, the sole conspirators of curtained stages, no longer remained diminished but choked underneath the clouds. The repressing haze, one which burned your breath, dissipated under the violent fog. The deep violet skies rumbled, quiet in regret, flooded the builds again and again, till life grew anew. The rushing sound never ceased, till the scorched red cleared the ruins brown, till the crushed whispers smelt home. Eventually, a blue, much like your eyes emerged through the tar clouds, and the broken hands gave way to crawling flowers. Amidst the drenched rubble, the soft footsteps of a lone writer remained as lone witness to Pompeii's apology.
Our ancestors speak through us.
~Me
A watercolor + pen and ink work. Pattadakal - a historical place in Karnataka. First time I'm experimenting with what i learnt till now #proud #ancient #historical #architecture #watercolor #pen #ink #pattadakal #karnataka #indianartist #artistmichi #artistOnInsta #artistontumlbr #art #sky #clouds #painting
Stepwell from Mandu
I so wanted to create this illustration one day. A vector simple illustration of a stepped well from Mandu, Madhya Pradesh.
When was the last time you saw someone actually writing a letter?
Not application letters, I mean a nice, warm letter to a loved one
*Tring tring!* “POST! POST!!”
For some reason, the six year old me would get excited to hear the arrival of a post. I was always eager to receive letters. The kind old post man would pretend like all those letters or invitation cards or bills were actually addressed to me; he’d hand them to me with an impressed look in his face saying “Arey! Look how much letters you got today!”
As years passed I became busy in studies, career and never realised that the concept of sending or receiving a letter had disappeared from the back of my mind. Until one day.. One day, my husband showed me a video from the Malgudi Days series that I felt nostalgic about my younger, somewhat dumber self.
Thats when I realised that I’ve never seen a postman for a few years now. Especially after the rise of telephones and mobiles, no one ever sends snail-mails. Even when there’s the occasional bill or post, the postmen don’t have their usual smiles or kind words anymore. Being a postman has become just another job.
Here’s the episode from Malgudi Days for the curious :) The episode is in Hindi but the Youtube CC subs work fine
So when I watched that particular episode from Malgudi days, I was touched. It tells the story of a postman who knew everyone in that small village, he was friends with everyone, talked to everyone. He spoke encouraging words to the jobless ones who sent applications everyday and rejoiced with the family that had some good news from relatives of another another town, he shared the sadness of the ones whose loved ones were having a hard time in another village, in short he was an integral part of everyone’s life…
There’s one house/family in particular that the story focuses on. The postman has seen their daughter grow up from being a toddler to a girl ready to get married. He himself brought the letter that the groom’s side wanted to meet them and the good news that they have agreed for the marriage. He with all enthusiasm delivers the invitation cards all over the village and rejoices with the family on the wedding day.
As he’s about to leave the post office to partake in the wedding, a telegram arrives for that particular family. Now, in those times when there were no phones, a telegram almost always meant bad news, an accident or a death. The postman’s sixth sense tingles and he knows, delivering a letter of bad news will mean disaster for the wedding so he does the forbidden and opens the letter. As expected, a close relative has passed away.
The postman, withholds the news, not telling anybody until the next day. The family understands why he did not tell the news and their respect for him increases. They are grateful for him for not spoiling the wedding mood and the family do not report him.
The story was quite lovely and it was a trip down memory lane to see the old locations and houses. It certainly was fun — writing letters and receiving too! I’m excited to see new technology that the future holds and to look back at the past with nostalgia.
ρθροφοιτοσυκοφαντοδικοπαλαίπωροι, τρόποι
The unhappy habit to get up in the early morning to attend tribunals dealing with (stupid) judgments and convictions
Inktober Day 23: Ancient
There is an ancient conversation going on between mosses and rocks, poetry to be sure. About light and shadow and the drift of continents. This is what has been called the dialect of moss on stone - an interface of immensity and minute ness, of past and present, softness and hardness, stillness and vibrancy, yin and yang.
The one on the left is from my previous post and is a friends oc names premature! Seriously check out her Twitter ! Right one is mine named snitches get stitches >:)