Art and Audience

Preamble

It is imperative for any art form to have an audience. Imagine having to dance or sing to an empty auditorium. Imagine an exhibition of painting with no visitors to the gallery. Imagine performing a play with no one to watch.

So it is with sports. Whatever sports. Indoor or outdoor. If there are no spectators, the performance of the players will dip, whatever may be the level. The players need applause. It is a motivator. Even getting booed has its merits. When booed, you recoup. You tend to correct yourself to minimise the errors. An empty stadium would be an anathema for the players.

Same is the case with writers. They need a readership. With no one or hardly anyone to read, the writing goes downhill. A stage would come when the writer might put an end to the effort. Bouquets and brickbats are needed to go on. Both encourage to better the craft. In short, the writer, like any artist, needs feedback. Writing too is an art, as also a craft.

Solitude

Having said all that, some people would do things in solitary like singing. Whether someone listens or not, they would go on singing or humming to listen to themselves. That would be in a subdued way. Not full-throated. Even instrumentalists. For most, such singing or playing the instruments would be a stress buster. Music has that effect. That is not entirely applicable to other art forms. There was a time when art was considered to be for its own sake. Art for art's sake, as it were. That could be a purist's view.

Many write but will not let others read their work. Many learn to dance but will not perform to an audience. Many can sing, taught or self-taught, but will not sing in the hearing of others. Many paint and keep their works to themselves. Most often, they are shy and self-conscious. They are yet to cross the threshold. But in the heart of hearts, they yearn for someone to appreciate. Someone must push them.

Baby Steps

My first attempt was a short story, while in the eighth class, with a classmate and good friend, an excellent singer, as the protagonist. I submitted that to the School Magazine. The result? Obvious. Rejection. Then in the final year of School and College, I filled up the autograph books of others with couplets and quatrains as applicable to each one, extolling his strengths and specialities, impromptu; on the spot.

The Threshold

Then came the Army. In the Young Officers' Course, as some instructors, as opposed to the subjects, got boring, mind wandered and landed mainly in quatrains. On my first posting, I met the girl I married later, and it was a plethora of love poems. Then came lyrics out of frustration in the service. Alongside articles on contemporary situations of my service environment came up. It was uncanny that the poems were rather serious with pent up emotions, but the prose was light-hearted. It was unintentional. They came about naturally. I just could not write a funny poem and could not write a severe article like an essay. I published most of both in our Corps' Journal. The beauty was, I had a captive readership, due to the Journal! Many pushed me to publish my poems in public magazines like Illustrated Weekly, The Caravan etc. I was flabbergasted. No way, I said. Where were they and where was I! I resisted.

Final Push

Then I retired. As any retired one does, I reflected. Told stories from my young days in Kerala and Army to my young cousins. Read them my poems. Some pushed me. And hard. By then self-publication had taken roots. So why not, I thought. Thus came about a book: a collection of most of my poetry. I felt on top of the world when many purchased it and tendered appreciation.

By then, blogging too became a fad. Anybody who had anything to say could blog. I was pushed into that also, vehemently. "Write blogs," they said on my narration of stories from the days of yore. So here I am, blogging.

The Appeal

It is alright to say; I do things for myself. You hear many saying that. They lie. They can afford to say that because they have an audience in abundance. As for telling stories, you can not be telling them to yourself! The teller needs listeners. The writer needs readers. I write, so I need you as readers. I need you to interact with me; for feedback to improve. My blogs are not a thousand-page epic book on some profound boring subject. They are only thousand-word articles on everyday happenings gathered from memory—reminiscences of sorts. Every one of you will be able to relate to something or other from every piece.

Nothing succeeds like the success they say. And success is measured by the money made. That is the hitch here. There is no money involved whatsoever, either way. So when you click on the "subscribe" button on my blog page, it costs you not a farthing. That will enable the site to send you notifications as and when I post the blogs, that's all.

However busy you are, you will always have a five-minute window to read, someday or other. Maybe when you look to unwind a bit. So why not include this in your "to do" list? The articles are on the page that can be reached by clicking on either colrajendran.blogspot.com or colrajendran.thoughtsinwords.life. Save these Uniform Resource Locators for the future.

Due to certain policy changes by Google, the reason for which I can not fathom, you need to have a blogger page yourself at Blogger.com, for you to post comments. Who knows, you may be motivated to bring out the dormant writer in you! At least get one for my sake. It costs nothing. I need, want your comments as feedback.

So go ahead. Do a good deed. Make my day. It is an earnest appeal.