As I moved to the city, I found a tree I liked, and there was a little bird on it one day. I sat under it and sketched it out, just shaded the silhouette of the branches and the bird within. It felt like I didn't do much, just spent some time putting pencil trail on a paper. The result was insignificant too, it held nothing that was meaningful for me to look at. It was just a way to pass the time.
However, few years back, this tree fell down. I now look at that drawing and I feel genuine gratitude I made it. It's a reminder of that tree, that it was there, and I sat underneath, and was able to draw some branches. I'll never be able to do that again, under that specific tree. It was now a drawing of a tree gone in history.
Last year, when my mental health got very bad, and I couldn't move much, I decided to make watercolors for a half hour every day, during twilight, sitting on the riverbank. I was making paintings of the bridge and the old buildings along the river. It was absolutely beautiful when the sun started setting, because all of the city lamps lit up, sending colorful stripes of glimmering light all over the river. It looked magical to me. The buildings on the riverbank were old, renaissance-looking and to me it seemed almost like they were leading up to a castle, it looked like a dream.
After drawing, I would take the paper and go home, and neighbours who recognized me on the way asked me what I've made; one of them liked the painting so much they offered to buy it. Seeing something they recognized on a painting meant something to them, it held memories.
Last week, one of the biggest historical buildings on that riverbank was bulldozed. I'm sure as it was old, there was a big threat of it collapsing on the pedestrians, and it was not used for anything anymore, it was only a memento of the past, an ornamental building that is now gone. A big empty hole replaced it, looking odd and unsettling, like there was something significant that needed to be there, but is now gone.
And I'll never be able to sit on the riverbank and make that exact same painting. Because the environment has changed to the point where it would no longer look familiar to me, it looks wrong. But my paintings, that still have the building in them, are now a historical record of how the city used to look.
That's not what I meant to do when I was drawing it, and yet with the changed context, I feel different about it. It's no longer a memento of my bad mental health and methods I use to self-soothe, it's like a little treasure, something that cannot be gained anymore. Reminder of how good the riverbank looked with that building in it.
Drawing on paper for me never does what I mean it to do, instead it always changes with how the world shifts. I wanted to make paintings of all of my favourite places in the city so I can hold it in memories, but it seems that I'm making paintings of a city that will no longer exist when I'm gone. It's unsettling that all of the things I favour in it are starting to be gone; I prefer the version in the paintings.
