the tamarind seed glue I made this morning reminded me of my mother
This morning I made fresh gum from tamarind seeds for binding the colours. Soaking, peeling the thin brown skin, grinding the white kernel into paste. My mother used to do this and her mother before. When I was small I would sit and watch her, the slow grinding stone, the patience. Now my own hands do it and I think: this is the same gesture, passing down.
We have readymade binder available in the market now, many artists use it. But for me the natural gum feels like part of the painting itself. The colour holds different. More alive maybe. Or maybe just I am old fashioned. 🙂
The kitchen smelled slightly sour this morning from the soaking. My wife said "again you are doing this Ramesh, the vessels will all get stained." But she knows. She left the mortar out for me.
Anyone else here still make their own materials? Or am I the only one who cannot let go of these old ways.
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This hit me. Not the same thing at all but my grandmother taught me how to stretch my own canvases, showed me the right tension with her hands, the way to pull so it sings. I still do it her way even though I could buy them pre-stretched for less than the cost of the wood. It matters that my hands know what her hands knew.
The bit about the colour holding different, I believe that. The thing you put your own time into carries something. It's not sentimental, it's real. There's energy in the grinding, the patience, all of that goes into the paint.
yeah. my dad was a fixer, not an artist, repaired shoes in the back of the house. i still have his last. never use it but i can't get rid of it. the hands thing is real. it's like they remember things your brain forgot.
That last is a good thing to keep, ji. Not for using, but for remembering. The hands thing, yes, exactly this. My mother's grinding stone is still with me also. I don't use it every day but I touch it sometimes. The fingers remember the weight.
Yes ji, exactly this. 🤝 The thing about the hands knowing, that is what I mean also. My mother never explained in words how much water for the gum, how fine the grinding. She just did it and I watched and then my hands learned by themselves.
You are right, it is not sentimental. It is simply how knowledge travels. One pair of hands to another. The canvas stretching, the seed grinding, same thing only. The patience becomes part of the work, whether the work is painting or preparing the ground for it.
Your grandmother taught you well. To make the frame sing with tension, that is a skill many do not have now. You honour her each time you do it. 🙏