About Me
My name is Aarav Jain, and I started this business to share my artistic expression of life’s depth with a broader audience. In the last few years, I’ve grown increasingly unwilling to conform to the mundane, cyclical, and too often futile routines imposed by society. This curiosity led me to study the creative geniuses—from Michelangelo and van Gogh to Shakespeare. Guided by their brilliant pursuits of truth, I have spent my own inspired nights painting and searching for answers. These spontaneous, fervent moments have revealed two simple truths to me: 1) Art is a science that reveals beauty, and 2) there are deeper truths to human life that can be most fittingly realized with paint on a canvas.
Art Gallery
Written Explanations
"Painting is just another way of keeping a diary."
-Pablo PicassoIn this section, I am preserving documentation of the thought process behind some of my most meaningful works of art. Many concepts for my art are derived from daily thoughts: whether journaling, writing poetry, or general contemplation. Ultimately, I hope that my art can serve as a method of communication for some of my strongest personal convictions.Of course, my intent should only guide your interpretation of my work. In art, the viewer must decide what message is most pertinent and powerful to them. Consider my work an invitation for personal reflection.Click to read below:
The Ascent
The visual of an uphill journey has always inspired me towards action. The Greek mythological figure Sisyphus was eternally cursed to push a boulder to the top of a hill each day, only for it to come tumbling down the hill by the next. Famously, the French philosopher Albert Camus redefined Sisyphus’ efforts as purely fulfilling, even if it bore no practical result and demanded eternal struggle. Since then, the concept of upward struggle has motivated my own pursuits.One such pursuit, as depicted in The Ascent, is the intellectual journey towards wisdom, truth, and maturity. The very action of reading and consuming knowledge always feels rewarding, regardless again of the practical result. Thus, the object of my work was to remind myself of this noble but difficult journey in the hopes of undertaking it more consistently.The childhood books mark an introduction to reading and learning. Corduroy is the first book I remember reading and slowly but surely, my selection grew. The Little Engine That Could is a timeless reminder of motivation and The Giving Tree, while defined as a childhood book by nature of its simplicity, felt infinitely more meaningful when I revisited it about a decade later. The legible titles end pretty low on the bookstack. This is partly because I couldn’t add small enough lettering to the small books and partly because I don’t know what exists higher up.Broadly speaking, the bookstack’s design subtly resembles the shape of a question mark. Especially in learning, curiosity is a prerequisite. The top of the bookstack disappears into a brilliant explosion of light—symbolic of the enlightenment or clarity gained through learning. Today, I am reading Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky, which is quite a ways away from Corduroy only some years ago. One day, I hope to be further along this metaphorical staircase, absorbing deeper truths with deeper sincerity. But regardless, it is the very intent to seek higher meaning that makes us human. The fact that we make the conscious decision to ascend the staircase is enough. As Camus wrote, “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”
Enlightenment
The principle idea of this drawing comes from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. The Renaissance master Michelangelo devoted four years of his life to painting the ceiling, an effort that has since been considered the pinnacle of art. And yet, out of all the brilliant designs found swirling across the ceiling, one image has persisted in a state of higher fame. This image, called the Creation of Adam depicts the biblical account of God first creating man. The hand of God reaches assuredly towards Adam, inviting man into relationship. However, Adam doesn’t reciprocate and leaves his hand stretched only feebly in response.
This gesture to me, though subtle, illustrates the shortcoming of humanity. Somehow, in spite of all our ambition and resolve to be good, there always seems to come a time when inspiration dries and clarity disappears. Idleness eats away, mistakes are made, and regrets fester. Alexander Pope put this painting to words, saying “to err is human; to forgive, divine.” This is the heart of my drawing, the rest only embellishment to convey the concept more elegantly.In my artwork, the figure of Adam (man) is inverted, leaving opportunity for symmetry and contrast. Similarly, two hands appear, in the top right and bottom left. Light is used as the archetypal symbol of truth, goodness, and man’s brilliance while darkness represents shortcoming. In a phrase, my drawing is about the flickering of man’s light.On the right half of the piece, the hand of God beckons man to turn towards the light. But man ignores in his typical, stubborn, irrational way, and dangles out toward the darkness. This is the typical interpretation of Michelangelo’s work as well. On the left half, though, the opposite unfolds. Man reaches out to switch on the lightbulb while the lower hand cuts the central cord of light with its fingernail.Suffice it to say, there is a constant internal battle between opposites: action vs. inaction, social vs. contemplative, and of course—good vs. evil. To me, this is (and always will be) fundamental to being human.
The Giving Tree +
Meditations
Oftentimes the simplest things hold the deepest meaning. If you’re unsure, read The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. When I first read it, at around 5 or 6 years old, the appeal was obvious. It had a bright-green cover, cool illustrations, and straightforward writing that invited the young me to flip each page and fly through the book. However, it always left me unsettled by the seemingly sad ending. The tree was gone and the boy was old. But I was young, and naive, and never spared the book a second thought.Exactly 10 years later, I was drawing the design for another artwork—The Ascent—and had to include a few childhood books to illustrate the beginning of my reading journey, including the nostalgic book by Silverstein. Only then did I return to resolve the unsettling ending and by the end of reading it again, it felt like I had read a new book altogether. Each drawing spoke volumes in its subtlety, as did the painfully straightforward plot. Seriously, the final image of The Giving Tree may well be the most powerful reading experience I’ve ever had. Preserving a reminder of this beauty in a painting was reason enough to paint.From this newfound discovery of depth, I set out to paint two scenes to summarize my takeaway from the book:1) The Giving Tree: The first scene is inspired by the early, idyllic stages of The Giving Tree. The boy plays freely, swinging from the branches and eating apples, unburdened by the impurities of society. The tree observes with a more mature contentment. Silverstein’s image below was the direct inspiration of my design, with the subtlety of fallen apple cores conveying the story adequately. The rope ladder suspends, bearing traces of the upward reaching climb in The Ascent. When we look back someday, this painting should symbolize the “Good Old Days.”
2) Meditations: Shel Silverstein’s book is one of the most elegant depictions of the frailty of life. It’s quite simple in theory to comprehend that “time and tide wait for no man”, and that life will pass by regardless of how we choose to spend our time. Of course though, it is a very difficult truth to accept. Especially when existence is all that we know, and we are cursed by habit to only appreciate the moments that have passed. In my painting, an elderly figure meditates on the stump of a tree, commemorating the colors of life and making peace with the bleak nothingness of death. I used to feel deeply bothered by death. After reading The Giving Tree, I realized that death only makes life taste sweeter.
I can only aspire to someday reach Silverstein’s level of creativity to convey the most beautiful truth in the simplest, most accessible form. For now though, here is a poem I wrote about the same concept of frail fleetingness of life, written as if I was reliving my life from the end to the start. The titular Magnolia Lane references the drive into Augusta National—the most prestigious golf course in the world. I find that playing a round of golf is similar to life: most exciting in anticipation, quick to pass you by, and leaves you wishing to relive it by the end.Memory? No… Magnolia LaneWe always start at the beginning.
At sunrise.
But what if—
What if we watched the dying candle grow?
And stagnant waters start to flow.
And the wise man forget to know,
Gladly.Isn’t there something to oblivion?
To innocence?
Something that stops a tired heart—
Makes it flutter.
There is life to living,
But there’s life in reliving as well.It would be nice to forget the things
We never knew.
Less painful, at least.
Fall after Winter.It would be nice to return to the start,
Sunday mornings streaming sunlight.
It would be nice to return to it all;
Drive back down Magnolia Lane,
And die in the arms of an awaiting life.Wouldn’t it be nice to go back?
To last a lifetime?
To last lifetime.
To last year.
Last month?
Yesterday?One day, it would be nice to return to today.
The good thing is,
We can—But just for now.