Vivan Sundaram, Gakawaka: Making Strange [ Book Review]

Book Title:   Vivan Sundaram

                      Gagawaka: Making Strange

Published by:   Chemould Prescott Road

Paperback

155 pages 

Full Colour

Size – 8 x 10.75 inches

ISBN 978-81-908879-4-6 

Price:                Rs. 2,750/- [includes DVD]

When I saw the Gagawaka presentation by artist Vivan Sundaram at Lalit Kala Academy, I was perplexed. It was neither a fashion show, nor was it evocative of art traditionally seen within a gallery space. There were dancers performing and walking alongside professional models and artists too were participants on the makeshift stage cum ramp. The garments, if indeed they could be classified as such, were bizarre to say the least, yet they were crafted with finesse and some of them were quite marvellous to see. I kept wondering how to contextualize this presentation. It was neither art nor fashion and neither was it breaking totally new ground for in the two decades that I have taught at NIFT, I have seen design students create equally, if not more creatively bizarre garments.

With the intention of finding some context to place this artistic offering within, I picked up the book ‘Gagawaka, Making Strange’, published by Chemould Prescott Road.  A slim volume, visually lush with numerous full-page colour photographs of each work, it also includes a DVD of the performance/fashion show and essays by Deepak Ananth, an art historian based in Paris, Shanay Javeri who is a PhD candidate at the Royal College of Art in London and Gitanjali Dang, an “independent curator-critic and shape-shifter” based in Mumbai.

Ananth takes us through a rich, art historical discourse beginning with a rag picker reference citing Baudelaire and later with references to the Futurists, the Dada movement, Oscar Wilde, Arte Povera, Duchamp, Andy Warhol and more. He claims that “from the ragpicker to gladrags, from the lower depths to the bourgeois salon – the contrast will appear flagrant or incongruous only to those unaware of their co-presence in the inaugural texts on modernity”. Though erudite and interesting his essay does not extrapolate this “co-presence” with clarity. He also quotes lavishly from Roland Barthes and brings in references to artists who have made some foray into the realm of fashion, but never quite manages to present the evolution of the ragpicker-fashion designer with any level of conviction. He cites the ragpicker icon in reference to Sundaram’s “delve into detritus” with an installation ‘The Great Indian Bazaar’ [1999], which is followed by ‘The Brief Ascension of Marian Hussain’ [2005] and other works that incorporate trash. Implicit in the use of ‘trash’ is the image of the rag picker, but in Gagawka, Sundaram does not use items only collated from garbage bins and kabadiwala’s. A lot of them did not seem used, but newly bought. In addition, a twist to this argument emerges when Ananth states that the initial point of Sundaram’s departure for creating this collection was the body; more pertinently, the body’s distress, which arose from the artist’s own experience of a body “punished by pain”. The argument centred on trash then becomes confusing.

During a period of convalescence Sundaram was inspired to use medical paraphernalia to create garments, transposing materials used for healing the body to create another kind of body. This was done, perhaps, to cloak the presently dysfunctional one as a way of exorcising the body’s infirmity, to present the antipode of sickness through the glamorous dimension of fashion. This disclosure lends far greater authenticity to the body of work than the historical antecedent of detritus or the on-going relay between art and fashion. However, for this most pertinent revelation Ananth does not cite historical precedence or context. Neither does he tell us about Sundaram’s experience through this venture, which we are told was both therapeutic and cathartic. He does not reveal how it benefitted the artist, which could perhaps be the most significant contribution of this venture.

Shanay Jhaveri does not delve into detritus or history but focuses upon his viewing in four episodes, of the work as a moving installation cum performance cum fashion show and also a static exhibition, beginning with his anticipation before the preview, where he was invited to engage with the artist about the work. He describes the performance evocatively, brings films into reference and also mentions fashion stalwarts such as Miyake, Rei Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto and others who have used garments in an architectural and sculptural way, but neither of these two writers provide a considered fashion perspective. Jhaveri however, does not try and provide answers but raises oblique questions. In discussing one particular performance consisting of a single garment, where the performer had been internally ‘miked’ and every breath amplified and broadcast to the audience he says: “Did a force to know, and not forget, guide the performance? Did it precipitate a state of knowing?” After the four encounters he concludes that Gagawaka is an “expansive practice, a constellation, a set of platforms through which a series of questions are asked.”

 Dang’s essay is placed strategically between these two and is significant because she does not allude to the work but speaks tangentially of an improbable, bizarre situation, bringing an element of fiction into play. Her essay echoes the discomfort I felt in trying to contextualize the work within the parameters of art and fashion and made fascinating reading.

This volume does not provide a reassuring context to view the work within but raises issues. Is Vivan Sundaram charting new territory, where the cathartic and therapeutic qualities inherent in art-making are the key to understanding this work? Will the art of tomorrow emphasize what artists say, not so much about the world to the world, but what the process of art-making does to the maker, revealing him to himself? Ananth’s almost casual mention of Sundaram’s convalescence as impetus for Gagawaka, generates interest, more so than the historical precedence for this work, or lack of it.

The Art of Listening [ Review - Amina Ahmed at Gallery Seven Art]

Ave Maria Gratia Plena
- detail

How well are you connected? No, not on facebook or twitter, but to your soul; do you hear the call? New York based artist, Amina Ahmed’s recent exhibition at Seven Art Limited, New Delhi, drew inspiration from the “pulse of life” permeating all forms. Her father taught her that rain, trees and even their roots had a sound. She gives this communion a visual language in ‘The Call or ‘Bism’.

My heart is on Fire...

Imprinted on the gallery wall, a few words informed that while we live, there is a state of persistent longing. This angst, of separation from the divine, leads to bliss of oneness and separation again, in an eternal cycle. Through nuances of sound and shifting patterns of trees, water, roots and the logic of birds, the artist communicates with the divine. Seeing this connection in all things, Ahmed brought the language of birds, the subtlety of earth, and the rhythm of water, as drawings, installation and video, into the gallery space. The omission of any connection to other human beings was telling; speaking of the tendency to draw solace from aspects of nature that are unable to speak as we do, and thus contradict or question our assumptions about them.

 Most works were subtle and monochromatic, without overt messages or dramatic invocation of the divine. Haunting Sufi music that accompanied the two videos resounded in the entire space, adding to the serenity. As one walked through ‘Pukar’ with its numerous messages invoking the divine; over centuries and across cultures, imprinted under a beam and on the inside of its pillars, creating a sacred arch of sorts; you were compelled to ask: Am I in tune with nature? Have my senses been dulled by loudspeakers, hi-decibel newscasts and advertisements on television? 

Water

 In “Water’ a diptych [20.75 x9.75 inches, 2011, monotype] miniscule squiggly lines, form a longer one in a continuum , until the end of the narrow paper width; then the next line close to this and the next and the next; like an endless invocation, manically drawn with meticulous detail. If there was any definitive form to begin with, it merged into this ebb and flow, forming a ‘jaal’ that seemingly meant nothing and yet spoke of marks that make up our lives as we flow through experiences: the intertwining of cause and effect that entraps most of us.

Fine, silvered pins and photographic paper formed the ‘Rhythm of Fiveness’, a site specific installation on the wall [2011, dimensions variable]. Beneath this, a geometric pattern was lightly drawn in pencil over which the paper curled and twisted, forming protrusions on the wall surface. 

Rhythm of Fiveness

Even though the ‘pattern’ seemed to emerge from a calculated mathematical formula, encrypted in the underlying geometrical configuration, the result was chaotic. This was augmented by shadows produced through an overhead light source. The origin of the form seemed inconsequential, for the artist’s process of exploration had reduced it to an orchestrated presentation of chaos emanating from order; evocative of living, especially when our connection with the divine is impaired.

Oh, Subtle Earth

As a whole, the exhibition was soulful and evocative of some deep listening, but the unevenness in Ahmed’s involvement with the different elements jarred. Her invocations through water and birds had far greater depth than the rest. ‘Oh, Subtle Earth [tree]’ [30x18 inches, 2011, mixed media on paper] carried a texture similar to what had earlier been presented as ‘Water’. Its roots extended down from a rectangular surface with intense but tiny marks, like the tassels of a prayer rug. This work was hauntingly exquisite and worked much better without the title. And ‘Listening [Roots]’ [Charcoal on paper, 63x42 in, 2011] with its massive, black, typhoon-like swirl, brought in a bolder dimension and one lost the subtle thread of intensity connecting works like ‘Tree’, ‘Water’ and ‘River’. Adding to the confusion was another awkwardly swirling large form, drawn with charcoal on paper - ‘Listening [roots, weeds and trees]’. The paradox of oneness and the wretched angst of separation or subliminal glimpses of transcendence were better nuanced in ‘Water’ with its manic, obsessive line work and simple but effective articulation.

Ave Maria Gratia Plena

Listening[Roots Weads &
Trees]

In ‘Ave Maria Gratia Plena’ a site specific installation of variable dimensions [paper and pins, 2011] Inspired by a prayer to Mary, Blessed of all women, Ahmed created shapes, evocative of fallen feathers, from unusually textured paper. The pure whiteness of the paper against a white wall infused the installation with an aura, almost sacred. Was it a shrine to Birds? In the video ‘The Call with the help of Divine Nature’ birds are shown flying the sky. There is nothing subliminal about this flight; you can barely discern the form. The same movement is repeated in a somewhat deliberate, jerky motion. Birds shed their feathers. Birds fly. What is the logic of birds? Living in a multi-storey complex in Gurgaon, where pigeons abound, it’s impossible not to notice them. But the day after seeing Ahmed’s video; whenever I saw a flock mid-air, I stopped and wondered at the rationale of creatures that seem to do little else other than procreate at an astonishing pace and take to the skies.  The logic of birds seemed simple: be what you are, do what you are born to do. This is where Ahmed succeeds, guiding you to hear your own call.

The Call, Bism

When I saw the show, no literature accompanied the exhibition; the artworks also had no labels. It was an unusually calming experience: a silent communion, free of extraneous explanations. But later, reading the artists’ statement, I was disappointed. Her words obfuscated with formalized, intellectual ideas that detracted from the magical, personal connections made without them. If there is intention to lead the viewer, it would be useful to provide titles and literature at the onset. However, to connect with work executed with such heart and soul, a quiet mind, unhindered by jargon and politics would be more adept at listening.

To read a story inspired by this show read:
http://garammasalachai.blogspot.in/2012/03/darjeeling-tea-mendelssohn-and-flight.html

Interview - Saba Hasan

What vision do nails, words, fabric, leaves, plaster, memories and glue meshed together paint? Gopika Nath interviews abstract artist Saba Hasan, revealing the persona and politics enmeshed in her process.

GOPIKA NATH: A rapid change in India’s economic development has altered the physical and cultural landscape of our cities, but you choose not to dwell on these facets.

SABA HASAN: I am certainly aware of conflict. It doesn’t matter if it’s specific to any place. My interest is the mind, the heart - factors which are there irrespective of the location.

GN: The mind and the heart are located within physical and cultural dimensions, they always have a context.

SH: My material indicates cultural elements. I use everyday materials like jute, rope, plaster, nails or even the Urdu text. When I use a nail as opposed to a colour I am calling your attention to an alternate utterance, carrying the voice of the material itself. The experience of a nail could suggest pain, violence or construction. I love abstraction because I have the freedom to give the viewer the space to interpret my work in their own way.

GN: Who among the abstract painters have inspired you?

SH: Somnath Hore, Mark Rothko and perhaps J. Swaminathan. All three are restrained, they never over-state.

I love Rothko’s obsession with death. When I first saw his work I got goose-bumps. I felt that passage you make from our world into the other mysterious but magnetic world.

Somenath Hore, says so much with so little; reaches such depth with great simplicity and this is something I feel I have achieved.

Swaminathan brings in ordinary elements, using material that is not that different from what I use. It makes his work very powerful.

GN: Your canvasses have a heavy impasto quality using unusual materials. Can you elaborate on this and your choice of materials?

SH: I was painting monuments. The idea was not to paint walls but construct a space for reflection. I began with burning, then using plaster. The logistics of working with plaster led me to cement. I could create cracks. I wanted to bring tension onto the surface. I found some rusty nails – they seemed to have a voice. The different materials are like alphabets. It’s also about how I use them, whether I hammer the nail in or I put one beside the other as if it’s a path taking you somewhere – like when you die you go from one world to another

GN: Could you elaborate on the violence in your gestures as you work?

SH: Initially perhaps there was burning and then slashing of the canvas and then the hammering of nails. But every slash gets stitched - everything gets healed. There is an attempt to heal and find a certain resolution. This is important for me.

I really don’t believe in violence or destructive acts but in the universal Sufi thought sulh-i-kul [peace with all].

It begins with burning, then there is resolution – there is calm – may be its abstractionist– but that does not mean it is art for arts sake. I want to take a position.

GN: Is the process cathartic?

SH: Yes,

GN: Do the elements of violence and protest arise from your being a Muslim and the way the world views this today?

SH: As one of the elements, yes. I am not a believer of any formal religion and I have a split relationship with Islam.

You look at the painting and you think there is a protest, there is conflict, resistance. There are wrongs in this world, I do protest. There is also survival and a sense of calm.

People look at the work and confront deep tragedies or fears and yet they feel the work also lifts them out of that abyss.

GN: How do you deal with a process that is fragmented? [Working on multiple canvasses simultaneously]

SH: Its not as if you have one thought and another – art is my whole life and experience – not that today I am thinking that the wall is crumbling and on the next canvas I think how beautiful the flowers are; because I think about them simultaneously. One canvas has a thousand thoughts and feelings. I distil my entire life’s experiences in my work.

GN: How much time does each canvas take to complete?

SH: 6 months to 2 yrs and a life-time.

GN: Can you explain what you undergo in the process?

SH: I experience complete exhaustion – sometimes I can’t move for days after. I put my entire being into it and get drained. While I’m working my mind is not cluttered with any thoughts – certainly not about a socio-political, objective reality. I do not bother about all that; it’s my heart that’s at work. I only let emotions affect the way I work.

My expression is visceral. It could be a reaction to my mother not being well, a tragedy or some minor disturbance. It’s not that I think about these things, I just let my heart do the work. It’s more about the emotion than the cerebral

GN: The inclusion of Urdu text, you’ve said is “your personal resistance to the global wave which builds upon the cultural image of a backward, narrow minded Muslim jumping into action while wielding weapons of terror”. Are you speaking here as a Muslim?

SH: Urdu is my mother tongue; what I heard as a child and learnt the sound of. I use it for its visual beauty, rich linguistic fibre, nuanced and complex poetry and because it is an Indian language. I use words of contemporary writers, poets, family and friends as reflections of the world as we live it. I provide glimpses from our daily life, concerns of people in Kashmir, Delhi, Bangalore, tribes of Madhya Pradesh, extracts from real conversations, interviews and my letters; all collated to reflect the shared Indian experience, our basic philosophical oneness.

GN: You have said “that Art and life are for me simultaneously about the personal as well as about cultural contact, about experiencing the other.” You are married into a Hindu family, how has your art has been informed by this experience?

SH: My husband and I are not religious people. We don’t practice either of our faiths. We rebelled against tradition long before we got married. Socially however, it is interesting, because during partition, my parents chose to stay in India. They were active participants in the freedom movement. They did not believe in another nation based on religion.

Amit’s father and grandparents were from the North-west frontier. They had to forcibly leave and take refuge in Delhi; they witnessed the real trauma of partition.

When we got married, our families found healing way beyond political divides. This reaffirmed my faith in humanity and the power of love.

GN: In letters from Baton Rouge [2006] you said – “My generation has been long grappling with issues of ego, identity and heterogeneity of cultures” How do you express such issues visually?

SH: I am currently working on a project revolving around the burqa ban in Europe which just deals with the symbol of oppression, not the actual oppression; infringing upon a woman’s right to choose. I find it particularly offensive that for centuries women were coerced to hide behind the veil and today they are being coerced not to wear one. Neither the fundamentalist nor the democratic mind has learned to respect individual choice.

I have however, been most troubled by death, natural or as a result of wars. I am always confronting that point in my work. I wonder if suicide is the ultimate art performance and a grave the ultimate installation.

GN: At the end of your day, after many hours working through a rather intense and rigorous process, what do you feel?

SH: Physically I feel completely exhausted; mentally however, I am usually on a high. I am quite obsessive. The mind can’t stop ticking even after long hours in the studio.

GN: Do you have greater clarity about issues, you started out with?

SH: Clarity comes only when I immerse myself in the work. I don’t believe in thinking the entire project through, but leave room for discoveries while at work.

In addition to the studio hours, I read a lot, discuss ideas, jot my thoughts down, or just play with materials - be it plaster, paper, leaves or even sound.

Living next to the Notre Dame in Paris, I recorded the bells ringing every half hour. I’ve also recorded the ocean waves near my house in Goa and sounds in a grave yard.

GN: You have said that “Ultimately it is only we who can infuse our lives or art with new meaning”. What does art mean to you? What new meaning have you in particular tried to imbue your art with, and how and why?

SH: Art is my experience; a visceral, emotive response to the world in a somewhat dream-state with a sense of timelessness.

Each work is a complex thought construct residing in a universe beyond the palpable. This happens if I immerse myself so deeply, that my art is like meditation. At this point I feel I have successfully communicated the intended.

I depend a lot on accidents and keep an open mind to the outcome. Abstraction is best suited for this freedom and open mindedness. It allows me to deal with the complexity of my intention and frees me to develop my own signs of communication. My viewer too is a participant, in that he is free to interpret this vision with his own twist of experience.

Art is as powerful as the knowledge and instincts of the artist and the mind of the viewer.