A Misplaced Universe [ Review - Jayashree Burman, Gallery Art Alive]

Vibrant colours, exotic detail and a folk-art-like frontal faces whose large white flattened eyes looked directly at me, was how I encountered Jayashree Burman’s mythical universe at Lalit Kala Academy, presented by Art Alive Gallery. I decided to view the exhibition from top to bottom and was able to see her earlier work first, which allowed me to reflect on the extent to which Jayshree has explored the more western oriented ideas of modern art, towards a manifestation of her Bengali antecedents; searching for an idiom which will nuance her own peculiar identity within this. Ina Puri’s essay reveals that given the background she came from, Jayshree has led a rather unconventional life and in her own way is quietly spirited rather than meekly accepting the traditional ideals her family’s culture espoused.

 

Women in India’s metropolises may consider themselves emancipated for their assertion in breaking the glass ceiling in the corporate world, but is the Indian woman really freed from the rituals and tradition that are deeply etched in our psyche? Does she even want to be, is the question Jayshree’s water colours present.
 

She draws in situ while travelling; never takes photographs, confessing that she does not know how to. In her studio she then translates the people she has seen around her and drawn. They are people like you and me, her maid, the dhobi and panwalla or anyone else she encounters who become integral to her mythical universe, where she presents her everyday world, seen though the perspective of senses moulded through traditional lore and its iconography. I found this interesting for even if externally we have adopted the sensibilities of a western world through their steel and glass high rises, malls and a culture that is reminiscent of an industrial and a digital civilization, we have lived with these inherited God and Goddesses far longer than the brutal icons of our modern world - a reminder that those centuries of ritual are not that easy to erase.

However, the physical indicators of the contemporary world are missing. We do not see anything that immediately locates the work in this present era. If you look deeper you will see the relative freedom with which Burman interprets the Gods and Goddesses because she does not start out to paint one. The starting point could well have been a sister-in-law or a friend, but while working, the form becomes infused with notions that emerge from deep within her reservoir of memory and habit, evoking ideas reminiscent of idols and images that she grew up with. These are then presented through a visual language and technique that she has evolved and is comforted by. The loosely painted background is worked intricately, but again loosely with pen and ink and does not speak of the discipline or power and accomplishments of the inherited gods and goddesses that she represents. Here Jayashree is perhaps questioning this world versus ours where we pray to them as stone idols as opposed to respecting each other as manifestations of this spirit.

 

To visually locate Burman’s heavily decorated watercolours in an art milieu that is preoccupied with a material world, concept art, installations and digital media is virtually impossible. But scratch the surface and there are subtle resonances of this in the way she

 works. The randomly painted watercolour base and restless scratching of the ‘Rotring’ pen on the painted surface are indicative of the influence of a frenzy that has gripped us all. This leads to a perception that her art is an escape into a mythical universe where she does not have to acknowledge this, but can inhabit the world of memories, healing old wounds and reconciling with the enormous changes that have been forced upon us in a bid to compete with a world that does not have cognizance of this deeper spiritual connect.

 

The problem that I have with this imagery is that it is really not exploring the outer world enough and therefore is distanced from its realities, both physical and emotional. While she does acknowledge this rather perfunctorily, she appears to be out of sync with the aesthetics that govern our everyday living and inhabits a world of imagination almost as if it’s too much for her to bear. It is a personal choice, but one which positions her work more in terms of nostalgia for the exotic, a past that has long gone, rather than a tapestry of the exciting contemporary world. The culture and physical dimensions of life today have changed so much; does she not wish to explore these nuances at all?
 

 

Guy de Maupassant in commenting upon the imposing presence of the newly built Eiffel tower in Paris said that the best way to escape it was to get inside it. If she takes a leaf out of Maupassant’s book and plunges right into this teeming universe, throbbing with its own peculiar rhythm and dissonant harmonies, Jayanshree Burman may well find that the presently intimidating, rapidly transforming contemporary world is as vibrant and engaging as the nostalgic one she inhabits; discovering and revealing yet more facets of her spirited herself.

 

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.

WhatAsana Was It All About? [Jenny Bhatt review, Gallery Seven Art]

‘MokshaShots’ by Jenny Bhatt at Gallery Seven Art, New Delhi, 10^th March to 3^rd April 2011, was a colourful presentation bordering on the psychedelic. The idea that spiritual liberation may take many life-times, but you could get a taste of the sublime through Bhatt’s tongue-in-cheek exploration had the promise of a fun-filled experience. However, the interplay between liberation through consumerism and the spiritual aspects of moksha was confused. Bhatt’s attempt to paint a satirical view of urban Indian consumer culture, focusing on how art, spirituality, media and emotion have been packaged as commodities was also not really witty nor was her critique objective. The concept itself lacked clarity and depth of exploration.

 

 Bhatt employed an inventive visual vocabulary, creating deities called ‘MokshaPets’ such as ‘MokshaBuy’ ‘Mokshasura,’ ‘MokshaBum’ ‘Kundalini’, ‘Reverence’ and ‘Irreverence’, Third eye, Eye Ball and ThoughtPill. They clearly inhabited a world of their own and the viewing experience would have been more inclusive had the gallery space been used to present dimensions of this unique, not-seen-before world. The spartan presentation of a few painted canvassed on white walls with vinyl stickers sprinkled across the floor and ceiling did not quite evoke the necessary atmosphere to enable  viewers to participate in and engage more actively with characters that most people in Delhi encountered for the first time.

 

 The artist’s involvement with her unique characters was visible. Her sense of humour too was evident through titles devised for the different postures in which each character was depicted. ‘Gulpasana’ was a portrait of ‘MokshaBuy’, gulping it all down. There was ‘Oopsasana’, ‘Champagnepopasana’, ‘Thoughtpillasana’ and other such works that allowed the viewer a glimpse of Bhatt’s enjoyment in the process of creating them. You wanted to share in the laughter but were never quite sure whether you should, for it often seemed that Bhatt was laughing at you and the stories about the icons seemed more alive in her own mind than on the canvasses hung on the gallery walls.

In the ‘MokshaBuy Mandla’ painted with acrylic on canvas [191.92x191.92cms], a many-armed creature modelled perhaps on goddess Durga of the Hindu pantheon was seen with shopping bags, credit cards, currency notes, an extraordinarily long shopping-list, ice-cream, a blood-stained sickle and more. This creature with eight arms stood atop the philosopher ‘MokshaBum’, surrounded by other characters invented by Bhatt. She conjured up imagery depicting the life of this goddess of retail therapy who had drawn blood too. Cloud and fire forms found in traditional Tibetan Thangka paintings were also incorporated in the picture. The ugly, purple deity with three eyes, evil red lips and a tongue that extended below her feet, also held a ‘jap mala’. On the one hand the artist purports to critique consumerism and its excesses, yet she calls it ‘MokshaShots’ or “taste of the sublime”. At the same time she also uses items such as the ‘mala’ associated with spiritual seekers which have ascetic connotations, confusing the issue. If consumerism is her path, of what significance is the ‘jap mala’? Is it about the insincerity of the seeker? Is it about the general confusion around the idea of moksha? Or is it about experiencing the sublime through consumerism?

In the ‘MokshaBum’ Mandala [2009, 121.92x121.92 cms] a cute, all blue creature with arms folded in a lazy, thinking posture, with a pink halo which could have been the cushion he was seated on, looked starry-eyed into space. His eyes didn’t confront you; he was clearly in his own world. Through this, the artist intended to exemplify the thinker and armchair philosopher, who never got up and moved, achieved little but expounded a lot; but the visual did not convey this. Bhatt used the concept of over-indulgence to denote fulfilment where ‘MokshaBuy’ supposedly attained moksha through excessive buying. She then presented ‘MokshaBum’ as the philosopher and an escapist, doing nothing but thinking, turning the idea of indulgences around, to represent now, the futility of a single dimensional approach, thus contradicting herself. 

Bhatt had imagined an elaborate life for these characters. The artist statement suggested that ‘MokshaBum’ may even have a girlfriend, lending credence to the idea that the visual alone was inadequate to present the fullest extent of her ideas and philosophy. Much greater intellectual investment and involvement as well as creative thinking was needed to bring alive this world successfully. An animation film or video could have been a possibility. In fact her digital interactive video created a much more authentic world, where you could participate. As an application on social networking sites such as Facebook, it may succeed in providing the kind of experience Bhatt possibly envisaged. Her concept is individualistic and the characters quite original but they lacked depth of exploration and thus appeared too cartoon-like and superficial. In addition, Bhatt appears to take the spiritual idea of moksha or liberation on the one hand quite literally and then interprets it via consumerism using a rather ‘liberal’ interpretation, complicating the issue.  She is therefore unable to able to exemplify her point of view. 

 

 

Poised for Change.......? [Subodh Gupta review, Nature Morte]

The curious amorphous form printed on the card for Subodh Gupta’s 4^th solo show ‘Oil on canvas’ at Gallery Nature Morte, New Delhi from 9th December 2010 to 23rd January 2011, was intriguing. The exhibition presented a wide-range of ideas all executed in 2010, from fibre glass serpents, marble edifices of the ubiquitous tiffin-carrier; cast bronze canvasses, steel eggs and more, but no paintings. The obvious implication that art making is no longer about oil on canvas was non-revelatory.  We readily see around us a gamut of media which includes video, performance, installation, photography and more, all of which have also been part of Subodh Gupta’s art practice. So what was the artist trying to say?  

Tiffin

Two tiffin-carriers [47.5" high x 16" in diameter] carved in white marble stood tall on a cement pedestal. Titled ‘Twins’, these simple, white sculptures soulfully captured insignificant details of the humble, boxed utensil; main-stay of middle class India even today. We had to circumambulate this [65" high x 59.5" wide x 25” deep] artefact in order to view it, which heightened the reverential quality accorded by the larger than life scale and purity of white marble.  It felt as though one was walking around the sarcophagi of entombed tiffin boxes. ‘Twins’ was the most powerful work on view. Did this allude to an end of the ‘bartan bhandar’ that has become a distinctive part of Gupta’s creative expression? 

Out of Nothing

The possibility of this was contradicted by “Out of Nothing” – a  70" high x 144" wide x 240" deep installation that comprised a 21 headed serpent, cast in black fibre glass lording over a mound of shiny steel utensils which simultaneously entrapped a part of its body beneath its gleaming mass. Black contrasted against silvery steel was visually powerful. The serpent heads looked at us, above the mound of kitchen clutter, not threateningly, but a trifle strained.  This contemporary version of the ancient, serpent-like chthonic water beast that possessed multiple heads, who for each head that was cut off, it grew two more, seemed to say, by virtue of it's mythical implications, that these cooking utensils were now an indispensable aspect of Gupta's art.



Right: Sunset. Centre: Atta.  against the wall centre to right: Oil
on Canvas

The commentary became even more confused with the variations of cast bronze slabs titled ‘Oil on Canvas’. Slabs of cast bronze [25.5" high x 25.5" wide x 1"], painted to look like blank canvasses were hung on the walls or placed randomly on the floor, leaning against the walls, their back to the viewer. In the centre of the room containing these ‘canvasses’ was ‘ Atta’ the amorphous form on the card - cast  bronze placed on a wooden table, sprinkled with wheat powder, measuring 39" high x 47" wide x 25.5" deep. On one side stood ‘Sunset’ an elaborately carved white marble almirah, with a video projection on the back wall. The delicately carved lattice reminded one of Mughal aesthetics and craftsmanship and was singularly different from the other works on display. Some other exhibits included “Inside”, a white marble thali, and sixteen found and used shoes placed on the thali, mounted on a white marble pedestal and “Three Rounds” made up of three brass urns. 

Bird

In another room a Subodh Gupta signature stainless steel sculpture, 63" high x 81" wide x 119" deep, resembled a larger than life egg-tray with 3 equally large eggs positioned within it. At first it was difficult to determine what this was. Parts of the tray were big enough to be the replica of a Jacuzzi tub, but as you went farther away, the form became apparent. It was curiously named ‘Bird’ leading one to consider what kind of bird would hatch from eggs made up of steel tumblers, boxes, milk containers and other such utensils. The protruding eggs were skillfully crafted. Their smooth egg-shape was especially commendable. This had been achieved despite the ridges between the odd shaped and sized objects welded together. 

Gupta’s art over the years has transformed objects of everyday Indian life into artworks of global recognition. They became part of a commentary that voiced concerns of a country whose rapid economic growth fuelled an equally advancing materialistic mindset, impacting our visual and social culture. The contemporary climatic, social and moral turmoil, unraveled daily through news reports, are an indication that values espoused today need to veer away from materiality and scale as being the indicators of success. Having indulged both materiality and scale, along with his stature as one of India’s most celebrated artists, Subodh Gupta is well placed to introduce an altered ideal. The question is whether he can. The presented exhibition seemed indicative of some kind of transition but one that lacked direction. Its commentary, if any was confused at best.

An Inscrutable Legacy - Tyeb Mehta [Review] Vadehra Art Gallery

On a cold January evening, at the Vadehra Art Gallery in Defence Colony I was engulfed by large canvasses in warm hues of orange, reds and brown contrasted with white or off-white. In ‘Triumph of Vision’, an exhibition of works by Tyeb Mehta curated by Yashodhara Dalmia, his famous Mahishasura’s were well represented and of particular interest were the early drawings. In’ Trussed Bull on Richshaw’, 1994 [152.5 x 122 cms] Mehta’s almost ascetic approach to painting was striking with its almost imperceptible modelling of colour and stylistic rendition of the bull. The rest of the canvas was painted flat in colours of maroon and bottle green as deep umber surrounded an almost stark white bull, lying on the rickshaw, as if tied. There was nothing that seemed to tie him down except for the sheer agony that pervaded the entire contorted form. Intrigued by imagery that was so restrained in expression despite portraying a heartfelt angst, presented through the plight of a mute animal, I studied this canvas for a long time. The poster-like design and stark composition was inscrutable and the equally inscrutable catalogue essay did not reveal much either.

A retrospective exhibition presenting the work of one of India’s foremost painters, with a social, political and emotional perspective, far removed from the present, should have been presented as more than just an ordinary exhibition. The drawings did provide some context, but his early works, though printed in the catalogue were not on display. Besides this, there has to be much more archival material available that could communicate the significance of Mehta’s work, beyond its mere visual appeal.

On an adjacent wall, was a ‘Mahishasura’ painted in 2001 using acrylic on canvas[183 x 153 cms] in vibrant tones or carmine and vermillion with shades of beige, black and a rusted maroon.   Continuing my silent dialogue with the canvasses, I wondered how the artist had painted with such minimal fuss. Admiring the sparing marks I looked for references for evolution of his rather distinctive iconography. The catalogue text informed that Mehta renounced the family business to join Sir JJ School of Art, in Mumbai in 1947. This was also the year of India’s independence: a freedom hard won that paradoxically lamented the severing of the nation into two parts, where brothers once, now killed each other, believing they had a different God. I shuddered to think that not much had changed. It is January 2011 and similar battles ensue. Although these paintings are relatively recent; the drawings ‘Trussed Bull’ [1955] and ‘Bull’ [1955] indicate that the trussed-up bull as a metaphor evolved somewhere in the 1950’s. The forms then, were not angular but the economy of line that would become synonymous with Mehta is evident.

Contemporary Indian art is lush with opinion and expression. Artists have turned social commentators and performers. The diversity of ideas around us is chaotic, making the minimal marks of Tyeb Mehta appealing yet confounding. This is after all a part of our cultural and visual inheritance, so how did such ascetic expression, one that evolved at a hugely traumatic time for the nation, give way to such cacophonic confusion in the present time? There was clearly something to be learned as also something almost unreal about the work. Was it cold indifference and not emotional restraint? But the angst was also evident. I looked deeper. Was there more? ‘The Fall’ painted in 1974 [150 x 125 cms] seemed to be a turning point in Mehta’s oeuvre and thereafter the marks and expression were fine-tuned with an almost obsessive deliberation and unwavering discipline. On the surface it appeared that the artist had not explored anything beyond this phase. One wondered why.

Many have grown up in a time that did not see the traumas of partition and the agony of this has also been little spoken of by those who lived through that age. As a nation the collective pain was such that everyone seemed to have just put their energies into getting on with the business of building a nation, without looking back. Did they do us an injustice in not sharing in a personal capacity, what they saw and experienced? Were they right to shut out their pain? Could they have done it differently? Questions such as these that emerged as one looked at Tyeb Mehta’s works. I could not relate to them emotionally but when seen through the eyes of his time; through ‘Kali-I’, 1988 [150 x 125 cms] painted in a posture that seemed pregnant with abuse, realization dawned of what may have compelled him turn ascetic. Is it then, almost as a reaction to this that we are perhaps so verbose today?

The painter is significant for more than the paintings he did. This exhibition raised many questions and presentation of this body of work should have taken into consideration the value of Tyeb Mehta, not just in his capacity as a painter, but as an integral part of every contemporary Indian’s artistic inheritance. For appreciation by generations that come after the iconic times he and his contemporaries painted and lived in, this body of work needed to be presented in a manner that was accessible, de-mystifying the marks for cognition of their relevance in the larger context of Indian art as well as his own individual oeuvre.

A Lingering Fragrance - Ranjani Shettar [Review] Talwar Art Gallery

Walking off the dusty, noisy streets of Delhi into ‘Present Continuous’ an exhibition of recent works by Ranjani Shettar at Talwar Art Gallery [19th January to 3rd April 2011] one meandered through a bubble-like structure called ‘Scent of a Sound’ [224” x 190” x 30”] suspended from the ceiling. Its stainless steel armature was covered in the softness of muslin, layered stiff with turmeric and tamarind, enveloping you in its shadows of serenity. Walking through its wispy curves, escaping the mechanical cacophony of a city enraged, senses imbibed the aroma of its unutterable song. Nudging with its yellowed whiteness and ‘spacious’ crowding of form, her installation left a deep impression. It represented nothing I knew, but was familiar in its lightness of being. It was the most captivating piece on display and while the other works did provide a contrasting backdrop that enhanced its viewing, they lacked its elegance and engagement.

On another level of the gallery, ‘Aureole’ [2010] had similar lines. Cast in bronze [size variable], butterfly-like wings cast their delicate shadows quite predictably across the full length of the gallery wall. Missing the intimacy of fingers that wound and layered muslin around the metal, this ‘Aureole’ did not invoke the presence of divinity. It was not nearly as evocative as ‘Scent of Sound ’to which one returned again and again. Wanting to get close and inhale a little of its peace; un-wrapping the clinging layers of muslin, coated in a burnt sienna tanginess and warm stains of yellow, with envious eyes.

Contrasted with these works was ‘Stretch’ [2010] a sensuous but solid rosewood sculpture [9” x 61” x 16”]. The natural wood was highly polished to bring out each line of its grain, which looked like marks of a tiger skin. The shape was ambiguous, morphing from a spoon to pipe or could even have been a boat yet un-carved or something else. You had to use your imagination as the artist while alluding to form did not define it. In addition to this were three wrought-iron and teak-wood artefacts of varying sizes, called ‘Kinetics [2009]. Each was independently displayed throughout the gallery. Their forms were drawn from the lives and tools of folk living in rural India. The inspiration could have shears or cutters or just the wind. ‘Kinetics’ had a strong rustic quality that was brought out subtly through the use of rusted looking iron and wood, even as the relatively robust forms seemed to whistle in the wind with iron that twisted and curled.

Each work had been carefully displayed, there was no sense of crowding or rush as you walked through, returning again and again to imbibe their qualities. Relishing this reprieve from the pressures of urban dilemmas, one questioned whether their quietude could be a sustainable reality or merely a moment away to deliberate. The cutting edges of three twisted knife-like structures [Kinetics] hung on a wall: a sharp reminder of the paradox of a simpler life where the chaos of being, may not be as externalized as life in a throbbing metropolis, but in the relative quietude, could cut like a knife within.

‘Lagoon’ [2011] was an installation [72” x 72” x 98”h] using lacquered wooden beads, glass beads and fishing line. It lacked the wistfulness of ‘Scent of Sound’ and minimalism of ‘Kinetics’, evoking an altogether different rural characteristic, but one that jarred for its comparative lack of depth and finesse in exploration and execution. Shettar has used these beads more effectively in earlier works such as ‘In Bloom’ [2004]. In trying to create the environment of a lagoon, the beads were painted in shades of blue and hung from the ceiling of the basement gallery rather gawkily. It was disappointing to see this awkward sculpture/installation after the judicious forms and delicate lines of other work on display.

The artist worked across media, using highly industrial material such as stainless steel and also brought in the crafting skills of Karnataka via a rosewood sculpture. Therefore it was conceivable for her to have enhanced the environment of a lagoon by using digital media, especially lighting projections, to re-create the feeling of being inside the waters of a lagoon; looking at some coral or underwater, naturally sculpted forms. The piece as displayed was uninspired and hung heavy and dull.

However, as one walked out of the gallery ‘Scent of Sound’ came into view again. The artist’s engagement was evident as it drew you into its form which was ethereal despite the use of heavy industrial material. I’m a butterfly she whispered as you turned to the wall: See my wings, trace the lines of nature’s design. It just depends on where you choose to shed the light and how deeply you’re interested in my shadows. Then the white-washed walls met the raw grey of a cemented floor. Their shadows spoke to each other in differing tones of a gravity belied by the glistening waves that hovered above: shining under the electric light, somewhere orange, somewhere white; sometimes just disappearing under its gaze, its fragrance lingering.

An Ambitious Quest - Seema Kohli, video film Review

Dabbling in philosophy does not lead to Self Realization; here honesty is the best policy. Seema Kohli is primarily a painter who works on canvas, creating a filigree of forms mythical and imagined. Her decade-old preoccupation with Hindu philosophy is currently explored via film where she attempts “painting intangible aspects of time, energy and creation” through a video installation in two parts, projected simultaneously on adjacent walls. The film ‘Swayam Siddha - The Self Realized’ has been shown in Delhi, Spain, New Jersey and Singapore and received among others, the Gold award at the Florence Biennale, 2009.


At best, Self Realization is an ambitious quest for accomplished yogis and to portray this via video-art is a challenge. The subject is rooted in the physical dimension of living not divorced from it, but Seema has chosen a quasi-abstract route which makes the films virtually incomprehensible. Sanskrti shlokas are chanted soulfully by Vidya Rao and the young dancer Himani Khurana, in a contemporary black dress is graceful as she presents movement of time and energy. Attired in black trousers and T shirt, Seema too participates in the performance. Words are transposed onto crowded visuals of performers walking and dancing through fabric lengths with canvasses placed against walls and on the floor. Images from Kohli’s paintings are projected over their bodies and juxtaposed on the entire clip, creating a visual overload. Watching 6-7 minutes of two such videos simultaneously is tedious and the sub-text appears more like jargon than insights.

Seema uses symbols from traditional sources, where an earthen pot symbolizes the golden womb or ‘Hiranyagarbha’ and red foot-prints on the floor are reminiscent of the first steps a Hindu bride takes into her matrimonial home. Corrugated paper and bubble wrap are some contemporary elements she infuses into this film, but the concepts are clichéd. Time or ‘Kaal’ is presented literally through the colour black; or wrapping the body in corrugated paper symbolizes birth, then unravelling and re-wrapping in bubble-wrap it becomes re-birth. Some visual effects are quite dramatic and Seema’s serene countenance is sincere but for most frames she is covered with or dripping water or red and yellow paint, spilling onto the floor, evocative of blood and excreta. Unlike yogic lore, this isn’t an inspiring journey and as art, leaves wide open the question of art and what we present under its guise.

Art can raise questions and also our awareness of issues - political, religious, profane and spiritual. It can express the artist’s point of view, and angst within specified contexts. It can be an aspiration, provoke and also heal. It does all or any of this through a cultivated, individual vocabulary, but a pre-requisite is that the message be understood. The spiritual experience is essentially intangible and Seema’s task is challenging but having said that, if I am watching a work of art that is intended to present ‘The Self Realized’ then I am not interested in being entertained by a beautiful dancer or sonorous chants. The dance and music have to convey some insight and /or experience of some dimension that is referred to as ‘The Self Realized’.

A complex subject of much interest globally at this point in time, where material obsession and a sense of lack, as opposed to abundance has created violence and terror of great proportions, disrupting daily life, taking us deeper into ourselves; one anticipates some measure of insight that can shed light on the ancient wisdom of the Vedas to inspire hope towards peace and harmony in frenetic contemporary living. What comes across here is that Seema is caught up in the written word without reflecting upon her own experience of living enough, to present a clear perspective of her peculiar journey/experience or aspiration in this context.

The Self Realized is he or she who has achieved liberation. They are not bound by or within the drama of the world but fully conscious of mind, body and spirit and their connection to the super-conscious. They live in the bliss of awareness that the world is nothing but an illusion created through their own imagined mind. They have complete mastery over thought, for they have mastered fear. Masters have control because they have clarity of thought, because they have clarity of feeling and therefore of intent. This is Self Realization, a knowing that most of us are seeking.

Those who have evolved enough to understand the meaning of Self Realization, recognise the merit of deep reflection and internal reference of each and every experience and thought or feeling therein, towards mastering their minds. You do not have to retire to the Himalayas, but you do have to retreat within yourself more and more till such time as desires diminish and with it the pangs of the world and its illusionary drama. Self realization may well be an ‘aspiration’ for the artist, but for the master it is but a ‘process’, evolving through living, something you will acquire if you live with utmost honesty to yourself. Neither this, nor quietude or clarity, all of which are a pre-requisite of the self-realized, is even glimpsed in this film. What we see instead is a confused, meandering mind, not a master of it.

Anupam Poddar Interview [Devi Art Foundation]

RELATING TO EXHIBITION OF PAKISTANI ART – RESEMBLE REASSEMBLE

 

Saira Waseem

 GN. I was impressed with the disarming honesty and simple intellectualization of ideas presented through this exhibition. Would you say this is true of most artists’ work in Pakistan and what were your criteria for selection?

AP. The criteria for selection were primarily subjective. The collection includes works that move, inspire or challenge me. At the same time, I wouldn’t deny that works of most artists in Pakistan are very honest, both in terms of reflecting their personal history or their underlying meanings.

Imran Ahmad-Khan

GN. Though honest the work may sometimes appear simplistic. In the catalogue, writers have referred frequently to the political upheavals as beleaguered conditions under which the artists work. One therefore surmises that the work is a response linked directly to the prevailing threat which does not allow for much intellectualization.

In India a lot of work has a high intellectual quotient, such as Nalani Malani’s video - Remembering Toba Tek Singh, [shown at Devi Foundation - Still Moving Image] where understanding and appreciating the work requires considerable inquiry and study.

Noor  Ali Chagani

This was not evident in the works on display in this exhibition. For instance Noor Ali Chagani’s ‘Possession’, [2009]  
 

You do have work in this collection which is finessed - Saira’s Wasim’s ‘Nuclear Threat’ [2004], but the work is simplistic by comparison.

Some digital prints by Bharti Kher – ‘Chocolate muffins’, ‘Angel’, and others are designed to provoke. This larger than life concept is not uncommon in India and its absence in this exhibition of Pakistani art, seemingly grounded in the grim reality of their lives, is refreshing.

AP. For starters, I think it’s unfair to set a comparison of any sort between works of Nalini Malani and Noor Ali Chagani (a fresh graduate from the NCA, Lahore).  They are both in different stages of their career. Also, I believe that work comes from a personal expression, it could be political or apolitical, provoking or non-provoking; beauty lies in both.

Although scale is irrelevant to me, I would like to add that the larger than life concept has also been explored by Pakistani artists such as Ayaz Jokhio in his Titled series.

Ayaz Jokhio

GN. We are culturally linked in ways that would be impossible to dismiss, yet the art reflects an ethos that sets us apart. We have centuries of a shared history, so what is the definitive differential evinced through the art?  In your interactions with artists, curators and art educators, what is your perception in this regard?

Bani Abidi

AP. Despite having a shared history, I feel contemporary Pakistani art is more experimental in nature than Indian art. The artists follow their individual pursuits with convictions that are not driven by the market forces or contemporary trends; their personal expressions are highly skilled and insightful. For example, Ehsan ul Haq’s Life is Elsewhere or Unum Babar’s Then both of us were born anew.

Unum Babbar

 GN. The works in the exhibition - ‘Resemble Reassemble’ are indicative of global influences in terms of the media and visual language; however the dialogue appears rather insular. The artists do not engage with issues of global concern but are more involved in speaking of purdah, of relations between men and women in Pakistan, relations with India and other such issues that pertain to life within the subcontinent. 

A.P. I don’t see why in an age of globalisation an artist should be divorced from realities of their society? I think an artist should have the liberty of using new media to express their local realities or regional issues. 
 

Iqra Tanveer

Also, due to political and financial constraints, many Pakistani artists do not get an opportunity to travel which makes their work rooted in local realities which are far closer to them than that of an unseen world.

GN. Some of the artists have spoken of more universal human issues - videos by Ferwa Ibrahim and Huria Khan and while Unum Babbar attempts this in ‘Then both of us were born anew’, one draws a gender inference from the heavily clad woman, rather than a spiritual one, as referred to in the poem by William Cartwright whom she quotes in the title. The same happens with the screen prints of Nazia H Khan, where the distress in the folds of the organza fabric and the imprint of flowing hair evoke tension which the through context of the exhibition is inferred as emanating from terror[ism].

Ferwa Ibrahim

a) Do you think this inference is inevitable?

b)  Is it erroneous?

A.P I think most viewers come to see art from Pakistan with their preconceived notions, which Resemble Reassemble has tried to challenge by primarily shifting the focus to visual thinking and by not creating sections within the exhibition.

Additionally, what might appear to a viewer as addressing gender issues for example, Amber Hammad’s Maryam, holds a special meaning for me. It reminds me of the shift in her artistic practice and how her stature as a person has changed – from the girl who often portrayed fairly tales in her work to Maryam, a mother with responsibilities.

Amber Hammad

I think there is more to the work than ‘terror’. Bani Abidi’s The News, was made during her KHOJ residency. The video explores similarities and differences in language than merely depicting terror.

GN. The scale of works is mostly miniature or if not exactly within that oeuvre, the scale is contained more so than what one sees in India. The smaller scale creates finesse and a sense of delicacy as in Unum Babbar’s video installation on egg-shells or Mohhammad Ali Talpur’s ‘Leeka’ or his Bird drawings, which is in direct contrast to the large scale installations in India. Do you think this potential can and/or should be re-visited by Indian artists, given that we share a tradition in miniatures? 

Ali Talpur

AP. To me, the scale of a work is irrelevant; it is the quality that matters. Miniature or larger than life, it is the content that attracts a viewer. For example Unum Babar’s ‘Not quite sure till afterwards’, could be projected on a pedestal or a wall, the work remains interesting for its content and execution, not scale.

 

Mahreen Murtaza

GN. What do you think of the miniature tradition as re-visualized and presented by the Pakistani painters in this 21^st century?

AP. I find contemporary miniature art from Pakistan very exciting. It challenges its own boundaries and often surprises the viewer with the outcome. 
 

GN. In the context of a global village, do you think traditions that specify an ethnic identity are relevant in the arts?

AP. Absolutely.  

GN. Do you think that we in India should also preserve some of our ancient traditional artistic practices by bringing them into the context of contemporary art?

AP. Yes. Our next show on Indian Folk and Tribal Art will explore this in detail. 

GN. India and Pakistan have had strained relations for the last 60 years. There have been attempts at a dialogue towards peace but the general opinion is that we are working to keep us apart rather than to bring us closer together. There is considerable distrust even as there is bonhomie; do you think that a cultural initiative can aid the dialogue for peace?

AP. Yes without a doubt! In my experience of visiting Pakistan, I have often felt a lot of warmth and friendship. Politics is played between politicians. On an individual level there is a lot of love that spills over.

Aisha Khalid

GN. As a viewer, I was rather touched by some of the work. We don’t really have a connection with Pakistan that pertains to everyday living. When we are affected by terrorist attacks of Pakistani origin etc, it has been convenient to believe the national propaganda, but now Pakistan has begun to have a more humane face. The conditions they live in, as exemplified through the works in this exhibition - the curtailing of freedom, implications of wearing a veil and the fact that death by terror is considered normal is horrendous and in a sense makes one less mistrusting and more compassionate.

Aisha Khalid

 AP. This is the beginning of a journey that we wish continues. I’m happy to know that the exhibition succeeded in marginally changing your vision of Pakistani art. However, this was not the real goal. The aim of the foundation is to set a platform for cutting edge artists; it is not so much region-based but encourages what in our opinion is good art.

GN. What do you think sets apart the art from Pakistan and that which is presently being made in India? What in particular draws your eye as a collector to either?

AP. What draws me towards Pakistani art is that it is honest, fresh, at the same time experimental and challenging.

GN. Do you think we can inform each others' practices through exhibitions, workshops and other means of artist exchange?

AP. Yes. Initiatives such as ‘Aar Paar’ in 1998 proved to be very fruitful in informing the countries of each other’s artistic practices and we hope there are more initiatives in the future.

Ali Talpur

GN. And does The Devi Art Foundation have any plans for this?

AP. The Devi Art Foundation has an education and outreach programme that is designed to work in conjunction with pedagogues and academia to forge a critical space. In the next two months we are planning to organize talks and seminars that will bring together artists and academics from both the countries.

GN. What made you think of adding Pakistani art to your collection? Bani Abidi’s video of the ‘Shan pipe band’, Ehsan Ul-haq’s installations ‘Zero point’ and ‘Life is elsewhere’ do bring into focus some of the similarities both culturally and of issues pertaining to urban development or lack of it. Was this a criterion?

Bani Abidi

AP. I saw images of works which very exciting. These prompted me to visit Pakistan and meet with the artists.

GN.  Do you plan to expand this, to include art from other regions of South Asia?

AP. Yes.

GN. The works in this collection are diverse in media and content, despite the fact that they pertain largely to issues within the Pakistani context. - Hamra Abbas in ‘Please do not Touch…’ uses the English language with a ‘jaali’ that is Islamic; while Bani Abidi’s digital prints – ‘Security barriers A-L’, use icons that are universal and others that use video, installation, surgical instruments etc. The diversity speaks of their creative prowess. Do you think that because people do not readily visit Pakistan curtailing the artistic exchange and dialogue, that this provokes their creativity?

AP. I feel struggle is an important part of our life and at some point, we all go through it. Indian art has gone through it and many Iranian artists are at the present facing it.

Even though Pakistan is not readily visited, I think in the recent years the art has attracted many curators, critics and is being addressed in many international exhibitions – ‘Hanging Fire at the Asia Society’, ‘When Three Dreams Meet’ at the Whitechapel Gallery – this will hopefully improve things.

GN. The works in the exhibition primarily represent the first decade of this century, from 2000 to 2009. Is there a reason that no work predates this? Most of the artists are born after 1970, what is reason for this predisposition towards the younger generation, where most are in their late 20’s or early 30’s and none is beyond 45 years old?
 

Nazia Khan

AP. That is what was prevalent when I started collecting art from Pakistan. I enjoyed the young, new energy of the students and also felt that somebody had to support them financially for them to continue their practice and reassure them of it. However we do have artists of all age groups. Some of the senior artists in the collection include Anwar Saeed, Ruby Chishti and Roohi Ahmed.

GN. Bani Abidi’s video ‘Shan pipe Band’ reminds of the parallels in our cultural make-up. The Star and Spangled Banner may have political implications regarding Pakistan’s particular relationship with America, but the bandwalla is as much a part of our ethos and art, brought into play by Krishen Khanna’s recent retrospective. These are things we know but take for granted, which art re-visits, reminding us of a shared heritage which makes partition a tragedy and more so our animosity towards each other.

Bani Abidi

a) Having visited Pakistan did you have had any such moments of surprised, tragic and hilarious cognition?

b) Would your collection have been influenced by these parallels?

AP. I guess I was surprised with the culture that spoke in a curious mix of Urdu, English and Punjabi. The love and the warmth that was showered on me left lasting impressions. For me the whole experience of being in Pakistan, interacting with new artists and works, was very exciting and intoxicating.