Heritage well worn

Art audiences in many cities in India need to wake up. The student population in fine arts colleges are all rather asleep these days and imagine that art can  be created in their cocoons  of isolation. This is why too often I become rather irritated when talking to art students and young artists, who express views that originate so transparently from lack of exposure and information; making them all so boring to communicate with in the end. The petty regional politics in the arts is also another cesspool that festers making simple interaction a monumental task to achieve.

Visual arts educational institutions are so closed to encouraging people to come and engage with their students. The Baroda faculty of fine arts has become a true boys club where the teaching staff carefully guard their territory and strut around in a patriarchal comfort zone that is rather amusing to observe. It was therefore so refreshing to recently meet with Meena Vari from the Shrishti  design school of Bangalore, who on our very first meeting when we collided at the Delhi Art Fair,  was brimming with an enthusiasm to communicate and exchange ideas. Biased as it may be, I find it is mostly professional women who  carry  the fire in their bellies with  much more conviction than men in similar positions.

On a more humorous note,  have scandalised many who sit at the table with me during a breakfast of south Indian food where my favorite combo is idlies, with coconut chutney, sausages and soft bacon with a touch of blueberry jam; all to be eaten together. Perfectly yummy and a must try for those who do not have conservative tastes in food. Ashvita Gallery spoilt us with a traditional Tamil lunch of traditional cuisine that was served on the plantain leaf. Subtle flavours and mouth watering delicacies left one seduced for life. 

I  also succumbed to the temptations of the weavers magic and bought eight saris from the most elegant of shops in Chennai called Sarangi.  It was a zen  experience packaged in south indian elegance, with the rustle of silks and the fragrance of sandalwood all mingling together to make me feel I was in wonderland.  To add to this happy zone, after the opening of the exhibition was over at Ashvita gallery, the director of the gallery and his wife took me and the three attending artists of the show to the rooftop verandah restaurant  of the Raintree hotel,  where we had another delicious meal with the additional delight of a soft sea breeze that was an out of this world experience for those of us from dusty Baroda!

I am certainly voting Chennai as my most favourite city in India. The people of this city  are so refined and friendly,  and courtesy is very real in everyday life. The old  architecture is still very much in  evidence and what you feel is an understanding and comprehension of the traditions of a rich heritage; being preserved and valued as progress and change also occurs.

Back in Baroda the dust assaults me and the pandemonium of a ravaged city scape become my realities once again. 

From Chennai....

I am currently in Chennai where the exhibition I have curated titled  "Quiet Conversations from the Courtyard" is being hosted by Asvita Gallery. The four artists in the show, Karishma D'souza - Kim Kyoungae - Malavika Rajnarayan - Sonatina Mendes- are all artists who belong to the collective studio in Baroda.

The exhibition is once again my insistence to draw attention to the more quiet articulation of young artists who are not driven to make art that is loud in the proclamation of its intentions, but who instead negotiate the personal spaces of discourse to comprehend the many nuanced areas of identity as urban Indians.

I am often saddened by the wasted opportunities of  Indian curators who appear to desire to serve the western definitions of "global art"  in a rather self-serving  need to "fit in" with the "international curatorial bandwagon"! The predictability  and incestuous sameness of ideas is now rather tiresome, with every major text almost always  bearing the same authorship of these "sanctioned" few. Good as these curators  are we need to take risks and get new blood into the arena. I think the curators of the Kiran Nader museum need to be congratulated for the quiet work they do to produce amazing shows for a public audience that are crafted from a comprehension of understanding the responsibility of the role of curation.

No cultural space as diverse as what we have in India should become so closed and rigid. The same dogmas that conservative cultural insistence produces  can also become a similar currency for progressive decay,  when only a few are bestowed with "presenting" contemporary cultural enquiries, making it into a fiefdom that is dangerous.

I always encourage that we need to become much more aware of the responsibility of knowing what exists in the visual arts when conceiving projects that may fall outside of personal interest; because if this is what will guide the roadmap of our contemporary history, then once again it will undoubtedly be a skewered one that is imprinted from partisan affiliations alone.

So let us acknowledge therefore too that if curators are to be informed by a contemporary cultural history they need to have a greater humility to be informed by a wider viewing of art; and to step out of their ivory towers of insularity that now have become comfort zones. Indian art has so much that goes unnoticed because there is no data base that such people democratically create. We need to avail of technology where we allow facilities like the cloud to offer curatorial  assistance to make data bases that invite artists to leave visuals to be viewed. I do hope that our Bombay and Delhi curator friends will hopefully  wake up before it is too late and change their methodologies to make for more truthful representations of Indian contemporary cultural history!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Dream Text: Presentation at the Art Fair -2012

My work Dream Text at the Art Fair 2012 was conceived in October 2011 in my studio in Baroda.

Presentation of the work at the Art Fair

by Sakshi Gallery Mumbai

 Dream Text

Make no mistake that the night will fall as dark as yesterdays, and that the moths that die may lead you to your light.  Carry with you on your journey that garment that camouflages the vulnerability of your identity, so that the corpse that lies unattended is not yours.

I bury my soul in my choreographed dreams. I am awake as I sleep.

Rekha Rodwittiya - Baroda 2011-12

Peter, my friend and teacher.

A big burly man, my very first encounter with Peter de Francia was when he introduced himself to me on the narrow corridor of the painting department at the Royal College of Art, in the twilight of the afternoon, on a rather grey day of October in 1982 in London. In the preambles that followed I called him "Professor de Francia" only to be lifted into the air and commanded in a booming voice to call him Peter! I chose the RCA  out of a number of admissions I had secured because I wanted to study under this legendary teacher, whose reputation had reached the class rooms where I studied at Baroda, all those miles across the oceans. 

Peter loved all that was Indian. We shared a very special relationship during the years I was his student because he recognised that I was my own person, unwilling to secede to the conformity's of traditional norms, nor seek to adapt to the prevailing ideas of ethnic belonging as constituted by the Asian immigrant communities in Britain. He was a non-conformist too who cared very little for the acceptance of others if it interfered with the truth of his own beliefs.

Not a man to suffer fools easily, he demolished many a false ego amongst the posturing attitudes of those art students whom he perceived to be lacking in substance.  Dressed in his self appointed uniform of a blue serge jacket and trousers coupled with a blue and white checked shirt on most days, this man of many seasons despaired over  my pedestrian tastes of drinking coke with fine French cuisine! I smoked cigarettes and he smoked a pipe....and both of us had strong beliefs that governed our personal politics. He packed a punch when he needed to with me,  and I stamped my foot and stood my ground on many occasions, making him smile behind the portrayed severity that he loved to wear as his mask. 

Coming from a learning space in India that had done very little to encourage the journey of my feminist enquiry, both as a woman and as an artist, I was taken by surprise by his  immediate comprehension that never required of me any explanations or validation. Insistent that I must expose myself to the art and culture of Europe in the two years I was a scholarship student; I would find detailed travel itineraries in my letter box, before each vacation approached, that virtually sent me back packing without further ado. Hand written and with notes on the art  that he thought was significant for me to view, I was obliged on my return to have  discussions with him that would often turn out to be  feisty argument on perception and philosophical interpretations. His provocation to scratch at your conscience never destroyed your spirit if you were not yellow livered, and Peter loved nothing better than brains and guts as a combination in his students. 

He always protected the foreign students from the subtle bigotry that being an outsider can sometimes attract; and he felt personally in need to apologise to us on our arrival at the RCA that the British Government took triple the tuition fee from foreign scholars.  It was these attitudes that gave shape to his politics. Sometimes it also led to rather embarrassing situations in the 80's, where because of his marxist beliefs, he priced his art at ludicrously low prices, and as a result his students works were almost always more highly priced than his! But he just puffed on his pipe unperturbed, as he lived life on his own terms. 

On an occasion when we had had a rather combustible discourse over David Hockney and Philip Guston's work that ended in me flouncing off in a temper tantrum of sorts; I returned to my studio a few hours later to find a drawing of a woman reclining and a male attendant fanning her! This was the delightfulness of this amazing man who possessed such a vast wisdom from the sharpness of his intellect, and carried a belly of rumbling laughter; that together formed this towering figure who held you accountable to your own conscience at all times.

Peter de Francia died a few days ago in London. However for me he has always lived in the spirit of who I am and I know that he will continue to live on even after I pass away; because his legacy is part of a history of learning that has no end. 

Snippets from Saturday the 21st 2012

I was at a friends home for dinner the other night and met up with an Indian artist (who has recently shifted base to Baroda from Bombay), who had just returned from a residency abroad. Interested to know what work the artist had done on this residency  (which is at a very beautiful location in Europe and which is very conducive space to do work at), and curious to know his experiences as an artist within a different cultural space, I asked him about his trip. I was informed very proudly without a blink of an eye, and I quote : "I only had fun, I did no work"! Well go figure....this is unfortunately the sort of unstated trend that is prevalent with so many artists these days; and the end result :  opportunities that can challenge and open the mind are squandered for a bottle of booze and some weed! Well the sixties seem to have been cemented forever with ponytails and psychedelic fantasies come alive again!!!

I am on a weeks chutti from work! It feels good but the dreams of lazing about haven't taken shape with the   management of the Collective Studio and domestic demands absorbing time. However I am getting my roll on the carpet time.....with Begum our cat silly.....! Much fur flies as I get royally pummelled into knowing what my place is by my fiery cat with attitude!


I am contemplating getting a swish computer chair recommended to me by an old friend whose partner has one. I have an old fashioned wooden desk that is the style of military furniture that I grew up using. Now my dilemma is that if my legs are to fit under the table at the correct height and my neck has to be at the correct angle (and who knows where my brains need to be in all this adjustment!), then I may well have to sacrifice this beautiful large draw that I have in this "get it right-write" scenario of nerve pinching reality, I am living in at the moment!


Am off to see Dirty Picture today. May need a tissue box as I am a horrendous softy over sad stories!




Bought an HTC phone....the android system takes time to adjust to after years of being a loyal Nokia user. Am in a zone of being reprimanded by my Korean Spiritual daughter with looks that could make a glow worm extinguish itself, as she explains and re-explains and explains all over again with fingers that zip about this phone with the practised skill of a generation that knows how to press all the right buttons!!!!!! So much for adaptability at 53!!!! 


Mithun is trying to persuade to buy the I phone S4......it just feels too big,  and I do miss the compactness of simple functions put together that aligns with the zen principles of less is sometimes more beneficial for some!

2012....gizmo's.... and life from the heart of Sauparnika!

I don't think I mentioned that I purchased an I Mac 27 inch computer recently. If you are not impressed then it is because you do not know what a duh I am with the gizmo's of technology! Holding a paint brush, and that too not without dropping it on far too many occasions,  is my only claim to some sort of competence  matters of skill and cerebral functions!!! So without further ado, I expect some wah- wahs to come my way please.  From the world of windows as an operating system my brain is now on another trajectory of learning, as I valiantly thump (middle finger only still) on the pristine white key board of Steve Jobs legacy to the world. 

My trusted N 79 Nokia decided that life with me wasn't worth it after all and did lots of hanging tricks, beeping out calls whilst I was mid flow in eloquent speech and making obscene sounding growling noises that no body else could hear, except me! All in all it did act with all the histrionics that would put a qualified actor to shame. So I marched off in a huff after being put through this drama for a week to buy a new mobile phone. Mithun and Surendran who worship at the alter of the I phone S4 kept hissing this into my ear to buy the I phone S4 as though dooms day was around the corner if I didn't! Suffice to say chingoosegiri played a large role in my decision and I opted for a HTC ChaCha that was as basic as I could get without really wearing my dullness too publicly!!!

Life at our home,  Sauparnika,  has been hectic over the last five months. Deadlines loomed and work has over flowed from the four corners of my studio, with dawn and dusk knowing no difference for me.  After returning from the opening of my solo show in Mumbai, family, friends and guests have visited us amidst  a crazy schedule of work, but as always the rhythm of Sauparnika embraces everything without much of a hiccup; and laced within all timetables is a healthy dose of fun. One of our artist 's in residence, Karishma D'Sousa, has gone to Amsterdam to the Rijkes Academy for a year. The Collective Studio seems empty without her! As she grapples with settling into a new existence in the Netherlands, we fill the void in Baroda with memories of her effervescence and recollections of how she could always make us laugh. I miss you dear friend. Enjoy the windmill city and get lost in it's magic so that you can find new and even more amazing imaginative landscapes, with which  to fill your  pictorial narratives.

Our Korean student's mother has just flown back today to Korea after a ten day visit with us. She spoke no English yet filled our home with the humility of her grace and containment,  and most specially her inner peace. Nothing appeared alien to this dignified lady who was led through all the new experiences of Indian family life through her wisdom to accept and adapt. What touched Surendran and me the most was her genuine gratitude for loving her daughter unconditionally, and for teaching her life lessons that she herself was unable to do, from the distance that separates them. Her implicit trust in us, which has not wavered in all the six years of our disciplined strictness with her daughter, was evidenced by her desire to come all these many miles just to say thank you to us. We have taught many children over the last 25 years, but no parent has ever honoured us so genuinely as Kyoungja has.  Thank you Kyounja for acknowledging that indeed we share a daughter with you.

But now on to more trivial and banal factors of Sauparnika hooliganism! The 14th of January 2012 saw the official "kishkinda clan" scream themselves hoarse from the terrace. With the boom-box blaring an old Indian idol CD as my contribution to loud festivity, we enthusiastically flew kites in the blazing hot sun, with only a whisper of a breeze to facilitate our brave kite flying efforts! However the evening sky turned magical as the old traditions of flying lighted candles lit up the horizon. I was reminded of our Australian artist friend Jon Cattapan's paintings that are often nights capes of city lights, ablaze like twinkling stars.

I have started yoga and as my inflexible muscles protest I struggle to contort my body into fluid movements that look easier when others do them! I shall resume my nocturnal walks tonight.....other than angry dogs in our neighbourhood, the city takes on a quite innocence late at night as we pad down by-lanes quietly day dreaming at the wrong time of the day!

I'm still alive!

I have been buried under a mountain of work which has seen me blogging only in my head. However in the elapsed time  I had my solo show titled Intangible Interlocution: An Anthology of Belonging. An exhibition is a place of repose for me....where all ideas come together and define the landscape of your life and politics; to commune in spirit with an audience who come to discourse with it. There are no secrets in this space and finally the nakedness of who one is percolates it's truth.

I spend very little time in the gallery after my show opens because it is a passage of transition for me, where I leave the work I create to exist without my mediation, and go back to my studio to reassess and ponder a progression into new articulations of deliverance. It is always the gestures of my Gallery team that holds my heart the most. The smiles of welcome, the extra spit and polish that goes into mounting the show, the endless cups of tea with the accompanying ice cubes brought exactly as I like it and even before I utter my request for one.....and more special than anything is the dress code for the opening that is our silent bond of love....ALL black! Twenty two years and still counting.....my association with Sakshi Gallery continues. 

On the 9th of December International Human Rights day, the Clark House Initiative in Mumbai held an event to bring to attention the decade long fast of Irom Sharmila. This poet and activist from the Northeast  has been on a hunger strike since the 2nd of November 2000 to demand that the Indian government repeals the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, 1958. Using this non-violent form of protest to register her call for world attention, till date most powers of political significance have merely looked the other way. The Clark House Initiative invited selected artists to design ten feet by two feet (vertical) flags that was to be taken in procession by students of the J.J School of Art from Flora Fountain unto the NGMA. However the dictates of the law enforcing agencies (!) refused to allow this public art event to function as had been planned where the flags/banners were to be carried in procession on full view for the  public to engage with. So once again a peaceful protest is quashed, whilst goondagiri from political agencies can thrive without a single police person stepping forward to intervene when life and property are at high risk! 

I grow increasingly worried with the Anna Hazare movement. An initial supporter of the "gandhi-man" I now find little that resembles the wisdom of the mahatma in this tiny caricature that has unravelled with the topi cap. I caught him mockingly speaking of Sonia Gandhi at a TV press conference , and he I felt myself  cringe with shame at the political games that were now so transparently evident from the team Anna camp. I also feel hugely concerned that a single institution will be vested with so much power. In the confessions of all Indians we admit and acknowledge that corruption and abuse of power is rampant, so it appears almost  as though we are gifting the venomous snake a double set of fangs to bite us with!

On a lighter note, I must indeed nominate Renuka Choudhary for an oscar! What acting! The rolling of the eyes, the flick of the newly styled hair and the nose turned up in mock pique; with of course the loud unconvincing "ham actors" laugh! Dear lady you crack me up with laughter, and at the end of a hard days night (quite literally), your TV drama certainly has me in splits of laughter. Now whether the Congress party sends you out to be their stand up comedian is another story altogether.

I am back from a three day vacation with my family. The Eastend Lakesong resort on the Vembanad Lake in Kerala was a relaxing quiet get away to replenish my very tired self. Just the four of us and time together was sheer bliss.