Category: Interviews

Acclaimed watercolourist Prashant Prabhu says it wasn’t a sudden reaction, or a personal revolt to go the minimalist way on a certain day, but a long process involving a lot of observation and thinking
TEXT: TEAM ART SOUL LIFE

He could not go to an art school and judging by that definition, it makes him self-taught. But renowned watercolourist Prashant Prabhu says self-taught carries certain notions of being amateur, or one for whom art is a side hustle. “People assume that a self-taught artist is rarely a pro and mostly not a full-time artist. I am a full-time artist in the strictest sense. No commercial work, no taking classes. I paint, nearly daily and sell art as and when possible. And that has been my sole source of earning for nearly two decades now,” says the Mumbaikar.

Prabhu says being a good or rather brilliant student sometimes is a bane when you want to choose a career in creative fields, which are not considered a choice for such “potentials”. He says, “Family background matters. So, it happened that I did post-graduation in commerce in the best college in Mumbai, i.e., Poddar, with quite an ease. But all the while I was painting. Winning 42 prizes for college in three years in fine arts at intercollegiate level made it easy for me to neglect certain constraints on normal students.” When he passed out, he already had a couple of small solo shows in his name. “Small shows, but they gave me a few more years to struggle. So, I never decided to be an artist and that too full-time,” he says. “It seemed like a natural progression to me.” Prabhu says there is a misconception among artists who don’t know him well that being self-taught, he advises against art college education. “Nothing can be further from the truth. Art school education is a must but not in a way that most advise to take it,” he says. “As a landscape painter, that too in watercolours, I didn’t miss much in a larger sense. Landscape is hardly taught in any art school. It is more of a submission subject and many teachers actively dissuade promising students from painting landscapes.”

During that whole time span of six-seven years between his graduation and till 1999, he did try everything he could. “I thought oils, being not taught in school, was a serious medium. I tried acrylics too and also charcoal and pastels. How naïve I was! And learning by trial and error is hard,” he gets candid. “It is His Grace I feel that I have an inbuilt proficiency over the ‘wash’. It came naturally to me.

But to know that you have a special talent, how to hone it into individual style, to learn that on my own, required a lot of thinking and introspection. But then I knew that I am good at watercolours only after trying everything. Life teaches you if you are ready.” It never occurred to him to do anything else apart from painting. “I never did a job, but the decision was a tough one. As I was born in a Gaud Saraswat caste known for banking and hotels, family members hinted at good job opportunities in banking fields especially,” he says, adding, “But I knew that it would have been suffocating. Not doing any regular job means not getting married. Never had any relationships to break either. And frankly, it was just never on my radar. I knew well, if I wish to take this path, I will need to compromise in ways others will seldom understand.” Prabhu says even some fellow artists in admiration say that I never compromised. “Yes, I didn’t with art. But made so many compromises with the rest of things in life,” he says.

Apart from constant questions about the future from people around, there were always issues of finding opportunities. “A tag of self-taught is hard to shake, but the tag of ‘landscape painter’ was also a kind of tag,” says the artist. “And not to shake it off and ‘evolve’ towards a more ‘mature’ art form. My refusal to do so became a hurdle and my daily painting was seen and is still seen as not ‘good for the market’. All that became a kind of one struggle – to go against the normal.” Struggle against norms of landscape through his own thinking and against the norms of the art world in general when landscape is slightly looked down upon. “It is an art form not mature enough for serious painters,” he adds.

Prabhu says he paints nearly every day and the reasons are many and intertwined. “As said earlier, not accepting jobs gives a freedom to paint and learning on my own needed a lot of practice. It was a joy to paint every day and now it is indeed a sadhana. Day feels complete and fulfilling when that day’s painting comes out great. If not, it is a learning experience and introspecting what went astray, why the painting didn’t happen,” he says. “The meditation background helps.” Again, talking about struggles, he says the competitive streak and jealousy shown by artist ‘friends’ was a shock which carried him first into sadness. But before depressing feelings could set in, meditation came into his life. “Being single carried its own issues as any normal man and meditation gave a lot of help. Knowing Osho’s teachings is the best thing that happened to my life after embarking on a painterly way of life,” says the artist. “So, meditate daily, paint daily, paint meditatively. Being a professional surviving on art needs attention to selling, and making a name is also part of the journey. And yes, days of train journeys when going for landscape trips. Anyway, I never travel for leisure; it is always a painting trip!”

Prabhu says part of his struggle was with traditional mindset in the landscape field itself. Landscape of today carries on the impressionist traditions of the 18th and 19thcentury, he says. “It was a revolution then. Artists broke shackles of romantic studio traditions but we still insist on location painting. Why? Times have changed. Advent of photography and modern painting materials should have induced changes,” he says. “Use of photographs is still a taboo for most! Still, the overall landscape genre has kept itself to the ‘depiction’ mode of the scene seen in front.” Despite all claims by artists that they leave unwanted elements and keep it simple, the inherent need to depict, render scenes and things in that scene has kind of kept the landscape in stagnation mode, he says. “The imagery remains somewhat similar depending on the area or ‘school’ one belongs to. Everyone paints ‘what is expected’ in a landscape or cityscape. Most follow the masters they worship. Earlier, it used to be Indian masters and now, due to accessibility, international ones.” That made things a bit worse in a way, he says. “At least the practice of on-the-spot impressionism makes you stick to Indian reality. Following world masters create Indian landscapes with imagery which is not at all from here!”

Prabhu says the way a contemporary artist thinks about art, it’s imagery, and execution remains only the practical aspect of expressing that thought and ideas, the whole process seems absent in this genre. “The search revolves around subjects and places. No one searches for individuality or one’s own visual language. The discussions hover over techniques and in case of watercolours on materials,” he says. And amid all these traditions and standards, once someone gets a good method, technique or imagery, that seems ‘different’, they make it their signature style. “Then they repeat themselves all their lives.

Methodology ‘signature’ is understandable, which is common in abstract artists too; but signature subject? Majority of signature styles in the field of landscapes are frankly about certain kinds of subjects or some dazzling technical mastery,” he explains. “It is more of a novelty factor than a deep thought about path finding.” So, having a certain knack with the medium, but not happy to toe the line, a lot of observation and thinking went on. All led to going away from depiction mode, beautiful scene rendition to finding his individual visual language. “It was a long, long process and I didn’t actually decide to go the minimalist way on a certain day. It was not a sudden reaction. It was certainly not a personal revolt,” he informs. “Landscape is after all a genre of painting and any painting will not grow unless composition is given due importance. The way a certain ‘scene’ should get viewed, in various angles and importantly how I compose it in the space (of the artwork) became my thinking process. Slowly bold washes receded into being a support cast and composition and space division took precedence over rendition.” He says while doing all this, he made it a point not to follow any past master while keenly criticising his own work. “All the artworks that didn’t satisfy got discarded and I judged my art most harshly. Harsh enough to burn hundreds on Holi every year. Only those which are worth showing and exhibiting were kept,” he says.

His whole approach, which is minimalist, was the fruit of all this. “I will rather have a signature approach and art philosophy than a signature subject or technique as my “style”. Hence, over the years, after being a total watercolourist, I happened to paint many different themes, subjects and compositional styles,” Prabhu says. Leaving a lot of white paper was once his ‘signature’ and for some time ‘very muted colour palate’ was. But all the while, even in cityscapes, the scene in front or in photograph is only there to help him ‘compose’ a painting. Now for the past few years, like in search of mystique, the whole scene is imaginary. “The memories do help, but not taking help of any reference point like photos gives a freedom which normally I didn’t get,” he says. “All said and done, photo or the place in front influences and simplification in rendering takes a lot out of your thinking. Painting only through imagination is freeing. But then I am not a surrealist either. All my imaginary landscapes pivot towards a real world of ours.”

Not just landscape traditions, the rules and traditions of watercolour medium like not using opaque colours in adherence of transparency and “it’s wrong to use black” were never followed. “There was never a question of breaking the rules of watercolour as I never followed them in the first place! And I know the way, the approach, is not exactly minimalist as some realistic expression is indeed there. Minimalist realism may be a better choice of words, but then it seems those two words contradict each other,” he says.

As mentioned earlier, Prabhu learnt the technical part by trial and error and he was doing his own tutoring. Then he met Vasudeo Kamath, renowned realist portrait and landscape artist. In very few meetings, or outings Kamath knew that unlike everyone else, Prabhuwas neither following normal landscape rules nor following him either. “When he came to know that even though I was self-taught, I had already exhibited solo five-six times and art was going to be my way of life, a bond was created.”

Here, he tells an anecdote: “A few years ago while talking to Samir da (Mondal, who also likes my work I think) he was praising Vasudeo Kamat and I replied he is my guru. He was puzzled. His answer was; but your art is so different from his or his students! I replied I said guru, not teacher. Samir da understood. Many of his students, sadly don’t.”

Prabhu talks about signature style here and mentions a couple of incidents. “As blessed with a bold wash since beginning, I was impressed by late Prof. P.A. Dhond, a master seascape painter. Skies in my landscapes were like his and in my first Jehangir show, while I painted urban silhouettes, my skies were compared with Dhond’s by critics in papers. My joy knew no bounds. Sir took me aside one day and simply said, “If your painting reminds viewers of any other artist, however big, 75% credit/ appreciation goes to him, only 25% is yours”. Prabhu could feel his sadness and caring for his wellbeing. “I left that ‘style’ that very moment,” he says. Interestingly, his prices are not a mystery and they don’t change with clients’ deep pockets or his currency. “They remain the same in my studio, in galleries, in India and abroad online,” the artist informs. “Like many independent artists, I don’t grudge galleries their share. So prices are open and for all to see. GST is a fact of life. Incidentally, a major part of my sales happens online outside India. And GST registration is a must for exports now. Whether it is right to put GST on art is debatable and this is not the place to voice my opinion.”

Possible to get funding from organizations that provide support as they prefer to fund entire artisan communities and not just one family.

She helped the niche revival of the almostextinct traditional sari that used to be worn by the Goan tribal Kunbi women before the advent of the Portuguese in the 16th century. But textile designer and weaver of repute Poonam Pandit, who helped rescue the traditional weaves from the brink of extinction, continues to stay in Goa and work closely with the weavers. “After the completion of my project with Wendell Rodericks, which concluded with creating a collection of saris and fabrics that put Goa’s handloom textiles into the spotlight, I continued to work closely with the weavers on my own accord. I created my label Kalakar to breathe new life into old looms and provided a new market for the weaver’s weaves. This gave me a soulful reason to stay in Goa, the place I had grown to love,” she explains. Pandit, a National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT) graduate from Delhi, works directly with the weavers and there are no middlemen involved. “I source the yarn, get it dyed, deliver it to the weaver, make the designs, oversee the making, do quality control, finishing, branding, marketing and selling,” she says. Pandit says the focus of her work has been to preserve the old-world method of weaving passed down through generations, by giving it a contemporary look for today’s market. “It is relevant to present times as this traditional process of fabric making is not only environment friendly and homegrown, but also signifies slow mindful living,” she says. “With a background in textile design and having worked in this field for over 22 years besides being a weaver myself, I do have a fair understanding of the medium. I have immense respect for the weaving tradition and the finesse of hand needed to make the Goan fabric.” To revitalise the craft, Pandit and her team continues to use traditional methods, while experimenting with materials and techniques to create limited run scarves and fabrics of exquisite quality and authentic design. The products are sold online and at select boutique stores in Goa, Kerala, Pondicherry and in the UK. Pandit says the meticulous process of weaving followed at the weaver’s home and activities around the loom are culturally rooted and reflective of local ethos. “Being a part of this tradition on the brink of extinction and working with the craft through my underground Goan label is what keeps me going,” she says.

What made you take up Wendell Rodricks’ invitation to work with Goan weavers?

I developed a keen interest in traditional craft practises during my education in textile design at NIFT, Delhi. As a part of a documentation project for the course, I visited Barmer in Rajasthan and was fascinated by the work and lifestyle of artisan communities. However, because of lack of opportunities in the craft sector, I took up a job in a commercial export house in Delhi, where the majority of my work was with handloom weaves. After spending 12 years in Delhi working with furnishing/garment export and liaison organisations, fashion designers, government organisations, NGOs, educational institutions as well as artisanal textile groups across the country, I wanted to move to a peaceful place and do more interesting work. So, I wrote to Wendell Rodricks, the most prominent face of fashion in Goa. We met at SNDT in Mumbai where he was impressed to see my portfolio of handloom weaves. He asked me to initiate a project for him, researching Goan handloom and the Kunbi sari. In 2009, I landed in Goa to work on the project and that’s how my journey into the fascinating world of Goan weaves began.

You are reinventing weaves, what were the challenges that you have faced till now?

Finding manpower to increase production capacity and scale up has always been a challenge. My finances are limited and it hasn’t been possible to get funding from organisations that provide support as they prefer to fund entire artisan communities and not just one family. It is difficult to find suppliers to provide raw material in small quantities as they generally look for large orders. Getting hold of a skilled carpenter when parts of the old weaving mechanisms need repair is not easy. I work with a shelter for women in distress for knotting and finishing of the woven scarves. I train the women in making fringes, sewing the label and clipping. This way they are able to get work and earn while staying at the shelter and looking after their small children. The challenge is that their stay at the shelter is short term and it becomes difficult to keep identifying and training someone new. In this current Covid crisis our sales have been badly hit as we stock at local boutique stores on consignment basis where customers are scarce and there are no international tourists who make a major part of the clientele for buying scarves.

Did “wellwishers” warn you not to get involved with a dying craft that had almost no future?

I was warned several times. Well-wishers gradually understood that the weaver’s family and I enjoy working together and reinventing the weaves with new innovations in design. The label Kalakar, our labour of love is now a decade old and we are moving forward slowly but surely.

Tell us about your meeting the last living artisan of Goa’s very own weaving technique, Baburao Babaji Tilve. Was it easy opening a dialogue with him and the weavers?

After meeting a few disillusioned old weavers who shut operations several years ago, I had little hope but kept searching. When I reached the village of Palyem in Pernem district of North Goa, my heart soared as I heard the sound of a loom coming from the direction of the weaver’s home. There was a traditional Puncha being woven on an old wooden loom. The home belonged to Baburao Babaji Tilve, also known as Kaka which affectionately means grandfather in Konkani. Weaving since the 1950’s, Kaka used to run a full-fledged handloom workshop that gave employment to almost half his village. Having learnt the craft from his father, he passed on the knowledge to his sons and brothers. Over the years, demand for their weaves had been waning and there was competition from cheap power loom imitations, most of the looms were sold for firewood. When Kaka figured out my respect for his ancestral profession and gauged my knowledge of weaving, I was allowed into the weaver’s world and would visit every day to understand the process.

During the course of documenting the weaving process, I asked Kaka if we could work together and make something new. By now he had full confidence in my ability and he agreed, that is when our paths got interwoven.

Weren’t they sceptical about working with a designer considering they must have been unsure about how consistently they would get work?

They had never worked with a designer before and took up the work just like I had, as a project to experience, create and earn.

Did you work directly with the weavers or involve middlemen?

I work directly with the weavers and there are no middlemen involved. I source the yarn, get it dyed, deliver it to the weaver, make the designs, oversee the making, do quality control, finishing, branding, marketing and selling.

Working closely with the weavers using traditional methods, did you ever feel you needed to understand the medium better?

With a background in textile design and having worked in this field for over 22 years besides being a weaver myself, I do have a fair understanding of the medium. I have immense respect for the weaving tradition and the finesse of hand needed to make the Goan fabric.

On one hand, we have fashion where everything is about fast-changing trends and on the other are weavers, especially Goans who are famous for their laid-back lifestyle with no clue about fashion cycles, seasons, deliveries and deadlines? How did you bridge the gap?

We do not follow fast fashion trends, in fact, our practise is just the opposite. We hand craft, slow fashion, artisanal collectibles that are long lasting and environment friendly. When it comes to deliveries and deadlines, we work with enough lead time that suits our pace of production.

When did you think of launching your own label Kalakar? Describe the endeavour briefly?

After the completion of my project with Wendell, which concluded with creating a collection of saris and fabrics that put Goa’s handloom textiles into the spotlight, I continued to work closely with the weavers on my own accord. I created my label Kalakar to breathe new life into old looms and provided a new market for the weaver’s weaves. This gave me a soulful reason to stay in Goa, the place I had grown to love. To revitalise the craft, we continue to use traditional methods, while experimenting with materials and techniques to create limited run scarves and fabrics of exquisite quality and authentic design. The products are sold online and at select boutique stores in Goa, Kerala, Pondicherry and in the UK. Kaka kept weaving for many years till he got ill and had to stop. He recovered well and now oversees the work while the sons take up the weaving.

Are the local weavers working full time with you at Kalakar?

The weavers do not work full time for me, although the entire family gets involved at some stage or the other of weaving. Kaka’s youngest son starches the yarn which is a crucial process that strengthens the warp threads. His main work is farming in the family-owned fields. The youngest brother winds yarn on bobbins besides helping out with denting and drafting processes. He also helps out in household activities. One of the sons has a full-time job but weaves during his time off. Kaka himself runs a small grocery store besides overseeing the weaving. Various family members lend a hand during the process of warping. I too get involved in free-lance consultancy projects besides running Kalakar.

It’s been a decade since you launched Kalakar. What has been the experience of creating woven compositions that draw upon the narrative of fibre, from the natural old world, into the modern and technologic future world?

The focus of my work has been to preserve the old-world method of weaving passed down through generations, by giving it a contemporary look for today’s market. It is relevant to present times as this traditional process of fabric making is not only environment friendly and homegrown, but also signifies slow mindful living. The designs enhance the character of the Goan weave and are minimalist, constructivist, modernist, linear, textural, colour blocked and many times experimental like the supplementary weft jersey fringe and light reflective series. Since we are not driven by mass produce and fast fashion, we take time in making painstakingly specialised patterns. We use materials ranging from naturally dyed organic cotton to contemporary technological and recycled fibres that push the boundaries of conventional weaving. It is all about a mix of the old and new.

What keeps you going?

When a craft tradition is provided a little support and space, it finds new ways to survive. Even simple traditions need to be preserved and allowed to evolve. Goan weaving might not be as exquisite as the brocades or Jamdanis of our country, but it does deserve its place in the history of handmade textiles of India. The very nature and properties of the indigenous fabric, make it perfect to wear in the climate and environs of its place of origin. This itself highlights the relevance and need for revival and preservation of the weave.

The soft, absorbent, pervious and light fabric is hard to keep away, on the tropical coast. Singles count – untwisted threads, lend the fabric its softness and absorbency. It takes passion and skill to weave hundreds of these without breaking. Starching with wheat flour gives resilience to the threads when stretched on the loom and undergoing the weaving process. Every single strand that constitutes the fabric is touched by hands and handled with precision and care. The meticulous process of weaving followed at the weaver’s home and activities around the loom are culturally rooted and reflective of local ethos. Being a part of this tradition on the brink of extinction and working with the craft through my underground Goan label – <br/> Kalakar, is what keeps me going.

Basudeb Biswas says his deep involvement with the material – from the selection of the different uneven forms from the metal scrap yard to their assemblage together in harmony – has been a quite holistic process

He grew up in the Andamans. As much as his life in the jungles was about imbibing the essence of nature, a great part of his childhood was moulded by the struggles of survival in the remote place. Says Basudeb Biswas, one of our best-known sculptors: “I am talking about a time when newspapers were not common

and only one among fifty houses would own a radio set. I did not have a formal knowledge of art. All I remember is that my school teachers would appreciate my rangolis and artworks. And back home, I thoroughly enjoyed watching my elder brother making perfectly beautiful furniture. I also have faint

memories of my father crafting exquisite in Bangladesh. This became my foundation.” His journey into art also derived inspiration from nature – observing the shells, the mischievous crawling crabs, the trees, the beautiful wooden logs at the seaside – just lying around, and all the beautiful forms that the sea would offer. “I was easily captivated by the sublimity of these raw forms of nature and that is the highest degree of art that I witnessed back in the Andamans,” Biswas says. “Beyond this, even though I was appreciating these three-dimensional forms, growing up, I didn’t quite know the meaning of sculpture.” It was only in 1978, with the guidance of the two artists from Port Blair, Niresh Poddar and Swapnish Chaudhary, that he made it to the Kala Bhavana, the reputed academy for arts in Shantiniketan. “Sculpture is something that I only started exploring in my early days there,” he says. The rest, as they say, is history. Here, in a freewheeling interview, the Jalandhar-based artist bares his heart to Team Art Soul Life.

Were you always inclined towards sculpture? What aspects of working in 3D appeals to you?

The Andamans were quite under-developed back in those times and hence, I lacked knowledge of what a sculpture meant. It is something that I only started exploring in my early days at Kala Bhavana, Shantiniketan. I did have an affinity for clay modelling and the various forms in nature, as a child. I loved seeing my mother making clay toys with her gentle hands, baking them to redness in a chulha. One of my teachers was a clay-pratima (clay idol) artist and I would often help him with the claywork. Also, when I was in the 7th grade at school, I used to help my family with agriculture in the fields and spent a good deal of time with the soil/ clay. Looking back at all these instances, I can say that I did develop a tactile association with clay from my very childhood.

Upon moving to Shantiniketan for the pursuit of a formal education in art, I found myself close with nature yet again, even though the context was very different from that of the jungles. This association with nature led me to develop certain sculptural sensibilities. I can also never forget the contribution of my art faculties, who are such famous artists, like Prof Ajit Chakraborty, Sarbari Roy Choudhury and Sushen Ghosh, who encouraged me to enter the field of sculpture. I was inspired by the softness of flowers, the rhythm of trees, the colours of birds and animals and the elegance of the human female form -in a very heavenly light. 3D in sculpture offers a sense of roundity and mystery. It makes one move around it to experience it. Every angle of the sculpture brings out a different expression. It is this experience of rotundity and the tactility that is felt through the various materials terracotta, clay, stone, metal, wax and so on- is what makes me enjoy 3D, especially because I still work with my own hands. The same sensation of touch cannot be experienced in a 2D medium.

How did your parents react when you showed your inclination towards art? Were they supportive of your decision?

Back in 1978, when I took a decision to move out of the Andamans to pursue higher education in art, my parents, who were quite old then, had no knowledge about art and art colleges. But they were fully supportive of any decision that I made and wished for my success. I was probably the second person to leave my town to pursue a life out of the jungles.

What has been the biggest hurdle in your art journey and how did you overcome it?

It has to be money, at different points in life. But every time I faced financial constraints, the hurdles themselves turned into opportunities. During my third-fourth years in college, because of limited money, I started working with waste material as it was cost-effective. I did experimental works out of scrap wood, wire mesh and plastic and brought out my desired expressions through them. This phase of experimentation set free my works to become more simplified. They were highly appreciated by eminents artists and faculties Somnath Hore and Balbir Singh Katt. Again, around the year 2008, with the onset of an economic setback in the market, I revived mywork with an economic, adaptive material exploration and started working extensively with mix-media, especially wood and nail. So, the financial hurdles paved the way for a whole new innovation every time.

Tell us about your working process and which materials and techniques do you use?

Over time I have had the joy of working with a variety of materials and techniques involved and the working process keeps changing with the material exploration that follows. I keep changing my media from time to time – from the uneven scrap wood forms that I was exploring in Shantiniketan to the textural explorations in terracotta that I have continued ever since the late 80s. In the year 1985, after completing my Master’s degree from Shantiniketan, I moved to Jalandhar, graced with the opportunity of joining as a lecturer in the Sculpture department of the Apeejay College of Fine Arts in the city. It is there that I also started teaching techniques of terracotta baking to the students. Along with the terracotta came an interesting phase of experiments with stone chips cast in cement. The combination was used as a substitute for large stone carved sculptures, something that matched the state of solidity of the latter. At the same time, I have also used stone as a medium across various national sculpture camps and residencies.

Terracotta was followed by my series of works in bronze, majorly initiated in the early 2000s. The ‘femina’ series of bronze sculptures dates back to the year 2003- elongated female figures, depicting the heavenly grace of the female existence, reaching towards the sky. These works have been cast using the ‘lostwax process’, inspiration of the technique derived from the rich traditional process of the ‘Dhokra casting’ which is still practiced by a few artisan clusters based in Odisha, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar, Bengal and also Jharkhand. The Dhokra art is known for its fineness in detail and texture. Adapting to some of the techniques from the process helps me in casting intricate patterns in my sculptures. I have developed my own interpretation of the process, combining it with modern skills. Next was mix-media, mostly scrap materials, as early as the year 2008. I started composing out of scrap wood. The assemblage of wood led to the use of nails as an additional element. This gave birth to a simultaneous ‘Mystery’ series that was an interpretation of the solid wood forms morphosed to pure bronze. While experimenting on a shift of texture and scale for a newly desired expression, I moved from the combination of ‘wood and nail’ to ‘wood and brass’, often burning and patina-finishing the wood along with the brass. The series helped me to develop my final, latest consecutive series- Ajantrik (2018) and Harano Sur (2020); sans wood, comprising only scrap brass, welded to merge and patina-finished to retain rawness. My involvement with the material- from the selection of the different uneven forms from the metal scrap yard to their assemblage together in harmony, bringing in my desired expressions, has been a process quite holistic in its experience. Through the journey, the exuberance of material exploration has transcended along. Apart from my sculptures, my refill drawings have been a unique experimental venture that has been an integral part of my works. A technique of drawing that I started experimenting in the early 1980s at Kala Bhavana almost 40 years now, continues with multiple refills held together to create a force of lines, a medium of expression. At the beginning, I started with trying to grip about 15-20 ball-pen refills between my fingers and had a limited collection of colours. Through the years of evolution, I managed to convert the bunch of separated refills into a cohesive brush-like-tool and have explored more options for the colours. This has made the process more spontaneous than ever.

Who and what have been your greatest influences?

One of the greatest influences in my life has come from eminent artist Satish Gujaral. His wood and mix-media series is something that I have always looked up to. Then there has been Somnath Hore, a renowned artist and one of my teachers at Kala Bhavana, Shantiniketan, who was always there to encourage my creations. That too became a source of motivation for me. Over the last few years, alongside working on my scrap brass series, I have been immensely moved by the works of the famous Indian art film director, Ritwik Ghatak. His bold yet emotional depiction of an inanimate car as a character, brought out in the most imaginative way, in his 1958 film Ajantrik, had later become a great source of inspiration for my Scrap Brass series called ‘Ajantrik’ (2018).

You have been recognised for innovative use of material in your artwork. What is it about these materials that resonates so strongly with you tactilely and visually?

I would like to talk about two of my innovative material explorations. First, terracotta. There is a palpable art that lies in the whole process of the terracotta baking, from the conception, into the clay modelling, to seeing them evolve with the warmth of the flames. I often achieve a peculiar redness of the terracotta that is intrinsic to Punjab’s soil. The varying tints and shades of the red, attained by the pieces, come from different degrees of baking and the surface treatment, rendering them with unique identities. I till date, sometimes get mesmerized by the kind of inconceivable colours that they attain. I also keep experimenting with different textures on clay, deriving unique expressions from the experimental surface treatment alone. Second, scrap brass. There is a certain thrill in encountering some of the very unprecedented forms just lying around in the metal scrap yards. It is also the whole process of visualizing the outlandish forms coming together, creating a whole new language-is what makes me highly resonate with scrap brass as a material. Sculpture. The word alone brings to mind art that’s weighty—made of marble, bronze, or welded steel— and often monochromatic and static. However, your innovative handling of form where you appear to usurp gravity, makes dense and heavy materials seem weightless.

How do you do that?

This is a very good observation that you’ve made. I have indeed been asked this question by people a couple of times. So, I am mostly endeavouring to achieve a rhythmic form that takes the onlookers’ eyes upwards, creating a heavenly movement. Most of my works are elongated, have a minimal lower base, often lifted from the ground to portray a sense of weightlessness and are usually heavier upwards. Even if you look at all of my bronze female forms, they are toe-raised to convey a sense of lightness. Also their fragile forms, the tender gestures, the delicacy of the flowing hair, all add to the effect. At one of my exhibitions back in 2007, famous lyricist Gulzar saab too appreciated the fragility of my sculptural works.

My latest scrap brass works again break away from the monotony of solidity through a placement of forms along with gaps that allows for air to pass through, and gives it a character of ‘breathable’. These perforations lend a sense of visual weightlessness.

A lot of sculptors are defying old paradigms using unconventional materials, combining color and motion. Are you also consciously trying to change sculpture’s scope?

won’t say that I am using unconventional materials but I seek ways to treat the conventional materials in an unconventional nature. I am definitely upholding the contemporary spirit of art through my unique approach to scrap assemblage. Yes, I am surely trying to consciously change sculpture’s scope in my own way, by defying the conventional approach to seeing certain elements. My experiments with antique patina bring a certain degree of weight to my works. I strive to create a new language altogether with the welding of the scrap parts, often completely changing the story of the objects that are a part of it. Sometimes, brass peacock feathers become the hair or a cooking pot becomes the head, all merged to look cohesive yet distinct.

How would you describe your artistic mission?

My ultimate mission is to work on a monumental scale someday, to create Public Art- outdoor installations or sculptures, that become a platform for an open dialogue with the public, creating its own narration. The idea encompasses the creation of works of enormity that have an influence, an impact to live.

Tell us about your latest collection, Harano Sur – The Lost Melody…

My latest collection ‘Harano Sur’ (the lost melody), in scrap brass, was conceived and executed during the

lockdown last year (in 2020). Amidst all the chaos and the uncertainty that the Covid pandemic brought with it, there was a loss of harmony in most people’s lives. It created a disorder- a lost melody. Harano Sur sees the various scrap elements or objects as disintegrated parts of people’s dismayed lives. They are then brought together in harmony to express an order in the disorder. Simultaneously, ‘Harano Sur’ (the lost melody) presents a story of rebirth. What had once lost its identity, resurfaces to life in harmony. The daily objects that we use become a part of our lives. An object of possession, it gains an identity of its own.

We have certain memories attached to it. But what happens when it becomes old and is given away to scrap collectors. They end up in a scrap yard, mixed with tonnes of other such dilapidated, broken objects. It tends to lose its identity. It gets lost in the multitude. For a metal scrap part, the object’s identity further gets dissolved as the metal object is melted down in a furnace to a mere mass of metal. When an artist visualizes the scrap object as a part of his or her creation, it gives it a second chance to come alive again, often along with several other objects brought together in a balance. The lost identity is translated into something meaningful, lending the object a new identity, a repurpose to exist. It gains a longer life. And it reveals a whole new expression.

The collection sees various emotions across the range of the sculptures in it.

For example, the sculpture ‘Fear Mask’ is a representation of the prevailing atmosphere of fear. ‘Covid’ was unheard of, two years ago. Now, everyonebe it a child or an elderly person- is notoriously familiar

with it. Bringing uncertainty, unemployment, tension, death- the fear it spreads is as pervasive as the masks we now wear. In contrast to the ‘Fear Mask’, my work ‘Inseparable’ brings forth the idea of balance and togetherness in times of distress.

The hilly landscape of Agartala, animals, tribal culture, and colour are the main subjects of Joydeep Bhattacharjee’s work who uses nature as a prominent motif
TEXT: TEAM ART SOUL LIFE

Nature has always been a great inspiration to artists – from cave drawings of animals, to contemporary artists working today. Artists have depicted nature as a setting to express their inner feelings, forever changing the face of art. As famed impressionist artist Paul Cezanne stated, “Painting from nature is not copying the object; it is realising one’s sensations. Treat nature in terms of the cylinder, the sphere, the cone, everything in proper perspective.” Joydeep Bhattacharjee, a seasoned artist from Agartala, the capital of Tripura, is one such creative soul, who is a science graduate, but he did his Masters in Fine Arts and presently teaches Painting at the Government Art College, Agartala. Nature is used as a prominent motif in the artwork of Bhattacharjee, who speaks through ink, charcoal and acrylic paints. “Nature is composed of so many little ingredients. The interaction between different beings, and the eternal cycle of creation and destruction is my inspirational force,” he says. “I was brought up in Tripura, and the hilly landscapes there, the flurry of activities, the amalgamation of tribal and nontribal cultures, both influenced by modern lifestyle – all these elements form the backdrop of my art.” He says There are many different ways to approach the subject of nature in art and it can open our eyes to the intricacy and beauty of the natural world. It can simply be a pretty picture that appreciates nature for what it is… or it can be a challenging piece expressing our complex human connection to nature. Art can serve a purpose beyond being an object of beauty: it can also address pressing environmental issues and topics about conservation, sustainability, preservation, biodiversity, and threatened habitats. Art has the ability to interact with and educate the viewer about these issues, spreading awareness about such important topics. We feel an instinctual need to take care of the things we feel connected to. Art can help renew, or spark anew, our connection with nature. “Tripura is a small hill state in the North East surrounded by Assam and Bangladesh and its natural beauty always inspires him to draw and paint. Its hilly landscape, animals, tribal culture, colour are the main subjects of my work,” he says. A God-fearing man, you’ll also come across the presence of the Almighty as the creator of the world in his art. “I believe folk culture is the best reflection of purity and simplicity and it often finds itself as a prominent theme on my canvas. I mostly work with reds and blues,” he adds.

For Bhattacharjee, art is the way to live and something for which he can compromise with everything in his life. “Art is something which has been a very critical part of my life from a very young age. I was inspired by my grandfather Nani Gopal Ray, who was also an artist. Art is like my soulmate, which is as close to me as my parents with whom I can share every emotion of mine,” he says. In these hyperreal, digital times, it is easy to forget, and even resist, that we are susceptible to natural forces. Art can help us become more conscious of our true relationship with nature. It is undoubtedly important to feel a connection to the natural world… in fact, it is vital to our survival! The first step to creating art based on nature is to spend time in nature. So, unplug yourself. Turn off your screens. Go outside. Tune into your surroundings. Feel the wind upon your cheek. Observe the veins of a leaf, sit against the trunk of a tree, watch a river flow.