It is often said that in your lifetime, you should do one thing you have never done before, something so daring that it scares you. And we are not talking of falling in love; that should set shivers down the strongest. So this month, I do something that I’ve never done before – curate a big art show for the first time. I do visit art museums and attend art shows regularly, but have never done anything as momentous as trying to bring 15-20 contemporary artists together in a group show. It’s an experience where I’m going to learn along the way. Of course, I have curated the two weddings of my children, but am not sure if that really counts. Though this might have given me the courage to plunge into an event with the assurance that I have the support of the artist community who are cheering me on.
Even if I enter this new world with trepidation, I have a long history in art as an acolyte. I have sat with famed art collectors Kamla and Jagdish Mittal, whose private collection of Indian art is known throughout the world, to look at their vast collection of paintings, textiles, and folk and tribal art. Because of looking at art with Mittalji’s finely-honed eye, I can recognize kitsch and unbearable dissonance in a work. I can clearly see when art is merely imitative. For instance, here in Telangana, we have several young artists who, instead of finding their unique voice, want to be like Thota Vaikuntam and paint endless repetitions of his Telangana men and women. While these men and women no doubt belong to the whole state, but young students must realize there can be only one Vaikuntam, who drew image after image of a passing panorama on the narrow street of his home in his village: of those statuesque ayyagarulu (as he calls the Brahmins) and the lascivious women in colorful saris and blouses and mukkupudakulu and kadiyams. Telangana women are his speciality, so let others find different ways of interpreting the world around them.
To be an artist of any worth, you need the rigor. The discipline. We as buyers see only their success now (read prices), not understanding that a master artist like Laxma Goud struggled for years to find his style. After his uninspiring days at the art college in Hyderabad, when he went to MSU at Baroda, the great teacher KG Subramanyan saw how rustic he was, and didn’t think there was any point talking to him about art theories and European art; rather gave him what he believes is his life’s finest lesson. Which was to dig deep within himself, to look at his own milieu in Nizampur, to remember the creativity of potters and goldsmiths and street artists, to recalls the men in his village who lusted after women there, and women who let them lust after them, feeling no shame at these sexual encounters or desires.
“I was carrying this wealth of images from my rustic milieu in Nizampur, and it was Manida who said go back and paint the people you know best,” he had told me during our many encounters.
I admit, I have spent hours talking to Laxma, Vaikuntam, and the late Surya Prakash, to know their struggles, how they used to bike and hike to distant parts of the city reflecting its rocks, the goats, and the Banjara women. I realized they sketched and doodled for years, before they found that compelling vision that we now associate with them. Gallerists and curators didn’t flock to them those days, as they do now. “When I went with my portfolio of black and white drawings, gallerists laughed at me saying how can this black and white drawings even be art,” confided Laxma for a book I was doing on him.
It is often said that in your lifetime, you should do one thing you have never done before, something so daring that it scares you. And we are not talking of falling in love; that should set shivers down the strongest. So this month, I do something that I’ve never done before – curate a big art show for the first time. I do visit art museums and attend art shows regularly, but have never done anything as momentous as trying to bring 15-20 contemporary artists together in a group show. It’s an experience where I’m going to learn along the way. Of course, I have curated the two weddings of my children, but am not sure if that really counts. Though this might have given me the courage to plunge into an event with the assurance that I have the support of the artist community who are cheering me on.
Even if I enter this new world with trepidation, I have a long history in art as an acolyte. I have sat with famed art collectors Kamla and Jagdish Mittal, whose private collection of Indian art is
To be an artist of any worth, you need the rigor. The discipline. We as buyers see only their success now (read prices), not understanding that a master artist like Laxma Goud struggled for years to find his style. After his uninspiring days at the art college in Hyderabad, when he went to MSU at Baroda, the great teacher KG Subramanyan saw how rustic he was, and didn’t think there was any point talking to him about art theories and European art; rather gave him what he believes is his life’s finest lesson. Which was to dig deep within himself, to look at his own milieu in Nizampur, to remember the creativity of potters and goldsmiths and street artists, to recalls the men in his village who lusted
It is by listening and observing I have I gained insight into the art world, more importantly, the struggles of artists. I have spent hours watching Laxma work at his print-making table, or sit like a miniaturist working on small bits of paper; visited Surya Prakash at the LV Prasad Eye Institute that had given him a studio, and of course, have seen Vaikuntam as a struggling artist in his tiny home in Chikkadpally, where he had the support of his wife who took care of their home and children while he painted his Telangana women endlessly.
In curating this show, maybe I am just paying a tribute to the artists I have been privileged to know and have had conversations with, and giving hope to a future generation of artists who are still looking for their light in a world that must be so dark. As an editor, if I am bringing various pieces of information and interviews into a magazine that comes month after month, here too, I am like a conductor who is orchestrating the varying talent of artists into one group show. Together we should make great music. My artist friends and I.
RATNA RAO SHEKAR