Conceptualizing FLOW | Thinking through Vibha Galhotra's Artistic Practice.

“FLOW-II” metal beads {ghungroos} on fabric, 48“ x 96”, 2014

This text has been written for Vibha Galhotra's Solo booth Art|Basel Hong Kong|May|15--18

Vibha Galhotra has emerged as one of the most important sculptural abstractionist; developing a language within ‘new genre sculpture’. Over the years her works have carried deep empathy with concerns about public spaces and environment, which have been encoded in large sculptural poetries. As one of the rare artist who makes large scale sculptures and assemblages, and give them a value beyond the ‘Spectacle'*, Galhotra’s works gives us moments of pause and contemplation in the ‘contemporary society of the hyper spectacular’. Matte, monochromatic, darkness, rust come into making a language that has created an alternative to the bling, plasma, and fluorescent dominated contemporary visual culture. 

Galhotra symbolizes the eclectic turn in contemporary understanding of medium and material. Her practice has always resisted being framed by the medium.She works in varied mediums including photography, animation, found object, performance, installation and sculpture. Each material is used for a reason to convey the conceptual thread. Monumental scale and intimate use of material open up ways to go beyond the dystopia of mainstream urbanity and imagine an alternative narrative. For her medium becomes a mean to create and consider different narratives about globalization and growth. Her work has always transgressed the zones between art and citizenship - challenging definitions of art, ecology, economy, science, spirituality and activism.

Abstraction has always been a significant tool for artists seeking to (re) create emptiness (void) in space and time. Philosophically this question of absence and presence has been felt to be one of the biggest challenges for artists. For Galhotra these questions of emptiness, void, pause have been the most important formal challenges. Especially because her work is (also) a medium for her to express deep concerns about public spaces and lived environment along with her emotional connect with nature. Ideology and detachment both become important for Galhotra. This makes Galhotra an artist who transgresses the definitions of narrative and abstraction.

“FLOW is a series of work which started with mapping of the river passing by the city I live in. My intention is to recreate an image by deconstructing the existing image. As mentioned above that the walks around the flowing river which is dead now has been the inspiration for this series of work. I being an observer and documenting the time, layering life with the flowing river. I am creating a organically sewn, aesthetical surface to invite the viewer, to the clean and beautiful facade to talk about the chaos behind.”

Vibha Galhotra

“FLOW” metal beads {ghungroos} on fabric, 84 x 96, 2014

When mighty rivers flow, they carry with them memories of land they flow by as sediments. From being fertile, to being toxic, to healing, these sediments are embedded with markers of the lands and civilizations and their relationship with nature. Flow is a metaphor that works within the zones of temporality and permanence; we attach it to time, water, life and thoughts. Her practice works within the poetry around the aesthetics of flow and the memories of sediments.

The murder of Yamuna by all the toxic waste being pumped in by the city of Delhi was very disturbing for the artist and brought her to the doors of exploring larger questions about relationship between rivers and the civilizations. Emotionally there was a realization that these rivers have been suffocated and poisoned by the great cities that they have nurtured. One can register this as the basic impulse that has lead the artist to explore rivers and work with the markers and memories they carry.

Gallery View-  SEDIMENTS AND THE OTHER UNTITLED..... at Exhibit320

However Galhotra is not interested in lapsing the space between aesthetics and ideology, in fact working with both, yet bypassing both these binaries creates the key value in her artistic practice. Thus we come across a body of works which is deeply (in) vested in citizenship, yet marking the confluence of aesthetics and hermeneutics in an neo-Kantian manner, exploring how narratives and temporality interact and ultimately return to the question of the meaning of being, the self and self-identity.

Flow layers the discourse of Globalisation with Universalism and Neo Kantian Humanism. The rivers and their sediments become reflections of contemporary humanity and the environment that we shape. Yet these reflections are not shiny, they don’t jump out asking you to see them, they open the space for imagination to travel, for the senses to get a break away from the visual culture of contemporary urbanity. Creating metaphors through shapes she fashions space and time for the reflection to come from within.

*“The Society of the Spectacle” by Guy Debord. First published during 1967 in France.

The leaders we want

This post is in a reactive dialogue with images such as these that have been flooding my visual space. 

As days pass, i think it is maddening to see the political dumbness around in this country. Before Modi was declared the BJP PM candidate, i could still understand people fantasying about him as PM. Everyone from their own positions has been frustrated by the Congress which for the last ten years has been trying to keep the social stalemates alive and yet silently push a global corporate agenda. It was but understandable that the large sections of democracy does not think critically (it seems they tend to think re-actively); and that section would find Mr. Narendar Modi as very attractive. As it is the electronic media has numbed our reactions to violence and crime...and it has been over 20 years of watching riots and terrorism on television while having dinner and the breaking off into watching Pepsi ads. 

It has become un-understandable and maddening now cause after being named the BJP official PM candidate, Modi has shown many many disgusting colors. Many arguments have been made against Modi and I do not think i want to add to that, but how is it that it has gone unnoticed that Modi only keeps thugs and god-men around him. Mark my words...only.  Apart form Arun Jaitley (who Modi desperately needs, and whose greed desperately needs Modi), all the educated , liberal  withing the BJP were quickly marginalized. Some like Jaswanth Singh have had the guts to openly revolt. It has come to such a farce, that one cannot think who are the people who will be entrusted important cabinet posts. Also the sheer amount of money this one man has spend, not promoting a partly or a ideology or even a broader slogan...but just his name is staggering. 

Is this the kind of leaders we want? Is that the message we want to give our children by making heros of people like Modi? As it is when we go on saying we want a strong leader, we acknowledge that as citizens we want to be lazy and surrender. Asking for a strong leader is the first sign of a weak nation. More so when people stop asking how is the leader going to use the strength!!!
It also shows how very intelligent we are, when we fall into the "If you are anti Modi, You are pro Congress" trap. 

When You Push

When you push
and it does not move;
Then you feel like pushing harder.
When you push harder
and it does move;
Then you feel like pushing more.
When you push more
and it does not move;
Then you feel like pushing harder.

Space, anger, victory, defeat...
all become one.
Push is a hard word
Easier to pull gently than to push softly.

When you push
and it does not move;
Then you feel like pushing harder.
When you pull or hug
and it does not move;
Will you do it (again) softer?
Same thing with small differences
create different journeys for the soul. 

A Short Note on Gulam Mohammed Sheikh's 'Art and Art History'

Art and Art History | Gouache | 30 x 40 cm | 1996 |

Courtesy. Shirish Panchal Collection. 

As a critical post modern miniaturist, Sheikh has been a member of the avant-garde who reinvented the idea of narrative for Contemporary Indian Art. The title of the work reminds one of Binod Behari Mukherjee’s murals, reflecting a continuity of thought around art, its history and its pedagogy. Yet in the hands of Binod Behari’s student this analogy of discipline and landscape becomes restless and radical. There are hints of deep, yet almost untraceable shadows of surrealist iconography that anticipates a dystopia. My eyes can see Beauty enshrined and protected, yet being washed away by storm and inferno. Art and its history are man made, yet the universe weeps when art dies. But it never dies, always survives the storm.

The handling of material is starling. Gouache as medium has defined by its opaque character. Sheik transforms it, challenging gouache to become water colour. These eclectic expectations from medium challenge our notions regarding relationships between the physical and the conceptual.

Steps on the pavement

That evening he walked out of the jail gates...

And it was moments before sunset

As he kept walking

Steps on the pavement

He almost felt it was home

Walking down the path

By now deserted

Steps on the pavement 

Big dark city on a winter night

'Akele Hum Akele Tum' playing through a stranger window

Somehow brought back memories

Of radios and winter nights

Life lay scattered like unplanned lanes leading to various no-wheres 

Fourteen years in prison makes one forget a lot

That chilling murder he could never forget

But they made him work in the 'mess' for fourteen years

Food was the last thing on his mind

By now hunger had become a distant dream 

Steps on the pavement 

She was not at home

The posters was still up on her wall

But there were cobwebs in the balcony

A sleeping neighborhood

At the end you are just alone

Steps on the pavement

A car rushing past

Life disappearing in the rear view mirror

As he kept walking

He almost felt it was home

Claws on the pavement

The feel of dogs behind him

The quietness and silence felt like death

Some of them

Many of them

Remembering the posters was still up on her wall

He kept on walking

But he forgot that there were cobwebs in the balcony

Steps on the pavement

Pretending not to run

The roads parted

Like they did in those filthy school books.

Like it had fourteen years ago

One path seemed lightened

The other was dark

He chose the light this time

Untimely salvation is worse than sin

The road ended under a a dead banyan tree

And an old blind dog

The steps on the pavement stopped

The steely silence of a winter night 

The claws on the pavement had stopped

'Akele Hum Akele Tum' floating from a distant radio

Still as a monk, the blind dog sat

He stood still as his life flashed by

And then that deafening bark from the monk

All the dogs attacked

A silence that only death can carry

Blood on the pavement 

A car rushing past

Life disappearing in the rear view mirror

The golden coast of Malabar

The Golden Coast of Malabar | Story told in words by Rahul Bhattacharya, re told visually by Samudra Kajal Saikia | Order your copy at kankhowa@gmail.com.

One happy day when I was a young little boy, someone told me, that the coast of Malabar is very beautiful and neat.

One day I went and I saw, that the sea was blue, the trees were green and along with the golden sand, the coast of Malabar was special indeed.

One happy day in Malabar, I was lying on the sand. When an ant came and bit me here, bit me there and went.

Then came another ant, slowly there came many more ants; they bit me here, bit me there, they really bite me everywhere.

On that beautiful day in the coast of Malabar, as I was dying in pain, I heard a small voice talk to me and call me by my name. 

“I am sorry Mr. Donkey” I heard him say. “These are all young ants and they shall learn their lessons one day.”

He climbed my nose and proceeded to say, “Please do not attack our small little hole, our queen begs to be forgiven, or so I am told.”

Then he turned to the young little ants. “I warn you again you little young ants”, he crackled as he spoke, “If you go on biting, the humans will fill our holes”.

That strange morning on the beautiful Malabar sand, I could not help praising the crackling old ant.

If indeed he had not come by, I would have really filled the nearest ant hole before saying goodbye.

A small story I saw...

***

It was a hot summer evening everywhere near my house, and as I lay beside the pickles mother had left for sunning, I saw a colony of red ants. Like in all ant colonies, a board at the entrance read 

“tiredness is a word outside the Dictionary of Ants”.

Now, like all words, Mr. Tiredness hates not being printed in all the dictionaries, and ever since I can remember, and I can remember a lot of things, Mr. Tiredness was trying his best to be a word in the Dictionary of Ants. 

Every time he saw an ant colony, he would camp nearby and hope to be introduced to the Dictionary. As I looked through the blades of grass, I saw a pale blue man who looked like he was doing nothing.

He was setting up his tent about 5 meters away from the ant hole. Did I forget to tell you that he was very small indeed? Nearly 6 centimeters tall, he was about the size of a cockroach. Imagine it very wobbly and walking upright.

He looked much tiered; and he was complaining “how much I hate to work……even if a lot of it means doing simply nothing”. He lay there hoping for a quick introduction to the Dictionary of Ants.

***

 The little ant Alina had never felt like this before. She was actually looking for a place to sit. Till now she had been busy walking with the ant army, ready to attack a sticky yellow toffee which I had spit out a few minutes before.

Taking a turn away from the line she was walking in, she spotted a shade under a blade of glass and sat there.  She started staring at the sky and sometimes at her mates busily walking by.

Slowly but surely Ruchi, Jason, Rumana, and Jeet joined her. Many other ants had started wanting to sit down. Slowly but surely all of them started yawning. Jason even started dreaming about sleep

 “Wait….. Wait don’t do that”…. my mind screamed, but before I could do anything, the gardener aimed his water pipe right  at the ant hill, the water drops started helplessly landing and hoping to escape a bite.

 

As the waters drops started landing on the ant hill, Jeet jumped up, “these Pants are horrible”…… “They always come between us and our lives”. Jeet started rubbing his chin in anger. Oh yes! He nearly rubbed his chin right in.

Rumana always shouts when she is angry. “Stop wetting us” She burst out a shout, her brain began to heat up with every drop of cold water that fell. I wanted about to stop the maali, so started just thinking what to yell.

I was surprised to see the line of ants still carrying on, unaffected by the gentle spray….only our angry ant friends seemed disturbed………only our tiered young ants seemed disturbed.

 By now Alina had picked up a ball of mud and flung it at the nearest water drop. She started screaming “Pants are merciless” …… Jason stood up... “We need to revolt”.  Then I saw Anpu joining the group.

 Stamping her feet on the ground, Anpu started to give a great speech and asking all the ants to bite the gardener. Stamping their feet on the ground all the 6 ants started singing “Bite the gardener, Bite that Pant”.  

 By then our angry ant friends were sitting around and trying to imagine a good way to bite us Pants. They were yawning and yawning planning a bite. They dreamed and dreamed for a bite.

Through the corner of my eyes I caught a small movement. Mr. Tiredness had stopped had just started doing something. He hates cold water just like your pet; as soon as his tent started leaking, he busily packed up his bags and withered away.

It was strange to see Alina get up and join the line of ants. Soon Ruchi got up. Soon all of them had joined the line and had all started walking in a row. Marching with the beat that only the ants are supposed to know.

I heard Mr. Tiredness had gone to buy a waterproof tent and will be back very soon, so the next time you are bitten by an ant do not forget to look. You will surely spot a pale blue man who looks like a balloon.

***

Everywhere I went

Everywhere I went, she used to come after me.

Everywhere she went, he used to run after her.

Everywhere I was they used to be there too.

Somewhere I went, she came somewhere with me.

Somewhere she went, he went running somewhere.

Somewhere I went, they were somewhere too.

To a cold place I went, she came to a cold place with me.

To a cold place she went, he ran to a cold place with her.

To a cold place I went, they were in a cold place too.

To see a sunrise I went, she came to see the sunrise too.

To see a sunrise she went, he ran to see the sunrise too.

To see a sunrise I went, they saw the sunrise too.

Everywhere I went, she used to come after me.

Everywhere she went, he used to run after her.

Everywhere I was they used to be there too.

Then one day on a trip I went.

That one trip I wanted to go alone.

 I was really afraid that they would be there too.

To a place called Nowhere I went, she came Nowhere with me.

Nowhere she went, so he went running Nowhere.

To a place called Nowhere I went, and they were Nowhere with me.

two rhymes and a verse

I

There is no eye in the sky
Even in The Catcher in the Rye
No fly in my chai
Just heat in her sigh

II

Dogs sleeping under the sun
There is sun for everyone
Some stay in shade 
And don't have fun

                          *********** 


I


He did not know the story to tell
Just flashbacks from a florescent media 
Delicate inconsistencies
The universe is our post modern God