As the nation heads towards another Republic Day celebration amidst the usual chatter about the state of intellectual decline, it seems appropriate to ask whether artists too have fallen prey to the sense of ennui and apathy that editorial writers and alternate cinema directors keep holding up as a mirror of our times. Have artists today become more self-centred and self-absorbed? Do they listen to each other or only to the ring of the till of the market?
Working on a comprehensive history of art practice in India, I was delighted to discover scattered information on discourses around art making, nationhood and society. This was not something that was limited to artists, and poets, writers, theatre, cinema and literature responded to the challenge. The Bengal School that began at its salon in Jorasanko, the Tagore residence in Calcutta, was an act of rebellion against the academic paintings thrust on the country by the ruling British. Amrita Sher-Gil and Rabindranath Tagore rejected the Bengal School in turn. But even before Souza's Progressive Artists' Group spurned them all, there was a Calcutta-based collective of progressive artists. This was replaced by the Bombay Artists Group, before which there had been the Young Turks. Calcutta alone had the Calcutta Group, Calcutta Painters and its Society of Contemporary Artists. J. Swaminathan and 11 others formed Group 1890. In Madras, the brilliant K C S Paniker led the movement that resulted in the creation of Cholamandal, an artists' commune in the city's suburbs.
Artists tend to be volatile and these collectives were combustible for more reasons than one, which is why most didn't survive more than a few years, if that. But in those brief interludes, one heard the voice of the artists more lucidly than at any other time. There is anger but also resolve in the writings of Sher-Gil, Souza and Swaminathan, though my guess is they wouldn't have liked each other very much if they had met. Krishen Khanna, Ram Kumar and S H Raza wrote elegant letters, often to each other, discussing different nuances of their own and others' art. Several artists, some now no more, whom I was privileged to meet, spoke of the addas they patronised. While they held forth on the state of the nation over kulhar tea, their wives worked in offices to support them and their families, a contribution that needs to be acknowledged.
This isn't a maudlin column about the past, but about the vacuum artists must feel today. With the exception of collectives like Khoj with its extraordinary contribution to younger artists, there seems to be no space for them to address concerns not just about their work but everything else that has an impact on it. In the 1940s and '50s or, indeed, the '60s, it was the artists themselves who created their own platforms and movements. The idea of an "Indian" modern in their work was central to their practice, even if its manifestations were vastly different.
In the 21st century, artists are more socially and politically aware, something their work reflects to their credit. But what is their engagement outside their own practice? They have opinions that they are not reticent about airing at different fora, but these are individual, not collective, platforms. No longer do they engage with each other, and though issues about nationhood might betray a narrow parochialism - anathema in these times - why is there so little concern for mankind as a cerebral quest and not as a subject for their work? Which is why it must be asked, if they are not listening to each other, why must viewers?
Working on a comprehensive history of art practice in India, I was delighted to discover scattered information on discourses around art making, nationhood and society. This was not something that was limited to artists, and poets, writers, theatre, cinema and literature responded to the challenge. The Bengal School that began at its salon in Jorasanko, the Tagore residence in Calcutta, was an act of rebellion against the academic paintings thrust on the country by the ruling British. Amrita Sher-Gil and Rabindranath Tagore rejected the Bengal School in turn. But even before Souza's Progressive Artists' Group spurned them all, there was a Calcutta-based collective of progressive artists. This was replaced by the Bombay Artists Group, before which there had been the Young Turks. Calcutta alone had the Calcutta Group, Calcutta Painters and its Society of Contemporary Artists. J. Swaminathan and 11 others formed Group 1890. In Madras, the brilliant K C S Paniker led the movement that resulted in the creation of Cholamandal, an artists' commune in the city's suburbs.
Artists tend to be volatile and these collectives were combustible for more reasons than one, which is why most didn't survive more than a few years, if that. But in those brief interludes, one heard the voice of the artists more lucidly than at any other time. There is anger but also resolve in the writings of Sher-Gil, Souza and Swaminathan, though my guess is they wouldn't have liked each other very much if they had met. Krishen Khanna, Ram Kumar and S H Raza wrote elegant letters, often to each other, discussing different nuances of their own and others' art. Several artists, some now no more, whom I was privileged to meet, spoke of the addas they patronised. While they held forth on the state of the nation over kulhar tea, their wives worked in offices to support them and their families, a contribution that needs to be acknowledged.
This isn't a maudlin column about the past, but about the vacuum artists must feel today. With the exception of collectives like Khoj with its extraordinary contribution to younger artists, there seems to be no space for them to address concerns not just about their work but everything else that has an impact on it. In the 1940s and '50s or, indeed, the '60s, it was the artists themselves who created their own platforms and movements. The idea of an "Indian" modern in their work was central to their practice, even if its manifestations were vastly different.
In the 21st century, artists are more socially and politically aware, something their work reflects to their credit. But what is their engagement outside their own practice? They have opinions that they are not reticent about airing at different fora, but these are individual, not collective, platforms. No longer do they engage with each other, and though issues about nationhood might betray a narrow parochialism - anathema in these times - why is there so little concern for mankind as a cerebral quest and not as a subject for their work? Which is why it must be asked, if they are not listening to each other, why must viewers?
Kishore Singh is a Delhi-based writer and art critic. These views are personal and do not reflect those of the organisation with which he is associated