The critics' artist turns people's artist

Beneath the shy exterior, Rabin Mondal is pleased as punch. He is 76 years old, and this week, thanks to the efforts of the Delhi Art Gallery (DAG), 113 of his best works are on view in a travelling retrospective of the prolific artist who was too modest for aggressive self-promotion but far too talented to ignore.

A career that began as an antidote to boredom, when he was confined to bed with a knee injury at the age of 12, went on to span an exhaustive six decades.

For a man whose only structured learning in art was evening classes at the Indian art school in Calcutta and art appreciation classes much later on in life, his mastery over his craft is indisputable.

His talent was first noticed by a progressive matriarch in the family, who insisted that Mondal be allowed to pursue an education in art.

However, as circumstances would have it, Mondal was compelled to study commerce and seek employment in the railways instead.

"I never knew whether art would ever feed me or I would have to forever feed it, but I doggedly pursued it," reminisces Mondal.

Mondal's art has always been a stark critique on the socio-political milieu he lived in. With macabre overtones, his art is often far from aesthetic as it responds to the forces of social inequality and suffering that he encountered through an illness-ridden boyhood, the Bengal famine, pre-partition communal riots and post-partition uncertainties.

His scathing lines, force of strokes and subjects that range from dethroned kings to ferocious deities and fallen women, tell alarming tales of the potential of the human state and its predicament.

Mondal explains, "Happiness is temporary but tragedy haunts the mind. I remember suffering more than joy; however, I am not a pessimist. I think the sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest tales."

"My work stems from an interaction between the conscious and subconscious. It is never pre-meditated; I discover what I am drawing when I actually begin drawing, and then the rest of it is just a reaction to what I started doing," states Mondal.

"There are very few artists today who paint with the level of seriousness he does. It's about the kind of originality and level of distortion rarely seen besides (F N)Souza. He may not be an aesthete but his dark vision is very compelling. And he is an artist of principles; even when he didn't sell very much, he refused to alter his style of social realism," says Ashish Anand, director, DAG.

The value of a retrospective lies in that the audience gets to see the whole oeuvre of work and not just individual works. People witness how the artist has evolved, and with Mondal, his art practically holds a mirror to many decades of Bengal's history.

"What's particularly commendable about Mondal is his consistency of brilliance through his prolific career," adds Anand.

Strangely though, despite the critical acclaim, Mondal's work, for several years, remained overshadowed by the fact that he was never actively marketed.

Anand recollects the time he approached the reclusive Mondal with the intention of buying out his Howrah studio and Mondal telling him not to buy the paintings because they wouldn't sell.

Today, all that has changed and the value of his art has increased an astonishing 400 per cent over the last two years.

His work is slated to be auctioned at Sotheby's later this year, which will no doubt catapult him into international consciousness.

Today, just as demand for Mondal's art gets stronger, supply is stagnating. Poor health doesn't permit him to paint more than five or six key pieces a year.

He has resigned to his physical limitations and spends more and more time reading and listening to Rabindra Sangeet (but of course) and Western classsical music.

Rabinda is finally at peace; in the autumn of his career, the artist has got his due.