Evocation of nature

Artists have been known to change their nature of work well into their careers, often opting for visual imagery that is a political or a social commentary about their lived experiences — Tyeb Mehta and Rameshwar Broota being cases in point. But no one epitomises this more than A Ramachandran, for whom the shift was an epiphany. A Malayali artist who studied in Santiniketan and came to New Delhi to work, Ramachandran found his muse in Rajasthan’s Mewar region amidst lotus ponds and a tribal society whose way of life fascinated him. Ramachandran was reborn. An artist who painted suffering and violence in the modernist manner of the 20th century, he was beguiled into becoming a chronicler of nature’s munificence.

Whatever Ramachandran tells you of this catalytic moment, one can only imagine his turmoil and struggle at this point. Beauty for its own sake was anathema to the modern artist, not to be taken seriously — as several contemporary artists too will testify. While collectors stake out their works, critics are less kind about their repertoire. That their pursuits may reflect an optional view within the canons of Indian art practice and philosophy are hardly considerations. The making of art that does not proselytise is not considered “high art”. As an art teacher at Jamia Millia University and a former student of Ramkinkar Baij in Santiniketan, Ramachandran could not but be aware of these pitfalls.

Yet, his evocation of Rajasthan’s pastoral beauty has become a lifelong pursuit, providing his work a continuity rare in any artist. Ramachandran could have found similar loveliness elsewhere too — not least in his native Kerala — but in choosing to dedicate his practice to documenting a way of life in and around Nagda, Ramachandran became a chronicler of its simple grace. A self-deprecating if witty interpolation lay in inscribing himself into his own work, the passerby fish or wasp or turtle in the nature of a whimsical self-portrait, drawing an unflattering parallel to gargoyles in traditional Indian mural paintings and sculptures.

At his retrospective in Mumbai’s National Gallery of Modern Art (till 12 June), a selection from his career is represented by way of both paintings and sculpture — a good many of the latter catching even the Ramachandran junkie by surprise. His sculptures tend to be totemic. Here, too, he makes an appearance, whether in installations or single pieces built up like icons. That his paintings are not created entirely of imagination is indicated by photographs taken over the years — of the lotus ponds of which he is a chronicler, of the village headman and the young girls who are the subject of so many of his paintings, though identity and familiarity did stoke a period of turmoil when it was insinuated to the villagers by some middlemen that the artist was exploiting his relationship with them to generate personal wealth.

All that is now of the past. While several paintings included in the retrospective are of recent vintage, showing the artist’s ability to paint like a master into his eighties, there is a noticeable change too. Whether because he no longer feels the need to personalise the idyllic community he had come to know so well, or to concentrate more closely on his subject, his fresh canvases are replete with large, curling lotus leaves over which swarms of birds and butterflies take flight into their hundreds, while insect larvae, caterpillars, snails, beetles and other crawly beings point to a world of nature that urban dwellers are ignorant of. Ramachandran’s ongoing tribute honours a world we have endangered and are in danger of losing entirely if recent climatic episodes are any indication.

A Ramachandran with his artist wife Chameli Ramachandran

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