Rabindranath Tagore, as imagined by eight Bangladeshi artists, at an MEA-funded art camp.
Curving forehead, arched nose, white curls and a straight beard: Gurudev. That is, Rabindranath Tagore. You cannot mistake visual references to Tagore. He is iconic. This year is his 150th birth anniversary.
At Partition, two huge provinces were divided. The two Punjabs have no shared modern cultural “great” of Tagore’s rank. Bengal has Tagore, who is venerated in Bangladesh as well as West Bengal. Though Tagore was born in what is now India, he spent years in what is now Bangladesh, where his family owned land.
It is no surprise that the Ministry of External Affairs picked Tagore as the core figure of a recent soft diplomacy event. “Bangla Tuli” was the title of the just-completed week-long art residency to which eight Bangladesh artists were invited. Tagore was the theme. The results can now be seen at Rabindra Bhavan, the Lalit Kala Akademi headquarters.
At the inauguration, Deputy High Commissioner of Bangladesh Mahbub Hassan Saleh said that Tagore was the greatest cultural icon in the world. The artists plainly feel a similar degree of awe.
Abdul Mannan’s Shadow of Tagore shows a breeze-blown field with a Tagore silhouette. In his second work, Tagore & Me, Tagore’s profile is part of the rocky wall of a cave; the silhouette is Mannan.
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Two paintings by Mohammad Iqbal place colourful, abstract people and animals around a portion of Tagore’s face. They are titled Amar Sonar Bangla, Rabindranath I and II. Though the name refers to Bangladesh’s national anthem and the figures to Tagore’s ideal village , they convey dislocation and anxiousness.
Mohammad Eunus’s Tribute to Ramkinkar and Searching for... show Tagore as a blank shape on a graffitied wall. In the second, the graffiti looks like mathematical instructions on a classroom blackboard. Tagore is the empty space.
Nasreen Begum’s The Folling Leafs A and II [sic] show Tagore as the lover of nature. His face is a few lines on a tree trunk; below and around are swoops and patches of colour suggesting life and movement. In the second, trunk and leaves are reduced further to rectangles and splashes, and Tagore’s face no longer recognisable.
Hamiduzzaman Khan’s Tagore I and III also show a progression. The first is a big, three-quarter view of Tagore’s face under a sepia light. Khan used a palette knife to apply the dark background, so the effect is of a thoughtful face surrounded by chopping shapes in the air — faintly disturbing. The second painting is even sterner: Tagore has a black, hollow face and surrounding it is an unhealthy sizzle of colour.
Ahmed Shamsuddoha has two straightforward portraits. Sheikh Afzal’s Image of Tagore I is also plain; here, Tagore’s eyes are sharp; the rest of his face fades away.
Mohammad Golam Faruque Bebul is most adventurous. His Rabindranath is a warped figure in wavy, angry lines. In Fragmented Image 20, Tagore is invisible; instead there is what might be a pool in a slum, or a mirror on a scruffy wall.
Near the exit are five prints of Tagore’s own works. They are playful, simple and profound, but look effortless. These 18 new works actually highlight the independence and oddness of Tagore’s own vision; they cannot match it.
