Working on a project on Rabin Mondal, Kolkata's resident artist, whose works explore the underbelly of angst and loathing, one understands his churlishness when he comments on artists who make - and sell - "decorative" art. His often dark works paint a picture of loneliness and despair. In the rarefied world of art, the term decorative is a pejorative one. At one level, it rejects anything that is too pretty - calendar art is an example - at another, it defies description because it is subjective and, therefore, open to interpretation.
Even among established artists, there are works that are considered "commercial" - works that are likely to sell fast for their popular appeal even though the painting may not be of the usually high standard of the artist. Commercial works tend to be priced high for this very reason. If that isn't an anomaly, what is?
In these difficult times, there is a huge bunch of successful artists who are dismissed by critics for being decorative or commercial. Yet, there is a huge appetite for their work, and therefore their prices continue to remain strong. Younger or at least less seasoned collectors demand their work precisely because it is easy to understand and easy on the eye. Even organisations or institutions seek out their work because it appeals to public sentiment. They remain in demand at art fairs while "serious" artists make it to the parallel universe of biennales.
But today's pretty picture could be tomorrow's prized one. In his day, Raja Ravi Varma invited the wrath of the establishment with his sensual portrayal of Indian myths. In Europe, Claude Monet was similarly criticised for introducing an ephemeral "impressionistic" quality to realistic paintings. Today, both artists command the highest values in the market. What it therefore boils down to is the ability of the artist's work to transcend time. That particular quality of longevity is not dictated by current practices or markets. But it does place the collector in a peculiar situation. Is good bad, or bad good?
That the quality of art practice contributes to the making of art is beyond doubt. In that sense, neither aesthetic quality nor subject matter as much as the work itself. That test then may boil down to how the artist represents a particular inflection point in art making. Vincent van Gogh mattered little in his lifetime but is among the most celebrated artists posthumously. Edvard Munch is known for The Scream, but there is other work that is considered lightweight in comparison. Pablo Picasso's attempt at primitive or cubist art may have stirred debate, but his personality contributed to its easier acceptability in his lifetime - indeed, his fame.
In having to choose between that which is serious and that which is dismissed as pretty, what is the legacy one will recall in the future when these are placed next to each other? How will they represent the period in which they were made? Will subjects alone guide them, or elements of artistic practice? While that future remains unclear, it becomes more difficult in the here and present to make and justify that difference. Can a scholar study the decorative and the serious artist at par without creating a caste system of inferior and superior that will stand the test of time? Should he refrain from commenting on or working closely with the popular because of peer pressure that demands a differentiation between the two? Surely there is room for both without friction that places barriers between collectors, scholars and purveyors, especially when these distinctions are likely to dissolve in the future. This means popular artists require better documentation and respect now than being abandoned to the vagaries of the future.
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
