How do cities (actually, the people who live in those cities) view art? At the risk of trading in clichés, one finds that over the years the dynamics haven’t changed all that much, even though the markets have shifted base from the financial capital to India’s aspiring world city where reckless spenders on brands treat art as just another commodity that’s as important, or insignificant, as the signature on it.
It may be where all the action is — from big galleries and bigger shows to private museums — but art is truly wasted on the denizens of New Delhi who’re drawn to an event only by the quality of wine (or whisky) served on the opening night. There are a few exceptions — but then there are exceptions in every city — who might return to look at the art they missed seeing at the launch, and a few interested art-lovers who’ll trickle in for the duration of a show, or to museums (the foreigners always want to know why there are so few people at our public art institutions), but despite the buying power that’ll snap up a Souza for the city apartment and a Raza for the farmhouse, you can expect few walk-ins for the sheer pleasure of looking at good (or bad, or indifferent) art.
It’s where Mumbai is different. Mumbaikars respect art — and artists even more. A good show will pull a record attendance, yet they will be disciplined, standing away from the art not to cause any damage, and knowledgeable enough to enjoy what they’re viewing in spite of the crowds. It says something that the cognoscenti have their favourites (even though there is a whiff of parochialism in their choice of Bombay-based artists over “outsiders”) and will return to see the works, often more than once, for the pleasure of viewing, even though their small homes do not allow them to purchase art as generously as earlier generations once did.
Kolkatans, of course, do not buy art — and haven’t for decades — but they can enthrall (or bore) you for hours over the minutest brushstroke of an artist, and are easily affronted if the artist in question breaks the norm, or changes his discipline, or strays off course. They will return again and again as much for the connoisseurship as for engaging with somebody new in the audience on some trait of the artist, some aspect of the canvas (or sculpture) that intrigues or bothers them. This is also the home of the art critic with pursed lips — cross swords with one only at your own peril, and with every possibility that you’ll have to withdraw while licking your wounds.
Chennai isn’t terribly fascinated by art — it is dance and music that mark the pulse of that city — and Bangalore, for all the talk of its looking for edgy, contemporary art, hasn’t cut it as a city that either buys, or likes, art — yet. It might not quite be like Ahmedabad, or Jaipur, where the decorative aesthetic alone, alas, rules, or Hyderabad where despite the amalgam of money and taste, there is practically no interest in the fine arts.
But the city to watch out for now is Gurgaon, New Delhi’s hip cousin, which is increasingly fertilising prime space with art institutions, marking a migration — like many of its artists — from the capital to the suburb. Appreciation for art might be a while coming — Gurgaon doesn’t have that pretence to culture — but for now all one can hope is that its brand-toting citizenry will open their wallets, if not yet their hearts, to turn it into the country’s art mall.
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
