Oh! Calcutta!
source:HINDU
Krishna and Yashoda.
Kalighat painting, the art of the Bengali patua, originated from
the great temple in Kolkata from which it took its name. In the 19th century,
village craftsmen gathered here to sell their wares to thousands of pilgrims and
souvenir hunters, many of whom wanted paintings done on the spot.
In the heyday of The Raj when all things “native” were scorned and
cheap printed pictures displaced handcrafted ones, the Art went into terminal
decline. Despite this, Matisse and Picasso were influenced by its simplicity and
boldness, and it inspired Jamini Roy to create his own unique style. Recently it
has made a dramatic comeback, and is now a valued item in the collections of
museums worldwide. Though its themes are urban, the artists still live in the
surrounding villages, and it has retained its folksy naivety and charm.
Changing times
Chronologically presented, the exhibition shows how Kalighat
Painting moved from purely religious beginnings to subjects reflecting the
social mores and events of the changing times. A panoply of deities appears in
the opening section: Kali, Shiva with his wives, Vishnu in his age-long sleep on
Sheshnag, Krishna dancing on Kaliya attended by lady-serpents with human torsos
and sari-covered heads praying, and much else. Whimsy, fanciful touches and
bright colouring imbue these traditional images with fresh life.
For speedy execution, scroll painting was rejected in favour of
single pictures with one or two figures depicted in broad sweeping curves and
solid blocks of paint. A typical example shows Yashoda with baby Krishna. There
is no background, shading is rudimentary, detailing absent; and no adornment or
props draw the viewer's attention away from the protagonists. The bodies are
tubular, fingers and toes are barely outlined, and the hair does not fall in
strands but in a black mass. Black derived from lampblack was inexpensive and
much in use to edge picture frames and outline figures, giving them a sharper
definition. Paired with strong primary colours, it made a dramatic statement.
With the shift from the sacred to the secular, the patua turned to
the larger world, varying his palette and enlarging his canvas to include
numerous figures. With a keen eye of the outsider he observed and lampooned the
hypocrisy of the Brahmins and the conservatism of babu culture with its slavish
imitation of all things Western. Suited and booted dandies strut about, and
husbands beat their wives or are thoroughly hen-pecked. A pampered woman is
carried on her husband's back, while another walks a pet lamb on a leash wearing
a stylish hat, the animal representing her long-suffering husband. A hilarious
line drawing shows a man with his concubine. Amid a welter of flailing limbs and
clothing (if any) one can distinguish only the faces, an arm and a leg.
In 1873, an attention-grabbing scandal erupted when a government
employee's 16-year-old wife Elokeshi confessed to having an affair with a
priest. Though she begged forgiveness he decapitated her with a fish knife and
then, in a fit of remorse, surrendered to the police. This heady mix of adultery
and revenge, crime and punishment, drew such crowds to the courtroom that an
entry fee had to be charged.
The story is told in more than a dozen paintings, from a fine
group composition showing the first meeting of the lovers, to the conviction of
the murderer and the priest. The climactic moment of the beheading is far too
genteel. Elokeshi sits upright in a chair, her hands clasped demurely in her
lap, her clothing undisturbed, her severed head hanging from her neck in a neat
geometrical line, and no sign of blood and gore.
When the Company Style came into vogue the patua turned to local
customs, depicting a barber cleaning a woman's ear, a fishwife selling her
wares. And soon, with telling satire, we are in the India of today where a
couple romances in a rickshaw, elders are no longer respected, policemen take
bribes and women have midnight trysts with their lovers.
This is a theme with hoary antecedents, particularly in the
Miniature tradition in which the “abhisarika” hastens to her lover braving all
dangers. Slender and bejewelled, her clothing fluttering and swirling as she
strides through the forest unafraid of snakes and scorpions, she is a vision of
romance and idealised beauty.
In contrast, her Kalighat counterpart is no head-turner. A
realistically depicted city dweller, she lights up the darkness with that emblem
of modernity, a cell phone, and sends text messages to her lover as she moves
towards a car waiting in the shadows for her sordid liaison. In the apartment
behind her a face is visible at a lighted window, suggesting that her affair is
no longer secret. The artist has a keen eye for detail and uses symbols with
admirable economy.
Dearer to the heart of a Bengali, than wine, women and song, is
fish it is said, and the gallery is full of fishy paintings. Two succulent
specimens appear in vertical profile with the beady eye of one aligned with the
other's tail, giant prawns hang from a hook, and a jaunty cat with caste marks
on its forehead chomps on a prawn, a satirical dig at greedy brahmins,
supposedly vegetarian, who find sea-food irresistible.
Fishy matters
Fish is again the central motif in the splendid painting by
Bahadhur Chitrakar that rounds off the exhibition. Titled “Tsunami”, it reverts
to the older scroll format. A bird-man with long, curved talons upraised to
pounce looms over the devastation, and myriad life-forms swirl below in a raging
sea covering the length of the scroll, sweeping away trees and houses. Huge
fish, larger than the human prey they pursue punctuate the scene. Fancifully
depicted with large round scales resembling ornamental coat-buttons and elegant
frilly tails, they are things of beauty despite their savagery.
Eschewing primary colours, the artist uses blue, orange, warm
shades of brown, sea green and golden yellow. This is the painting one would
have loved to photograph, but alas it was not permitted.
Leaflets were not provided either. A great deal of information was
posted on the walls, but walls can't be taken home! You need something to mull
over and pass on to like-minded people, for this is an exhibition that goes far
beyond a display of paintings. It gives us an informed overview of a vibrant and
witty art form that exposes human foibles and mirrors the life of the great city
that is its home.
(After showing at Chatrapati Shivaji Museum, Mumbai, the
exhibition has moved on to Hyderabad and Delhi.)
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