Portrait of Gandhi | Credit: Manu Parekh. Courtesy: Manu Parekh: Sixty Years of Selected Works, Aleph Book Company.

What do you mean by ‘as an Indian’?

In India, the most interesting thing for me is the Indian mind. If I am a Gujarati, then I will look at things from a Gujarati angle, and so on. But I also feel that I am a popular culture man, influenced especially by the world of Hindi films, from which a person of one culture can learn about other cultures. Moreover, because of my involvement with craft and theatre, I learned about other [Indian] cultures, so I never fully feel that I am only from Gujarat and can only enjoy that. I have been fascinated by people of other states and cultures, and have been fortunate to travel all over India. That is why I used the words ‘as an Indian’.

The other thing, which is a treasure chest, is what is in the rural areas. The sensitivity that is there, even the problems that are there, the ways of making them better, their way of understanding, the relationship between men and women, especially between women; in urban India, there is not much knowledge about this. Interestingly, the popular film feels rich to me – because of the way it has absorbed various influences (especially those from vernacular cultures and rural milieus) – this is the real India [the rural areas]…if one wants to enjoy India.

Perhaps right from your childhood, from the beginning of your interest in art, these things must have felt interesting…but the perspectives or directions that you saw, the fascination you had for village life, for instance, must be different now. You are talking about village life and the fascination it has for you, but that world does not exist anymore. Yes, a village is still a village, but the village has changed. So, what do you think about this? The shifts that happen in an artist’s life, the way Rabindranath Tagore saw a zamindari world and over time his thoughts changed, and then he chose not to participate in Congress-style nationalism but instead he began to bring something of the Santhals who lived in the villages around him into the institution he founded in Santiniketan, and at the same time he was also aiming for and desiring a universal humanism, a very Modernist way of thinking. Souza too started in Mumbai and then went to London and left that and went to New York, then kept returning to a transforming India (Goa too had changed in this time). What has happened to you between age sixteen and the present that has impacted your art and your thinking?

First of all, I am not from a village. I am from Ahmedabad. My connection to the village is through my grandmother who lived near Nadiad, where we went during our summer holidays and through Madhvi, my wife, who is from a village as well.

My father was a barber. The way his hands moved was miraculous, it was craft. He was a great film and theatre buff – he gave this to me as my inheritance. From about age eight, I began to go to the movies with him.

We always bought the lowest priced ticket. Once we went to see Dilip Kumar’s film ‘Shaheed’ and when we reached the window after being in line, it was sold out. My father asked, ‘Shall we sit in line for the next show?’ That was his nature, he was passionate.

When I got the Padma Shri, Dilip Kumar was sitting in front of me in the Durbar Hall of the Rashtrapati Bhavan. When we came out, and a crowd surrounded him, I stood apart, lost in thought. I was back at Kishan Cinema on the footpath and was thinking about that day with my father. Both he and Madhvi’s father, a Gandhian, whom I knew since I was twelve, have been such big influences in my life. In the days when I went to J. J. [School of Art], there were only two places that attracted me – Paris and Kolkata. I had a huge attraction to these cities; Kolkata because of painting, theatre and Rabindranath Tagore, who I already felt was a great painter. When I reached Kolkata in 1965, and would argue the case for Rabindranath as a great painter, very few would agree or accept – there was a doubt about his status as an artist. Today he is accepted.

Jaswant Thakkar, the great theatre actor, introduced me to Tagore’s Muktadhara, which we staged in Gujarati for Tagore’s birth centenary (I was twenty-five and played the role of eighty-year-old Viswajit). Because of Jaswant Thakkar’s involvement with the Indian People’s Theatre Association, many of its members were very friendly with us; whenever Prithviraj Kapoor or Balraj Sahni came to town, they came to meet us and I have rehearsed in front of both of them. IPTA and its members had a great impact during that period, the Communist Party was not divided and socialist thinking inspired work like Balraj Sahni’s Do Bigha Zameen and the works of Shailendra, Sahir Ludhianvi and Inder Raj Anand (the screenwriter for many of Raj Kapoor’s films).

What was the impact of IPTA on your art?

In 1963, I joined the Weavers Service Centre, an initiative of the All-India Handloom Board, under the leadership of Pupul Jayakar. To leave the theatre world and then take up the job – I only ever had one – in craft was the impact of both Gandhian thinking as well as IPTA. To understand the problems of village people…

Are you bothered by the changes in Indian art?

No. When I started making money from painting, people criticized me a great deal. I appreciated that and I used that criticism. Many people never could do substantial work because of which they struggled financially all the time. Because of the changes, I was able to paint full-time.

Excerpted with permission from Manu Parekh: Sixty Years of Selected Works, by Manu Parekh, Aleph Book Company.

The post Artist Manu Parekh on the art market, Rabindranath Tagore, and pop culture first appeared on Indian Art News.

Manu Parekh at the National Gallery. Photo: Pradeep Gaur/Mint

In a cavernous wing of the National Gallery of Modern Art in Delhi, a man perched on a scissor lift is maneuvering a spotlight attached to the ceiling, to make the beam fall perfectly on a painting on the adjoining wall. The artist of the work sits at a distance, his gaze fixed on the lighting man. Manu Parekh, one of India’s most celebrated modern artists, is overseeing the hanging of his new show at the gallery, a retrospective covering 60 years of his life, which is accompanied by a new book, Manu Parekh: Sixty Years Of Selected Works (Aleph Book Co.).

Parekh, born in Ahmedabad, is most noted for his Banaras series, in which he depicts the colorful and zany “city of light” that never fails to inspire him. The retrospective offers a unique opportunity to explore the artist’s lesser-known, and perhaps unfairly overshadowed works. In an interview, Parekh, who is approaching 80, talks about his life, art, the market and Indian art education. Edited excerpts:

‘Flower From Heaven’ (1995). Photo: Courtesy the artist.
Click here for enlarge
Your flower vases are sometimes reminiscent of Vincent van Gogh or even Ambrosius Bosschaert. To what extent has Western art influenced your work?

See, the moment you do modern art in India, there will be a Western influence. The challenge is how to Indianize this Western element. You have to paint the reality you know and see. I found Paul Klee and (Pablo) Picasso very inspiring.

You have worked in theatre and then as a design consultant in the Indian handloom industry for 25 years. How did that influence your art?

All my life, theatre, and craft have helped me immensely. I look at Banaras with a theatrical eye and approach it like set designing. Secondly, my Heads series, I look at it as an actor. When I’m painting heads, I’m actually painting expressions and situations, because if something’s happening in front of you, only then will there be a reaction on your face. My job in handicrafts took me to many villages where the organic sensibility of rural life deeply affected me.

Did you ever feel you were sanitizing or romanticizing Varanasi, for apart from its spirituality, it’s also one of India’s dirtiest cities?

Filth is everywhere in India, even more so in religious places. That was never my concern, as it’s a political issue which doesn’t interest me at all. I was more concerned about the spirituality and life.

What’s your view on abstraction? If a viewer first has to read an essay to approach a work of art, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of art, which is about “looking” and not “reading”?

Look, if you listen to a classical raga, and you like it, that’s fine. But if you want to talk about it, you’ll need some training and education. Similarly, in art, you can’t just stand in front of the work and be given everything—it’s the same in literature, you have to know the nuances.

But a personal connection with an abstract work is still possible without any knowledge.

Oh, yes, and it should be. Look at Shivalinga—it’s completely abstract. But behind it, there is content. Abstraction for abstraction’s sake doesn’t interest me.

‘Painting is like chanting a mantra, sitting for hours to put the paint on canvas. There is a spiritual satisfaction in the repetition.’


Any views on art education in India?

It’s a bleak situation. We had wonderful teachers, but those teaching today are not practicing artists anymore—they’re interested in their own careers and don’t want to teach. Now even in art education, you need a PhD to be an art professor.

Does a work which sells in the market influence what you paint next?

No, otherwise there would be no work like this (pointing to an abstract work with animal heads). You can only do all this if you don’t keep an audience in mind.

What inspired the animal heads series?

It’s all about violence. I went to Africa once and saw a kill; it was an unforgettable experience. A deer was chased and killed by two cheetahs. The scene left an imprint and reminded me of the phrase ‘survival of the fittest’, and I started painting the animal heads when I returned.

Is there a difference between exhibiting in India and abroad?

I would say outside India there is more consciousness, but I have no complaints here. In such a large country with so much poverty, “modern art” is quite understandably not a priority for anyone. Also, Indian culture is replete with images; after all, painting is an image. The common Indian man remains contented in that world of images, of his religion, tradition, culture, family, etc.

Are you a believer and, if so, does it inform your art?

Yes, I am. I got the biggest clarity about faith in Varanasi. Man lives on the basis of belief, be it political, religious or whatever.

Is painting a spiritual act for you then?

There is a level of spirituality in painting, isn’t there? It’s like chanting a mantra, sitting for hours to put the paint on canvas. There is a spiritual satisfaction in the repetition.

Manu Parekh: 60 Years Of Selected Works is on till 24 September, 11am-6.30pm, at the National Gallery of Modern Art, New Delhi. Click here for details.

First Published: Fri, Sep 01 2017. 12 52 PM IST
Credits – Tanuj Kumar
http://www.livemint.com/Leisure/mlKXKtiwuUIER1CGsPq99L/Manu-Parekh-going-beyond-Banaras.html

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