My Art

To define art as a medium of communication; is being heartless. Yes, it is a let out of an individual's sensibility. But, I feel, there is a difference here. It is one of those rare times, where, independent of the context, the sender is more important than the receiver (contextually, we all know there are many times that the sender is more important than the receiver - for instance when you are having a review with your superior).

But, is art restricted to the artist in the real sense? The common belief is that artists are people with distinguished sensibilities. I believe that an artist's reaction (reflected in his work) is a result of the way his attributes (shaped by his surroundings) play it up. SO, in a way every visual art follows a group pattern. Though different in form & even content, the instinctive reaction brought out as a result of experiencing it, will be the same. It is this trigger point which makes me say that art is not random and though how unbelievable it may sound, (1) a piece can invoke the same reaction among people standing at the same emotional and intellectual plane (whichever gains significance in context of the work).

What determines the success of art? Absolute cannot exist here. If the weighted majority have a positive reaction (to be noted this may not be solely due to the work but its peripheries like the purpose, artist, date, choice of subject; but that will be a different point of discussion altogather), it can be defined as succesful. So, (2) success is a relative indicator.

Based on these two inferences, societies which have its members at relatively the same plane will tend to produce more succesful art and hence, art is more likely to flourish in these societies (It meant 'flourish' naturally and it is not valid for instances of incubation schemes like state patronage employed by our erstwhile ruling class). I would risk it by saying that in societies which have a clear majority vote gatherer (due to ideology - rare to get in todays times) or have adopted to a socialist rule (strictly out of choice, again rare to find in todays times), art is more conducive to exist and evolve.

P.S.: Political belief is taken as a loose proxy for one's intellectual choices. But can it?

Slave

I feel, in no other way, that writing should be brutally instinctive. It should be a reflection of the inner and true personality, which is seldom reflected to the outer space. In fact, it could also pass off as a definition of an artist's work. I have never had the sensibility of one. But today it seems to be coming to me, no exaggeration this, with oodles of help from the beautiful weather at cochin and the saturday blues (seems unbelievable, but they have been there sporadically in my life). So much so that i have decided to write without a rough draft straight onto this writing space.

I used to always think that the worst time in my life would be when i would stop dreaming. Pushing me out from my mundane life. But i realise there is something even worse. I have been working without retrospection for the past few months in alien conditions. But in this little rare moment of retrospection, i realise i have outdone my worst fear. What have i become? A slave of someone else s dream.

My Violin

Santosh Jackson was not the one to be ever out of action. Atleast, not the Santosh that I knew. Anyway, he was no more the one that I knew.

Back then, allergic to the concept of karma, I and Rahul had decided to make music. Music, we thought, would eventually not only get us the women but also acceptance in the society. It is strange that we got everything but that. Priorities change.

Back in the early 90s, we were going nowhere. On introspection, we discovered that our music needed depth. The peddar road boys needed experiences; the ones intense enough to inspire notes. As impressionable young boys, we decided to travel. Kerala was a natural choice. It was simple – different from our surroundings and cheap. As a result, the things to part with were not seriously significant - my dad’s scooter and rahul’s cd player.

To put it in a word, Alleppey was a ‘relief’; from expectations and non existent worries. The toddy shop by the backwaters was the place to be. That’s where we met Santosh. Unassuming, He was not a commanding personality. But he had those eyes which were searching for positivity. But, one would never notice all this once he got the violin strings moving. There was uprightness and no fluffiness in the notes. This is what we needed. He would be the soul of our music.

Not exactly the obvious

It is ironic that I chose to write (blog is consumerist and is so much the popcorn culture) in the most hazy times of my life.
Some of the greatest musicians make a conscious effort to not to keep their instruments speck free. They let it befriend that few bits of dust on the strings or the membrane. They believe that this brings out the individuality in their music; their idiosyncrasies and their imperfections as humans. If I would extrapolate it – this negativity gives a positive leap to the end result.
I have never preferred calm and solace in my life. Loneliness has forced it upon me. But, today eating my lonely dinner out at this south Indian restaurant certainly got me thinking. I strongly feel that writing a review is self demeaning. It makes one look like a dumb terminal. I have no intention to do the same. But, the pleasant food, classic pictures of the beautiful south Indian yesteryear actress Padmini, sad sad music and the amiable waiters certainly made my dinner worth a million dollars. But, this wouldn’t have been so unexplainably enjoyable without the loneliness in my life. This scratch on the pan actually made the stuff turn out just perfect.

Untitled

Travelling through gaya, the otherwise shy driver states in a confident tone “raat mein jaldi waapas aana hoga”. He stopped for a litti on the way. I insisted for one too. The fields were different from the lush green ones in Punjab. They wore an earthy look with hay heaps everywhere.

A look at them and I could see siddharth and geeta from Hazaaron… coming to life. Bright people trying to mould a feudal land into an egalitarian society but ironically, shunned by the seemingly idealistic law enforcers. I liked the movie because it made its point fearlessly clear, agree or disagree. However, the end made me restless; not because it left things undone but the characters couldn’t have survived for long in their new avatars – siddharth with his doctors degree & geeta with her NGO work; a state of unstable equilibrium.

Eventually, they would return to what they always believed in; provided they genuinely believed in the idealistic feudal less world they set out to achieve. If they hadn’t believed in the revolution internally, the message is pointless because the characters are shallow & impressionable.

One Amongst Us

Right from his young days, the cub showed no fear. He pretended not to. He was perennially trying hard to be every part his tribe. The first time he saw his folks gorging on deer meat; he cried. His mother grabbed him and made sure he tasted some of the finest meat in the jungle. However, he couldn’t stand the sight of an oscillating heart in the dead. As for the meat, he never took taste of it. Gradually, the signs of rejection vanished. With a dead face, he ate a paltry share of the meat and helped his mother save the remains for drought stricken times.

Eight years have made a fine animal out of him. Agile and with a keen eye, he is the best hunter in his clan. In fact exceptionally and abnormally good for a male. He has consciously worked for it and has pushed himself to enjoy it. Now, he considers it to be a part of his instincts. His catches have been the talk of town – a wild boar as big as an elephant, an antelope with tree trunks as horns. Each time, he marches back with a swagger; prey firmly clinched to his teeth. He throws them down and releases a sigh of relief and more apparently, an effervescent smile signaling nobility and control. His parents are proud of him. They are aware of the fact that he was a late bloomer. That’s what they think at least.

It is just another day for him. Till dawn, there has been no luck. His buddies aren’t too concerned anyway. They want to laze around on the young green grass. That they do. He is worn out too and decides to follow suite. A long session of friendly banter follows. The sun is on its way up and it is time to retreat. As they get up to leave, they hear a hustle in the leaves. There is a pause for confirmation. Led by him, the group moves cautiously to its direction. With his paws, he pushes the bushes aside. It is no gentle push but a sling. His body isn’t used to gentleness.

What he sees are the most expressive doe shaped eyes he has ever come across in his life. They wink and out come crystals. A gaze though them and you will foresee pain and defeat. But till as far as time could spread, there is no fear. Cuts and scratches are aplenty. But they couldn’t hide the radiant gold on its skin. The lion can’t take his eyes of it. He feels a strong urge to nurse it, caress it and hold it in his arms. He tries to hold himself back. Nevertheless, his friends are delighted with this effortless catch of theirs. A couple of them take a grip with their teeth and start dragging it to their den. The deer looks helplessly towards the lion. He feels a strong urge to stop it. But he doesn’t and follows his group meekly.

The journey throws a lot of unsettling questions for the young lion. Can he ever stand up to his beliefs? He also wants to be sure his beliefs are right and not a naïve misadventure of a youthful being. He looks at the deer and still feels the same way for it. He has fallen for it. He wants to take care of it. On contemplation, this urge is stronger than being a part of his pride! He decides to openly declare his love for the wounded.

When the deer is brought home & placed in centre of the settlement, all eyes are on the beautiful animal. Everyone wants to have a piece of it. The lion can’t stand it any longer. With a roar in his voice, he declares his love for the animal. He warns everyone present against making the slightest move towards it.

A majority burst into a laughter of disbelief. They feel the loose talk would pass and they would get onto business. But the lion doesn’t budge. His folks wrestle him; trying in vain to quiten him. But he doesn’t budge. Finally, the eldest one is called to resolve the issue. It is decided that on the dawn of the third day, a solution would be declared. Meanwhile, the other families don’t even care to exchange pleasantries with his parents. Lionesses feel ashamed that sometime in the past, they had fed & mothered this very kid.

All this time, the lion eats nothing. However, he never misses a day feeding the deer. It has shed its inhibitions and tries its best to cuddle unto him with its tied limbs.

The day finally arrives. Everyone gathers at the common ground. The eldest one has already arrived and waits for the sunrise. He rubs his beard to the tree trunk and breaks his silence. “Fellows, we have among us a young one who has defied the laws of the pride; one who has shown scant respect for the ‘muruwah’; and not to mention, succumbed to kinky temptations. There is no place for such unabashed show of ignorance for laws of the land. I proclaim that he and his ‘lady love’ (sniggers all around) leave the land for good”.

Strangely, the lion is excited at the prospect of getting his way. He is ready to live with the fact of leaving his folks and pride. He has the love of his life with him. He could start afresh. Placing the deer on his back, he leaves home. Thoughts of a new, isolated and self sufficient home are prevalent. He turns back to see his mother stonefaced & majestic; with a tear in her eyes. He marches ahead, only slower & cautious than his previous strides. The swagger is nowhere to be seen.

In a couple of days, the deer is fit on its feet. Its graceful quick movements delight the lion. In his daily chores of building a home for them, he pauses to appreciate. That’s entire boost he needs to get back to work with gusto.

It is a full moon night and finally, their abode is done. The lion is content and resting on the rock. His wandering eyes fall on wet skin. The deer is glowing in the blue waters of the lake. It looks up and notices the desperation in his eyes. The lion climbs down. He caresses the deer. It moves closer, as if pleading for more. The lion pushes the deer to ground. He pauses and looks around. Instincts take over. He wants every bit of it. The deer can’t stop moaning. The lion mistakes it for pleasure.

The day whizzes through. It is time for sunset. He is in no mood to hunt. He leaves a yawn and gets up to leave. As commonly heard, he didn’t sense the volcanoes erupt. Instead, he could feel the sweet smell of an incense stick. He gets himself a quick dip in the lake. He wants to kiss his lady good bye. It is this kind of family thing he has always dreamt of. He pushes the thick grass aside. His paws get deeper and deeper. There is no sign of movement. Finally he gets a sight of the deer. With his enlarged eyes and raised paws, he stands motionless.

There she is, my dear, smeared in blood. All I wanted was save her from everyone. Here she is lifeless in my arms. Oh what a fool I was; killed two not just one.

The Direction

At 11 45 pm, I expect anything but getting into a conversation with the auto driver. How much he needed to get into an engrossing conversation; the tone gave it away. For me, Loneliness has become an understatement. Anyway, I got into it so as not to disappoint his initiative (or was it probably inertia). I can vouch for the self doubt that arises on being discouraged. Slowly, I discovered that two different people, very different people, could have the same perspective towards various things. This was a first for me, at least the first time I took notice of. The transaction made me feel better about life and co existence. No longer did I feel deserted.

My adult self says:
Every relationship is a set of transactions. Each transaction has a pay off attached to both the participants. When this total pay off reaches a certain threshold score, a relationship is built. Every soul is always on the look out for transactions which lead to a relationship. However, one is equally negligent of those short lived transactions which don’t end up in a relationship. They fail to understand it too has a pay off. This pay off score, though not fruitful, will add up to make one a more compassionate human being; extremely useful in the larger scheme of things.

My blogwork was turning out to be a wannabeish, narrow imitation of visual experiences. But I might just have stumbled upon the real trigger which prompts my sub conscience to react. Surprisingly, this hasn’t arisen out of a visually appealing object but nevertheless, a beautiful mundane fact covered in the thick deep stains of materialism we seldom care to polish. My initial take was let me talk about the beautiful things in life. Visual arts is an aesthetically appealing perspective towards life. It makes the world look beautiful and hence, was a natural subject. However, I find that it is a mere subset of the infinite beauty surrounding us. Only if we care to look. Let us fill our already oversized bellies with all this beauty around us – visual or abstract.

Freedom of Reaction

They judge a viewpoint, based on the ‘canons’ in a particular field. Canons are created for a purposefully narrowed down view, in order to facilitate understanding of the human actions, or are a result of unconditional love for exceptional work like Picasso. However, at the end of the day, canons (reference points) are also relative. One should never be judgmental, nor categorize a reaction to a work. The so called expert or no expert doesn’t exist in the artistic space. This may appear to be a justification of an outsiders (read me) reaction to art, but this very thought is the essence of this blogging space.
Carrying this momentum, I am tempted to give movie making a cause-effect treatment of that of an engineer. Movie making is a tough business. I say this, even without incorporating the operational and human issues involved. The process can be looked at as a set of equations:

However unbelievable it may sound, assume the director has a set of dumb terminals (in terms of actors, musicians, cinematographers, scriptwriter wagerah wagerah) which can be moulded as she wants. Every frame is made up a ‘success factor’ which is a sum of functions of music, acting, art direction etc. This can be put as
S = f1 (music) + f2 (acting) + f3 (lighting) +……….
These functions f1, f2, f3. change with each frame making the director’s job further complex. So,
S1= {f1, f2, f3…}, S2 = {g1, g2, g3…} and so on.

In order to faithfully express her artistic itch, she better get a majority of these frames right. Now, lets get the operation and human angles and it makes for quite a heady concoction.
So how does the maker pull it off?
Possibilities are either (1) she tries to get everything bang on without taking into account the importance of individual elements or (2) she is unduly partial to some of these elements and strives to get it right.
The former is a risky proposition; get it all right or perish. It is also not humanely possible to get it all right in all frames.
The latter is a safer route. This is what we mean when we refer to the director's characteristic touch. An example would be bhansali's look in all his films. He gets the f(cinematography), f(art direction) etc, right in all his frames. Probability of success factor being higher is more in this scenario.

Note: Canons are standards which act as references to all further artworks. For instance: Picasso’s works are canons for abstract art.

Formalism V/s Figurative

The voices from either side never die. I am of the opinion it is pointless. I firmly believe that every artistic medium should have its unique standing which differentitates it from other media of expression.

I would rate a brodsky’s Lenin as highly as cezanne's chateau noire. Though Brodsky has adopted a figurative approach, the piece was executed much after the death of Lenin. Therefore, the end effect is something which cant be captured by the medium of photography. Its apparent reality adds to the message portrayed. This is precisely the reason I would rate this seemingly figurative creation as highly as a creation meant to arouse our formalist instincts.






So, the next time you see a beautiful painting, ask if the piece has achieved what other media (like photography, sculpting tc. ) cannot manage. This, according to me, is the appropriate approach to judging a piece.

Aesthetics

My first visit to a visual arts gallery came at the not so tender age of 23. I felt overpowered by the contrast and vastness. It was one of those moments when you want to close your eyes, breathe high and capture the scent around you. No longer did it remain a mere business plan for me. This was my first brush with delight.
I make a mention of this, not to shower you with personal annecdotes, but to point out the inflexion points, which even the most materialistic and narrow minded beings go through, before they acknowledge the positive energy of aesthetics. But here ends the honeymoon. Why does it have to? Why doesnt beauty prevail? The search for answers will be a cold blooded affair.