An amorphous abundance unfolds into spatialized ensemble. The solids have liquefied into light, they have almost become gaseous and the print has given them the substance back. The alchemy of light deconstructs not only the object, but the construct of photographic image is also under scrutiny. Before each of Nikhil Bhandari’s pictures invite a viewer’s passions with their theatrical appeal, a glace at the installation view at the gallery might generate critical questions: what is it that we are looking at? How do we classify it? Is the blur a metaphor for the paradigm shifts in visual art?
Non-representative photography has evolved from the early twentieth century with the photographers’ zeal to use the medium ‘by itself’. The experiments by Laszlo Moholy-Nagy, or the ‘Vortographs’ by Alvin Coburn are a case in point. However, the interpretations of the ‘non-representational’ within photography have changed over time, as pictorial photography asserted itself vis-à-vis the documentary mode. The fine example from India would be the photographs by Ashwin Mehta. Mehta’s pictures record a decipherable image, but inherit suggestions and allegories that might differ from the image. Thus, the ‘subject’ is not to be represented per se. Another stream in ‘non-representative photography’ grew in a rather academic way, and intended either to render the object unidentifiable by accentuating and enlarging the details, or to conceal the image by the use of filters and effects.
Nikhil Bhandari’s technique revisits the notion of integrity of the equipment to picture-making process. His use of multiple lights, slide-projections and his emphasis on recording the image as reflected on a mirror-like surface, are a priori to his moment of clicking. It might sound classicist to stay with a non-digital camera, but Nikhil does it, as if to retain the purity of the recorded picture against the altered results. Nikhil’s studio-setting might remind of the three mirrors that Coburn had placed between his subject and his camera. Nikhil does not use mirrors, but has a flexible surface that would reflect but not reveal the reflection.
The theatricality that the colours carry, can be traced back to Nikhil’s studio where the ‘stills’ are recorded from a multitude of movements. Nikhil makes his models move and sometimes respond to music through their movements, he makes his assistant move the mirror-like surface, and then he moves around, to click. The rehearsals for this theatre of still and movement begins with note-making about lights. Nikhil thoughtfully chooses from among the repertoire of his colour transparencies for projections, and apprehends which kind of lights would work in tandem or contrast with the chosen slide projection. By then, a seasoned photographer would almost visualize the result. Nikhil deconstructs this cause and effect relationship with the element of movement. Movement thus becomes the first step towards ‘emancipation’ of light as attempted by Nikhil.
Where do the lights take us, then?
One might also ask, where do the lights take themselves? Do they make pretty pictures or do they tell something more. While the notion of soothing/enchanting visuals is best left to individual taste, we move on the cerebral appeal of the pictures. They look like computer-generated images which they are certainly not. The works remind us of the historical experiments in non-representative photography but the present work is independent. The pictures reveal or suggest some existence of body or object but the revelation is incidental.
The fluid rules over the form in Nikhil’s pictures. The prints confront us as if we read a map of a constantly changing geography. Though the amorphous movements, islands and seas of colour keep their pliability alive. Within the forms, tectonic plates of the known keep colliding with the unknown.
One might contemplate abstraction in India vis-à-vis Nikhil’s present suite of pictures. Nikhil falls in line with his predecessors in so far as the holistic approach to an image goes. He shares the spiritual instinct that lays a foundation for acceptance of non-image as an image. Yet, Nikhil is not an abstract expressionist, nor a constructivist. He differs from the two streams in Western history of modern art. At best, one could relate to the hedonism of Howard Hodgkin (or Bose Krishnamachari, in India) on one end and the ‘ruined abstraction’ of Gerhard Richter. While Richter ‘wipes’ the finished formalist, representative work and ‘ruins’ it till abstraction is attained, Nikhil’s reference to a bodily form and its negation is akin to Richter. I see no links in Hodgkin and Nikhil except the formal similarity of an animated, moving form.
As we let the pictures work upon us and as their interpretations or vibes grow on us, we begin thinking differently. At once, we the suggestion of foetal fluids and maybe a female body, after which one might think of the vanishing female re-foetesizing herself. The magic of such individual semantics, as the pictures make way for their generative grammar. We see the aesthetics of abundance amorphosized in ascetic acts of light. We no longer see the pictures, we inhale them, as if they contain the aroma of their light.
-- Abhijeet Tamhane,
Mumbai, August 2008.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The Artist as Historian
Vivan Sunderam is known for devising sense-making strategy through his art. His interventionist use of picked and collected material has revealed the artist's role as a social being and as a visual communicator and at times, a historian who asserts certain visuals. His recent show at Gallery Chemould, Mumbai, not only lived up to this reputation, but underlined the role of the artist-historian that Sunderam took.
Bad drawings for Dost, the title of the show, suggested some challenge to the taboos. Dost is affectionate than honourific, bad drawings should not be exhibited, and if at all one chooses to show them- one should not overtly say they are 'bad'… and so on. The 'Bad'ness of the drawings lied in their content, though. These were tracings from Bhupen Kakkar's various paintings and drawings. Given the extent of homophobia in the society we live in, the drawings were 'bad', notwithstanding their linear joy for a discerning viewer and their importance in the art-historical project. Avant-garde is often discarded as bad, and Sunderam's work skillfully challenged this tendency while underlining Bhupen's avant-gardist contribution . The skill was that of an orator: Sunderam's show was comparable, in ways, to an illustrated lecture that would assert how Bhupen's work negated the binaries in sex.
Sunderam had also employed the stitches and such other techniques that are conventionally not regarded as artists' technique. Every move that Sunderam made counted up to the impact. The use of the tracing paper itself, suggested the 'secondary' position that Sunderam would prefer to take vis-à-vis a great artist and his deceased dost, but it also provided the show with an allegory of the trace, the re-discovery. The use Graphite, (a material that is considered primary and is so intimate to the paper or canvas that many a time it gets invisible by the later layering of colour), was equally suggestive.
The Artist-historian's role that Sunderam played for 'dost', stressed the importance of the subjective, the partisan and alternative approach to history itself. While there is little doubt that the drawings Sunderam chose to work with, will be counted as Bhupen Kakkar's contribution, the show will be remembered for the historical assertions while not being assertive in a direct way. The show was a curious mix of non-assertive and instisting use of signifiers that summed up to the interventionist strategy Sundaram used.
-- Abhijeet Tamhane
Bad drawings for Dost, the title of the show, suggested some challenge to the taboos. Dost is affectionate than honourific, bad drawings should not be exhibited, and if at all one chooses to show them- one should not overtly say they are 'bad'… and so on. The 'Bad'ness of the drawings lied in their content, though. These were tracings from Bhupen Kakkar's various paintings and drawings. Given the extent of homophobia in the society we live in, the drawings were 'bad', notwithstanding their linear joy for a discerning viewer and their importance in the art-historical project. Avant-garde is often discarded as bad, and Sunderam's work skillfully challenged this tendency while underlining Bhupen's avant-gardist contribution . The skill was that of an orator: Sunderam's show was comparable, in ways, to an illustrated lecture that would assert how Bhupen's work negated the binaries in sex.
Sunderam had also employed the stitches and such other techniques that are conventionally not regarded as artists' technique. Every move that Sunderam made counted up to the impact. The use of the tracing paper itself, suggested the 'secondary' position that Sunderam would prefer to take vis-à-vis a great artist and his deceased dost, but it also provided the show with an allegory of the trace, the re-discovery. The use Graphite, (a material that is considered primary and is so intimate to the paper or canvas that many a time it gets invisible by the later layering of colour), was equally suggestive.
The Artist-historian's role that Sunderam played for 'dost', stressed the importance of the subjective, the partisan and alternative approach to history itself. While there is little doubt that the drawings Sunderam chose to work with, will be counted as Bhupen Kakkar's contribution, the show will be remembered for the historical assertions while not being assertive in a direct way. The show was a curious mix of non-assertive and instisting use of signifiers that summed up to the interventionist strategy Sundaram used.
-- Abhijeet Tamhane
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Re-humanising Inquiry
Riyas Komu’s recent show, titled Grass*, was a suite photographs. Komu might be better known for his paintings and for the assemblages and sculptures that he designed for some recent shows, but he is rather a strategic visual artist. Grass was a part of this strategic, interventionist oeuvre. Komu, this time, chose to exhibit photographs that featured faces of adolescent boys and men in their twenties who work at a garage in his neighbourhood. A discerning viewer would remember Komu’s assemblages with used motorcycle parts. These were the boys who actually welded the parts. No doubt there was a sense of comraderie that charted a relationship between the artist and the boys. It was visible on the faces, the way they looked at Komu’s camera, with confidence and some kind of friendly eloquence in their eyes.
True, the relationship here was not equal, to begin with. The artist was from a ‘high’ social and economic class whereas the boys, low. What Komu has done as an observer of life and its implications, and more importantly as a rebel against those implications, is to defy and question the notions that define such inequalities. Who told you the boys were ‘lesser’? - the show asked a viewer. When you looked at each photograph and tended to stare at the eyes of a boy, behind the frozen photographic moment you saw signs life. A life that could have been full of troubles if measured and compared to the standard that we aggregate as living standards for a happy life. The world banks standards, by the WHO standards or even the rhetoric of Indian Constitution would disapprove the living conditions as unadvisable. Yet, the ease with which the boys carried themselves was a proof that they enjoyed life, wanted to enjoy it and as if, were sure to succeed.
What are their ideas of success? To own a garage, however small? To be employed as a driver with some big Seth? To go to ‘Dubai’, maybe? The pictures won’t speak up. Guesswork helps, in understanding that they must have had alternate sets of blueprints for a happy life. The show opened up these blueprints, and pointed to the historical as well as contemporary predicament of those who have to search for greener pasteurs. All this, when the Mumbai media have been anticipating the local political parties for an outburst against ‘outsiders’ to the city.
In strict photographic parlance, they were all Portrait busts. To overcome the classification and the prescriptive package of appreciation, the artist had employed a different technique : to print the photographs with all their sharpness, but in undertones. On a matt-finish archival paper, the gray, sometimes green undertone shades would invite an inquiry that precedes appreciation. The distance that the tonal loss attributed to these pictures was to be overcome by you, the viewer. Existence, here, was clearer than the object. All the pictures had names of the boys, but they were seldom legible. What would a white letter, on a five percent black look like? This technical strategy was congruent with their supposed namelessness.
The leftist-romanticist ‘style’ of demonizing the work conditions and then searching for a domesticated protagonist or an untamed hero has come a long way. The artist as a researcher has accepted the role of participant observer. Participant, in so far as s/he interacts with people or a group and then charts a strategy that re-thinks observations with a larger audience with due respect to human existence. For Komu, the humane re-orientation has been inherent since the days when he was an undergraduate art student. Not a PR statement by the artist, this. It is just a recollection by a writer who has seen Komu for last 8-odd years, when the latter struggled mend the ways within the JJ School of Art, Mumbai. With every work, since then, Komu has demonstrated his ability to re-humanise social-political inquiry, although his focal length differed every time.
I’d think of this show not as an exhibition that waited for applause. The success of Grass was that, it made Riyas Komu’s notes public.
-- abhijeet tamhane
* Grass : Riyas Komu, Guild Art Gallery.
Friday, June 01, 2007
The polemicist – turned- orator
Canopies and calligraphy, domes and decorative motifs… pots and coffins, burns and bullets… Riyas Komu entwined them in his recent show, with what seems to be an unending column - of religion and rivalry, piety and predation. The show at Mumbai's Sakshi Gallery in April-May, was called 'Faith Accompli', a title that had a smell of dreaded dreams and doom. Komu drew home the quandary of the debate over faith and power. The culture-specific forms that Komu conceptualized had the strength of addressing the universal. Komu's visual language attained new oratorial heights.
Komu's language has evolved with empathy toward objects which are closer to life (or death). It has not only valued precision and perspective but also materiality and measure. It has been with Komu since he was a student. Be it the red pots and photo frames or the use of tarpauline in "he used to believe EMS planted all the coconut trees in Kerala" (1998), his later engagement with watching news channels to distill the most evocative faces of commoners who have to bear the brunt, and the later experiments with the 'garage boys' at Borivli (also a part of his photographic work), who once facilitated his use of motorcycle parts that suggested a deconstructed human body. Lately, Komu used metal forms that directly denoted a religion or a party. These works form the base of his current language, where volume is as important as content. The size and repetition that adds to the volume were never used so directly by Komu, before 2005. In the current show, 'the Third Day' the scale of tin walls competes the frightening prison-cells, while the oversized, heavy wooden communion chalises evoke assurance and suspicion alike. The decorations on the canopies reach disturbing hights. ' My Fathers' Balcony' takes the myth of Noah's Arc in its stride. The repetition of red coffins and charred, holed pots make a high-pitched demand for something more than a second or a third look. The blood-red, coffin-shaped forms on the wall sport the sheen of a car you (wanted to/) own, and as you watch the' Tragedy of a carpenter's Son', your eyes feel the pale- cold touch of bare galvanized tin with its occasional corrosions.
With such content that intrigues the intellectually honest and commands emotional reflex, Komu has always been a polemicist. In the previous years, he took on the overlapping tasks of an interpreter, interrogator and advocate. Oratory comes with volume and pitch, which he has obtained now. Will this quality lead him to a major public art piece or will he be content with galleries and biennales, remains to be seen.
- abhijeet tamhane.
Komu's language has evolved with empathy toward objects which are closer to life (or death). It has not only valued precision and perspective but also materiality and measure. It has been with Komu since he was a student. Be it the red pots and photo frames or the use of tarpauline in "he used to believe EMS planted all the coconut trees in Kerala" (1998), his later engagement with watching news channels to distill the most evocative faces of commoners who have to bear the brunt, and the later experiments with the 'garage boys' at Borivli (also a part of his photographic work), who once facilitated his use of motorcycle parts that suggested a deconstructed human body. Lately, Komu used metal forms that directly denoted a religion or a party. These works form the base of his current language, where volume is as important as content. The size and repetition that adds to the volume were never used so directly by Komu, before 2005. In the current show, 'the Third Day' the scale of tin walls competes the frightening prison-cells, while the oversized, heavy wooden communion chalises evoke assurance and suspicion alike. The decorations on the canopies reach disturbing hights. ' My Fathers' Balcony' takes the myth of Noah's Arc in its stride. The repetition of red coffins and charred, holed pots make a high-pitched demand for something more than a second or a third look. The blood-red, coffin-shaped forms on the wall sport the sheen of a car you (wanted to/) own, and as you watch the' Tragedy of a carpenter's Son', your eyes feel the pale- cold touch of bare galvanized tin with its occasional corrosions.
With such content that intrigues the intellectually honest and commands emotional reflex, Komu has always been a polemicist. In the previous years, he took on the overlapping tasks of an interpreter, interrogator and advocate. Oratory comes with volume and pitch, which he has obtained now. Will this quality lead him to a major public art piece or will he be content with galleries and biennales, remains to be seen.
- abhijeet tamhane.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
‘Kaikoo Banayaa?’
Art gets ready for questions on the street
(first published in Art Concerns )
For the ‘Kala Ghoda Art Festival’ (KGAF) that packed more than 150 films, dances, plays and street acts in nine days (February 3-11, 2007), the stationery aspect of the visual art segment was perhaps a respite for those who wanted an experience in totality, at their convenience. Here, too, one could list down some 33 projects by various artists or art galleries. With such a scale, the KGAF surpassed every other art-happening in the city, Dayanita Singh’s show and ‘Soft Spoken’: the 6-person show curated by Bose Krishnammachari, or the less-celebritised ‘Bombay Art Society Annual show’ included!
For the KGAF art segment to be talked about, the aspects were many. A street-art experience in Mumbai still retains its novelty. The other aspect was multiplicity (or the happy absence) of focus, and a good mix of young and established. As Brinda Miller, co-ordinator for this year’s visual art segment put it in pukka Mumbaiya hinglish, ‘Iss baar class bhi hai, mass bhi hai’!
The questions arouse when a discerning observer took to the streets to experience the class-mass responses to the class-mass art. The local (read vernacular) media made the same mistake of carrying the photographs of some artifacts for sale in the adjacent craft-stalls with naive captions like ‘an artist shows his beautiful art in the kala ghoda utsav’. The confusions about crafted beauty and communicative visual data remained intact, even without the share of such ‘beautiful’ photo-captions, while there were some other joys, rather contemporary to this year. People fell for the monumental scales, but were not afraid to ask, ‘Yeh Kya hai? Kaikoo banayaa?’ and a dialogue started.
Parag Tandel, the Thane-based lad supported by Pundole Art Gallery for his installation ‘Ambivert Space’, rendered an everyday object (the Nimboo-Mirch concoctution that, traders in the city believe, wards off evil) in a crafty way with threads. The work inspired many questions like ‘Kaikoo banayaa?’, and Parag or his friends would talk of this ‘unbranded product’ that serves the shops that sell brands, or the plight of nimboo-mirchi makers or sellers. Parag was also delighted that people, who otherwise would not touch a ‘real’ nimboo-mirchi fearing the axis of evil, dared to touch these crafted objects. This debutant artist won offers for a solo!
‘Jogya’ a nickname for Prashant Jogdand, is an artist who makes his presence felt at every KGAF. Jogya’s sculptural interventions implant human life on the trees surrounding the Jehangir Art Gallery. His trees with feet (2005), or with hands (2006), or lips and utensils (2007) can be thought of as an ongoing project with public memory. This artist who keeps a low profile also reflected on the importance of the unseen: his team displayed ‘snails on a tree’.
Natraj Sharma and N. S. Harsha, were the two cutting-edge artists who took to the street this KGAF, thanks to the Bodhi Art Gallery. Natraj’s ‘Alternative Shapes for planet Earth’ needed an open sky backdrop which it did not get, but the work was nevertheless appreciated. Helpful and tempting was the concept note that spoke and illustrated an artist’s journey back and forth painting and sculpture. Harsha’s work, biggest ever at any of the last nine KGAFs, confronted the laypersons and uninitiated eyes with equal awe.
A common visitor went rampant in his/her ‘photography spree’ at Harsha’s Aircraft, as well as Prashant Narvekar and Laxmi Nair’s ‘Helicoptook’: Prashant and Laxmi, a duo who graduaded from the JJ School of Arts and chose to exhibit after 5 years since, worked with the fantasy of an Autorickshaw equipped to fly. The most-asked question to them was, whether this three-wheeler with a stylized back-hood and wings to decorate, really flies.
Some less-interacted, yet potent works were displayed behind a row of stalls. Among them were three works by Himanshu S. and his team. ‘This revolution is for display’ sought inspiration from the Nineteen Sixties, while a direct take on the present-day was posed by ‘ Booked Street’, a re-enlivenment of the book-selling pavements that died at the hands of Municipal Council. ‘In Dog we trust’ had an interactive appeal, to lift the stuffed-toy doggies and do ‘whatever’ with them. Yet, the work was tucked in a place where there were a bit more ‘usual’ works on display, like the fantastic ‘any for six thousand’ offer by Tao Art Gallery.
Showcasing opportunities were aptly taken by some galleries, some lesser known to the city. Their shows this time were comparatively eloquent for the street-setting, even as they relied on wall-mounted or pedestelised stuff. The buzz word here was ‘reiteration’ of what one specializes in. Aakar Prakar of Kolkata came down to KGAF with ‘contemporary artists from the east’ and had pleasant surprises like (Delhi-based) Samit Das, the newly-opened Osmosis gallery reverted to brilliant-but-lesser-known artists like Madhao Imartey and Nitin Kulkarni, and ‘Red Dot Art’ stood steadfast with showcasing graphics.
Thirty three exhibits were a bit exhausting, too. The wit and wisdom in some works, like Kanchi Mehta’s ‘Smoker’, Hina Khan’s ‘Our old Scooter’ or street sculptures by Shailesh Dudhalker, seemed a bit sidelined because of the exhaustion. While these works attracted comparatively less interaction and Q-A sessions with the artists, a new dialectics of what and why to exhibit on the street was surely visible in these works. Some works, like ‘Hoardings’ by Prajakta Potnis-Ponmany, lacked the dose of supporting information in the absence of the artist.
In my opinion, the KGAF is about facilitating a ‘Pedestrians eye view of art’. It has been doing so for last nine years, but kudos! It did better this time.
- Abhijeet Tamhane, Mumbai.
Related link:
http://www.kalaghodaassociation.com/2007/
(first published in Art Concerns )
For the ‘Kala Ghoda Art Festival’ (KGAF) that packed more than 150 films, dances, plays and street acts in nine days (February 3-11, 2007), the stationery aspect of the visual art segment was perhaps a respite for those who wanted an experience in totality, at their convenience. Here, too, one could list down some 33 projects by various artists or art galleries. With such a scale, the KGAF surpassed every other art-happening in the city, Dayanita Singh’s show and ‘Soft Spoken’: the 6-person show curated by Bose Krishnammachari, or the less-celebritised ‘Bombay Art Society Annual show’ included!
For the KGAF art segment to be talked about, the aspects were many. A street-art experience in Mumbai still retains its novelty. The other aspect was multiplicity (or the happy absence) of focus, and a good mix of young and established. As Brinda Miller, co-ordinator for this year’s visual art segment put it in pukka Mumbaiya hinglish, ‘Iss baar class bhi hai, mass bhi hai’!
The questions arouse when a discerning observer took to the streets to experience the class-mass responses to the class-mass art. The local (read vernacular) media made the same mistake of carrying the photographs of some artifacts for sale in the adjacent craft-stalls with naive captions like ‘an artist shows his beautiful art in the kala ghoda utsav’. The confusions about crafted beauty and communicative visual data remained intact, even without the share of such ‘beautiful’ photo-captions, while there were some other joys, rather contemporary to this year. People fell for the monumental scales, but were not afraid to ask, ‘Yeh Kya hai? Kaikoo banayaa?’ and a dialogue started.
Parag Tandel, the Thane-based lad supported by Pundole Art Gallery for his installation ‘Ambivert Space’, rendered an everyday object (the Nimboo-Mirch concoctution that, traders in the city believe, wards off evil) in a crafty way with threads. The work inspired many questions like ‘Kaikoo banayaa?’, and Parag or his friends would talk of this ‘unbranded product’ that serves the shops that sell brands, or the plight of nimboo-mirchi makers or sellers. Parag was also delighted that people, who otherwise would not touch a ‘real’ nimboo-mirchi fearing the axis of evil, dared to touch these crafted objects. This debutant artist won offers for a solo!
‘Jogya’ a nickname for Prashant Jogdand, is an artist who makes his presence felt at every KGAF. Jogya’s sculptural interventions implant human life on the trees surrounding the Jehangir Art Gallery. His trees with feet (2005), or with hands (2006), or lips and utensils (2007) can be thought of as an ongoing project with public memory. This artist who keeps a low profile also reflected on the importance of the unseen: his team displayed ‘snails on a tree’.
Natraj Sharma and N. S. Harsha, were the two cutting-edge artists who took to the street this KGAF, thanks to the Bodhi Art Gallery. Natraj’s ‘Alternative Shapes for planet Earth’ needed an open sky backdrop which it did not get, but the work was nevertheless appreciated. Helpful and tempting was the concept note that spoke and illustrated an artist’s journey back and forth painting and sculpture. Harsha’s work, biggest ever at any of the last nine KGAFs, confronted the laypersons and uninitiated eyes with equal awe.
A common visitor went rampant in his/her ‘photography spree’ at Harsha’s Aircraft, as well as Prashant Narvekar and Laxmi Nair’s ‘Helicoptook’: Prashant and Laxmi, a duo who graduaded from the JJ School of Arts and chose to exhibit after 5 years since, worked with the fantasy of an Autorickshaw equipped to fly. The most-asked question to them was, whether this three-wheeler with a stylized back-hood and wings to decorate, really flies.
Some less-interacted, yet potent works were displayed behind a row of stalls. Among them were three works by Himanshu S. and his team. ‘This revolution is for display’ sought inspiration from the Nineteen Sixties, while a direct take on the present-day was posed by ‘ Booked Street’, a re-enlivenment of the book-selling pavements that died at the hands of Municipal Council. ‘In Dog we trust’ had an interactive appeal, to lift the stuffed-toy doggies and do ‘whatever’ with them. Yet, the work was tucked in a place where there were a bit more ‘usual’ works on display, like the fantastic ‘any for six thousand’ offer by Tao Art Gallery.
Showcasing opportunities were aptly taken by some galleries, some lesser known to the city. Their shows this time were comparatively eloquent for the street-setting, even as they relied on wall-mounted or pedestelised stuff. The buzz word here was ‘reiteration’ of what one specializes in. Aakar Prakar of Kolkata came down to KGAF with ‘contemporary artists from the east’ and had pleasant surprises like (Delhi-based) Samit Das, the newly-opened Osmosis gallery reverted to brilliant-but-lesser-known artists like Madhao Imartey and Nitin Kulkarni, and ‘Red Dot Art’ stood steadfast with showcasing graphics.
Thirty three exhibits were a bit exhausting, too. The wit and wisdom in some works, like Kanchi Mehta’s ‘Smoker’, Hina Khan’s ‘Our old Scooter’ or street sculptures by Shailesh Dudhalker, seemed a bit sidelined because of the exhaustion. While these works attracted comparatively less interaction and Q-A sessions with the artists, a new dialectics of what and why to exhibit on the street was surely visible in these works. Some works, like ‘Hoardings’ by Prajakta Potnis-Ponmany, lacked the dose of supporting information in the absence of the artist.
In my opinion, the KGAF is about facilitating a ‘Pedestrians eye view of art’. It has been doing so for last nine years, but kudos! It did better this time.
- Abhijeet Tamhane, Mumbai.
Related link:
http://www.kalaghodaassociation.com/2007/
Monday, February 12, 2007
Unlikely Logos…
Intrigue is at the core of Justin Ponmany’s paintings. He has, over a period of last five years, gradually made them more and more hologramatic, a process rarely used by an Indian painter. Rarity of technique is not the end, though. It is the beginning for having an artist’s take on the medium commonly used to denote authenticity of a product or document. The debate on authorship is central to Justin’s work as he uses his canvas with searched (as against, found) photographic images and explores them with juxtaposition of other images or text.
The imagery in Justin’s recent body of work, for example, ranged from colonial monuments, the moment of childbirth, a dog… all supported with repetition of a word or two. The words, coupled with pictures, definitely had an invitation to the viewer to solve her/his intrigue, or at least to be at ease with the intrigue level you have.
Ask Justin about the efficacy of holograms and he would say he wants the technique because he intends to make his work look like ‘unlikely logos reflecting the dreams and despairs of today’ a word that intrigues you more! Justin’s holograms were supported by some drawings on graph-paper, and all the drawings had one form: that of Swastika. His canvases, too, showed the same, somewhat disturbing form beneath (or over?) the images. The graph-paper drawings were simple, they played with Swastika as if it were a mascot that tries to illustrate the words like ‘climb’. They almost had a childlike charm, and their adherence to the plotted points reminded of Rangoli designs, but central to them was a Swastika: a sign that has been downgraded in Europe to denote a politically incorrect ideology. Also within the contemporary Indian political-cultural practice, Swantika seems to be hijacked by the Hinduist ideology. The cultural construct of Swastika deserves a righteous subversion, a resurrection of sorts, to bring back the sign into its semiotic realm and then to attempt a new meaning. Justin’s drawings on graph paper did show signs of re-claiming the Swastika to a larger semiotics. His use of the same drawings as juxtaposed images on hologram-canvas challenged the known patterns of juxtaposition, and suggested a meaning elsewhere.
A logo has readability. It almost impersonates what it stands for. Justin’s logos were unlikely, for they did not say what they meant. Intrigue remains intact. Nevertheless, his use and subversion of colonial and contemporary images did stand for dreams and despairs of a glocal mind.
- Abhijeet Tamhane.
The imagery in Justin’s recent body of work, for example, ranged from colonial monuments, the moment of childbirth, a dog… all supported with repetition of a word or two. The words, coupled with pictures, definitely had an invitation to the viewer to solve her/his intrigue, or at least to be at ease with the intrigue level you have.
Ask Justin about the efficacy of holograms and he would say he wants the technique because he intends to make his work look like ‘unlikely logos reflecting the dreams and despairs of today’ a word that intrigues you more! Justin’s holograms were supported by some drawings on graph-paper, and all the drawings had one form: that of Swastika. His canvases, too, showed the same, somewhat disturbing form beneath (or over?) the images. The graph-paper drawings were simple, they played with Swastika as if it were a mascot that tries to illustrate the words like ‘climb’. They almost had a childlike charm, and their adherence to the plotted points reminded of Rangoli designs, but central to them was a Swastika: a sign that has been downgraded in Europe to denote a politically incorrect ideology. Also within the contemporary Indian political-cultural practice, Swantika seems to be hijacked by the Hinduist ideology. The cultural construct of Swastika deserves a righteous subversion, a resurrection of sorts, to bring back the sign into its semiotic realm and then to attempt a new meaning. Justin’s drawings on graph paper did show signs of re-claiming the Swastika to a larger semiotics. His use of the same drawings as juxtaposed images on hologram-canvas challenged the known patterns of juxtaposition, and suggested a meaning elsewhere.
A logo has readability. It almost impersonates what it stands for. Justin’s logos were unlikely, for they did not say what they meant. Intrigue remains intact. Nevertheless, his use and subversion of colonial and contemporary images did stand for dreams and despairs of a glocal mind.
- Abhijeet Tamhane.
Toys and teasers for those who want to grow…
(Catalogue text for Narendra Yadav, Solo Show with Sakshi Gallery)
“Far from suggesting a literal or even symbolic representation of social (as against national) identities such as those of gender/class/caste and region, new art in India needs to suspend any direct address towards the social"
- Geeta Kapur, November 13, 1998 [1].
The sense-making strategies for an artist from India have changed, and India has been watching the change. Before Narendra Yadav took a studio space he had seen the upheavals around the millennium and its 'new age' ramifications on people's lives. Anyone who lives in a fast-growing district of the commercial capital of an emerging superpower must have taken some lessons from what one saw as the play of time. Narendra's lessons included a critical study: are people really thinking of themselves differently? Are the notions changing, or do they exist under a changed garb?
In a country whose father taught "indriya nigraha" by pointing to the three wise monkeys [2] , the attack on senses is imminent. Narendra does not lament on loss of nigraha. He does a monument to suit the changed situation, instead. A viewer might identify the monument with the crowds in Ginza of Tokyo since the 1960s or, more apparently, the mall-pub metroculture of Mumbai in recent years. The iconography is satirical and of course referential, but it does not pooh-pooh the Japanese or the Gandhian reference. The work owns a calm emotional tone, a wise smile on ourselves, wrapped in a most neutral-looking title.
The task to scrutinize and polemicize the self-illusory hedonism that surrounds the air of capitalism and consumerism has been taken up by artists before [3] . The strategy of subversion first emerged as a successful one, as if subversion is the most-sought attribute for turning your artists into heroes, a game that curators and catalogues and 'big' shows often play. In a scenario where an artist-observer is expected to take on the role of an entertaining agitationist, there are artists who, wittingly or accidentally, take up the task of subverting the game itself. They blur the borders of persuasion and polemics. One can sense these blurred borders in Narendra's work.
In his analysis as a participant-observer of purposeless hunger and self-indulgence (read, 'wellness'), Narendra suspects a Pavlovian conditioning. An ever-changing, ever-increasing association of stimuli and responses, that sets the rhythm of everyday actions. We all get to our cell phones when the bell rings, he observes in a temporal, performance-based work; and moves on to enquire whether an image of moving fan - video projection on the ceiling, brings some comfort and some sleepy feelings to the audience with eyes wide open. The foot that relaxes itself through a concrete pillar in ' Dust particles suspended in the air to perform pranayama' , annotates the enquiry with pathos and formalizes the empathy for the observed.
The systems that affect the values of a glocal mind in India are many: Bollywood, News Channels, IT… to name a few. Narendra points to the mediated feelings of being loved while you compete at the ‘Abhisarsthana’, or playing nemesis with ‘Stress-release toys for quick justice‘, while you are only bringing down some symbols of the so-called evil . The two works seem communicative to the brink of getting obvious, say their visual clues. But the problematique is sensed in their suggested or hand-driven movement. For the less obvious, seemingly 'complex' works, Narendra assists the viewer with his own titles, like ' Partially elevating apparatus based on a dogma requiring intervention'. The works retort values, and yet have an essential playful, interactive quality.
\nThe play element in Narendra Yadav\'s art is, to me, his reverence for the time. His works demand a chunk of your time in the gallery. They ask for your engagement, persuade you off the \'eye for art\' dictat. His approach is comparable to that of \'integrative arts\' as professed by educationists, to help them learn. Sarcasm or subversion is not the raison d\'être of Narenda\'s works. Nor does he want the viewer to be baffled and feel powerless for not being a thinker otherwise. The invitation to think is open, though; with titles that carry out their task to invite in a rather proactive manner. Narendra also looks back at the common reverence for text, and his titles like \'enery created by fluttering logic in the mid-air\', would invite to drill the text in favour of the matter.\n\n \nThe common audience to India\n\'s contemporary art is not only the uninitiated lot. It also consists of the formalist \'old art\' lot, over-initiated by the colonial art-teaching methods coupled with feudal inertia for artistic enquiry. I would like to imagine their reactions to Narendra\'s work. For instance, among his revolving works, Nelson Mandela toy/monument (colour blender) a stubborn formalist who would still see the \'treatment\' that Mandela\'s ears have undergone, but would be driven to the action of \'blending\' the what s/he has always seen as opposite colours. The reason for using Mandela (and not the usual Ganpati idol that 55 per cent of India\'s sculptors seem to incorporate in their shows unmistakably), lay not in having to do away with the ears, s/he would (hopefully) reveal, and be driven to think why Mandela is put as a mascot of blending opposite colours. Similar situations may occur for at least half of the works shown.\n\n",1]
);
//-->
The play element in Narendra Yadav's art is, to me, his reverence for the time. His works demand a chunk of your time in the gallery. They ask for your engagement, persuade you off the 'eye for art' regime. His approach is comparable to that of 'integrative arts' as professed by educationists, to help them learn. Sarcasm or subversion is not the raison d'être of Narendra’s works. Nor does he want the viewer to be baffled and feel powerless for not being a thinker otherwise. The invitation to think is open, though; with titles that carry out their task to invite in a rather proactive manner. Narendra also looks back at the common reverence for text.
The layperson with reference to India's contemporary art is not only the uninitiated lot. It also consists of the formalist 'old art' lot, over-initiated by the colonial art-teaching methods coupled with feudal inertia for artistic enquiry. I would like to imagine their reactions to Narendra's work. For instance, with his revolving Nelson Mandela toy/monument called ‘Colour Blender’ , a stubborn formalist who would still notice the treatment that Mandela's ears have undergone, but would be driven to the action of 'blending' what s/he has always seen as opposite colours. The reason for using Mandela (and not the usual Ganpati idol that 55 per cent of India's sculptors seem to incorporate in their shows unmistakably), lay not in having to do away with the ears, s/he would (hopefully) reveal, and be driven to think why Mandela is put as a mascot of blending opposite colours. Similar situations may occur for at least half of the works shown.
There are three works which might pose Narendra himself as a formalist-poetic exponent… the most eye-catching 'Amniotic continents' has a definitive formalist bend, a more poetic 'Droplets drifting to unknown' is almost magical in its structure and spiritual in its suggestion, and the bread-slices with ‘designer’ egg yokes that flaunt streaks of colour. Confront these with his witty "kibosh" on art criticism, a conceptual work that knows how to keep the formalist instincts in their place. The artist's field of enquiry- human values and behaviour – may seem distant in these works, but they outline Narendra's broader spectrum of activity.
Narendra has a handful peers in his story so far. His efforts in exploring the substance of his sculptural works, in understanding the mechanics so as to outdo its spell, and in addressing newer issues that haunt a local as well as global audience, are certainly directed to shape the new sculpture from India.
-- Abhijeet Tamhane,
Mumbai, June 2006.
[1] Concluding remarks, quoted from a lecture : "What's New in Indian Art : Canons, Commodification, Artists on the Edge" at India International Centre, New Delhi; a part of ResArtis 6th General Meeting. Later published in the Marg volume: 2000 : Reflections on the Arts in India.
[2] The Nikko Toshogo Shrine, also known as the Sacred Stable, in Japan has a carving of three wise monkeys. Many scholars believe the monkeys were carved as a visual representation of the religious principle, "If we do not hear, see, or speak evil, we ourselves shall be spared all evil."
http://web-japan.org/atlas/architecture/arc05.html
[3] Barbara Kruger, 'I shop therefore I am' is one of the favorites.
“Far from suggesting a literal or even symbolic representation of social (as against national) identities such as those of gender/class/caste and region, new art in India needs to suspend any direct address towards the social"
- Geeta Kapur, November 13, 1998 [1].
The sense-making strategies for an artist from India have changed, and India has been watching the change. Before Narendra Yadav took a studio space he had seen the upheavals around the millennium and its 'new age' ramifications on people's lives. Anyone who lives in a fast-growing district of the commercial capital of an emerging superpower must have taken some lessons from what one saw as the play of time. Narendra's lessons included a critical study: are people really thinking of themselves differently? Are the notions changing, or do they exist under a changed garb?
In a country whose father taught "indriya nigraha" by pointing to the three wise monkeys [2] , the attack on senses is imminent. Narendra does not lament on loss of nigraha. He does a monument to suit the changed situation, instead. A viewer might identify the monument with the crowds in Ginza of Tokyo since the 1960s or, more apparently, the mall-pub metroculture of Mumbai in recent years. The iconography is satirical and of course referential, but it does not pooh-pooh the Japanese or the Gandhian reference. The work owns a calm emotional tone, a wise smile on ourselves, wrapped in a most neutral-looking title.
The task to scrutinize and polemicize the self-illusory hedonism that surrounds the air of capitalism and consumerism has been taken up by artists before [3] . The strategy of subversion first emerged as a successful one, as if subversion is the most-sought attribute for turning your artists into heroes, a game that curators and catalogues and 'big' shows often play. In a scenario where an artist-observer is expected to take on the role of an entertaining agitationist, there are artists who, wittingly or accidentally, take up the task of subverting the game itself. They blur the borders of persuasion and polemics. One can sense these blurred borders in Narendra's work.
In his analysis as a participant-observer of purposeless hunger and self-indulgence (read, 'wellness'), Narendra suspects a Pavlovian conditioning. An ever-changing, ever-increasing association of stimuli and responses, that sets the rhythm of everyday actions. We all get to our cell phones when the bell rings, he observes in a temporal, performance-based work; and moves on to enquire whether an image of moving fan - video projection on the ceiling, brings some comfort and some sleepy feelings to the audience with eyes wide open. The foot that relaxes itself through a concrete pillar in ' Dust particles suspended in the air to perform pranayama' , annotates the enquiry with pathos and formalizes the empathy for the observed.
The systems that affect the values of a glocal mind in India are many: Bollywood, News Channels, IT… to name a few. Narendra points to the mediated feelings of being loved while you compete at the ‘Abhisarsthana’, or playing nemesis with ‘Stress-release toys for quick justice‘, while you are only bringing down some symbols of the so-called evil . The two works seem communicative to the brink of getting obvious, say their visual clues. But the problematique is sensed in their suggested or hand-driven movement. For the less obvious, seemingly 'complex' works, Narendra assists the viewer with his own titles, like ' Partially elevating apparatus based on a dogma requiring intervention'. The works retort values, and yet have an essential playful, interactive quality.
\nThe play element in Narendra Yadav\'s art is, to me, his reverence for the time. His works demand a chunk of your time in the gallery. They ask for your engagement, persuade you off the \'eye for art\' dictat. His approach is comparable to that of \'integrative arts\' as professed by educationists, to help them learn. Sarcasm or subversion is not the raison d\'être of Narenda\'s works. Nor does he want the viewer to be baffled and feel powerless for not being a thinker otherwise. The invitation to think is open, though; with titles that carry out their task to invite in a rather proactive manner. Narendra also looks back at the common reverence for text, and his titles like \'enery created by fluttering logic in the mid-air\', would invite to drill the text in favour of the matter.\n\n \nThe common audience to India\n\'s contemporary art is not only the uninitiated lot. It also consists of the formalist \'old art\' lot, over-initiated by the colonial art-teaching methods coupled with feudal inertia for artistic enquiry. I would like to imagine their reactions to Narendra\'s work. For instance, among his revolving works, Nelson Mandela toy/monument (colour blender) a stubborn formalist who would still see the \'treatment\' that Mandela\'s ears have undergone, but would be driven to the action of \'blending\' the what s/he has always seen as opposite colours. The reason for using Mandela (and not the usual Ganpati idol that 55 per cent of India\'s sculptors seem to incorporate in their shows unmistakably), lay not in having to do away with the ears, s/he would (hopefully) reveal, and be driven to think why Mandela is put as a mascot of blending opposite colours. Similar situations may occur for at least half of the works shown.\n\n",1]
);
//-->
The play element in Narendra Yadav's art is, to me, his reverence for the time. His works demand a chunk of your time in the gallery. They ask for your engagement, persuade you off the 'eye for art' regime. His approach is comparable to that of 'integrative arts' as professed by educationists, to help them learn. Sarcasm or subversion is not the raison d'être of Narendra’s works. Nor does he want the viewer to be baffled and feel powerless for not being a thinker otherwise. The invitation to think is open, though; with titles that carry out their task to invite in a rather proactive manner. Narendra also looks back at the common reverence for text.
The layperson with reference to India's contemporary art is not only the uninitiated lot. It also consists of the formalist 'old art' lot, over-initiated by the colonial art-teaching methods coupled with feudal inertia for artistic enquiry. I would like to imagine their reactions to Narendra's work. For instance, with his revolving Nelson Mandela toy/monument called ‘Colour Blender’ , a stubborn formalist who would still notice the treatment that Mandela's ears have undergone, but would be driven to the action of 'blending' what s/he has always seen as opposite colours. The reason for using Mandela (and not the usual Ganpati idol that 55 per cent of India's sculptors seem to incorporate in their shows unmistakably), lay not in having to do away with the ears, s/he would (hopefully) reveal, and be driven to think why Mandela is put as a mascot of blending opposite colours. Similar situations may occur for at least half of the works shown.
There are three works which might pose Narendra himself as a formalist-poetic exponent… the most eye-catching 'Amniotic continents' has a definitive formalist bend, a more poetic 'Droplets drifting to unknown' is almost magical in its structure and spiritual in its suggestion, and the bread-slices with ‘designer’ egg yokes that flaunt streaks of colour. Confront these with his witty "kibosh" on art criticism, a conceptual work that knows how to keep the formalist instincts in their place. The artist's field of enquiry- human values and behaviour – may seem distant in these works, but they outline Narendra's broader spectrum of activity.
Narendra has a handful peers in his story so far. His efforts in exploring the substance of his sculptural works, in understanding the mechanics so as to outdo its spell, and in addressing newer issues that haunt a local as well as global audience, are certainly directed to shape the new sculpture from India.
-- Abhijeet Tamhane,
Mumbai, June 2006.
[1] Concluding remarks, quoted from a lecture : "What's New in Indian Art : Canons, Commodification, Artists on the Edge" at India International Centre, New Delhi; a part of ResArtis 6th General Meeting. Later published in the Marg volume: 2000 : Reflections on the Arts in India.
[2] The Nikko Toshogo Shrine, also known as the Sacred Stable, in Japan has a carving of three wise monkeys. Many scholars believe the monkeys were carved as a visual representation of the religious principle, "If we do not hear, see, or speak evil, we ourselves shall be spared all evil."
http://web-japan.org/atlas/architecture/arc05.html
[3] Barbara Kruger, 'I shop therefore I am' is one of the favorites.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Art Galleries in Mumbai
List of Mumbai's Art Galleries
Walk/Drive A : Flora Fountain, Kala Ghoda, Lion Gate, Regal Circle, Colaba Causway, Cuffe Parade, Nariman Point.
Pundole Art Gallery : 22841837
369. DN Road, Flora Fountain (hutatma Chowk), Adjacent to American Dryfruit Store
Jehangir Art Gallery : 22048212 (Anil, Arvind)
Kala Ghoda Circle (now Netji Subhash Chowk)opp. Elphinstonne College, MG Road.
Gallery Chemould :22833640 ( Mr. Ashley, Ms Oli)
First Floor of Jehangir Art Gallery, opp. Elphinstonne College, MG Road. (Chemould will get bigger shortly, at a new space in CST/ Fort area.
Museum Contemporary Gallery : 22844484
Behind Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Museum (Formerly Prince of Wales Museum), Maxmuller Bhavan, K. Dubhash Marg (rampart Row), next to Jehangir Art Gallery.
Bodhi Art Gallery : 6610 0124
28, K. Dubash Marg, I. T. T. S. House, Kalaghoda. Opposite 'Museum Contemporary Gallery'
Artists' Centre : 22845939
1st Floor, Ador House, 6, K. Dubhash Marg (Rampart Row), Near Jehangir Art Gallery and Behind Prince Of Wales Museum, Kala Ghoda.
Haceinda Art Gallery : 22837232 (Puneeta)
Great Western Building, Ground Floor, next to Artists' Centre, Kala Ghoda.
Gallery Beyond : 22837345 (prema)
130/132, 1st floor, Great Western Building, Shahid Bhagat Singh Marg, Opposite Lions Gate,shahid Bhagat Singh Marg.
National Gallery of Modern Art (NGMA) : 22881969
Cowasjee Jehangir Public Hall, Opp. Regal Cinema and Opp. Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Museum (Formerly Prince of Wales Museum), MG Road. Regal Cinema Circle (Shyamaprasad Mukherjee Chowk)
Sakshi Gallery : 66103424
Tanna House, Ground Floor, 11-A, Nathalal Parekh Marg (Woodhouse Road), Colaba.
the Guild : 22848260 (Preeti)
28 B, Pipewalla Building, 58/70 Shahid Bhagatsigh Marg (colab causway),Opp. Camy Wafers, Colaba.
Jamaat : 22162957 (Pravina Mecklai)
40, Seventh Floor, Shirin South, Shahid Bhagatsigh Marg (colab causway), near Post office, Colaba.
Ashish Balram Nagpal's Gallery : 56385472
No.#7, the Courtyard, SP Centre, Behind Radio Club, Next to Athena, 41/44, Minoo Desai Marg, Colaba.
Gallry 7 : 22183996 (Chandra Doshi)
21, Old Cuffe parade Road, next to Atur Terraces, (before Hotel Taj President), colaba.
Kamalnayan Bajaj Art Gallery : 22023626 (Sandeep Prabhakar)
Ground Floor, Bajaj Bhavan, opp. CR-2 (inox) Nariman Point.
Piramal Gallery / Centre for Photogrphy as an Art Form (CPA) : 22029483
National Center for the Performing Arts (NCPA) Complex, Experimental Theatre Block, First Floor, Nariman Point- NCPA.
Jehangir Nicholson Gallery : 22833737, 22833838
National Center for the Performing Arts (NCPA) Complex, Library Block, First Floor, Nariman Point- NCPA.
Walk/Drive B : Nehru Centre and Breach Candy
Art & Soul : 24965798
1, Madhuli, Poonam Chamber Complex, Dr. Annie Beasant Road, Worli.
Tao Art Gallery (1,2 and 3) : 24918585
Sarjan Plaza, behind Lotus Petrol Pump, 100, Dr Annie Besant Road, Worli
Nehru Centre Art Gallery (+ Nehru Centre Circular Gallery) : 24964676
Discovery of India Building, Ground Floor, Dr. Annie Beasant Road, Worli.
Cymroza Art Gallery : 23671983
72 Bhulabhai Desai Road, between American Consulate and Breach Candy Hospital, opp. Snowman's Ice Cream Parlour. Breach Candy.
A Strongly Recommended Art Resource Centre:
Mohile-Parikh Centre For Visual Arts : MPCVA :22838380/81
National Center for the Performing Arts (NCPA) Complex, Library Block, Ground Floor, Nariman Point- NCPA.
Some other spaces/ Galleries :
Pradarshak Art Gallery : 26462681
100. Kalpana, Plot No. 338, near Madhu Park, 12th Road, Khar. (Western Railway)
The Osmosis Gallery : 2637 0194 / 3291 1534
175, Aram Nagar II, J P Road, Versova, Andheri (W), Mumbai - 400 061 (Western Railway)
Alliance Françoise : 22036187 (Shireen)
Theosophy Hall, next to Nirmala Niketan College, 40, New Marine Lines, Churchgate.
Art Land 56350776
3rd Floor, Esplanade Mansion, Next to Army & Navy Bldg., MG Road, Kala Ghoda. Churchgate-CST.
Art Musings : 22163339
1, Admiralty House, Opp. Dunne's School, Colaba Cross lane, next to Sassoon Dock, Colaba.
Art Quest : 22150083
Shop No. 1, Daulat Building, next to Colaba Post Office, Colaba.
Walk/Drive A : Flora Fountain, Kala Ghoda, Lion Gate, Regal Circle, Colaba Causway, Cuffe Parade, Nariman Point.
Pundole Art Gallery : 22841837
369. DN Road, Flora Fountain (hutatma Chowk), Adjacent to American Dryfruit Store
Jehangir Art Gallery : 22048212 (Anil, Arvind)
Kala Ghoda Circle (now Netji Subhash Chowk)opp. Elphinstonne College, MG Road.
Gallery Chemould :22833640 ( Mr. Ashley, Ms Oli)
First Floor of Jehangir Art Gallery, opp. Elphinstonne College, MG Road. (Chemould will get bigger shortly, at a new space in CST/ Fort area.
Museum Contemporary Gallery : 22844484
Behind Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Museum (Formerly Prince of Wales Museum), Maxmuller Bhavan, K. Dubhash Marg (rampart Row), next to Jehangir Art Gallery.
Bodhi Art Gallery : 6610 0124
28, K. Dubash Marg, I. T. T. S. House, Kalaghoda. Opposite 'Museum Contemporary Gallery'
Artists' Centre : 22845939
1st Floor, Ador House, 6, K. Dubhash Marg (Rampart Row), Near Jehangir Art Gallery and Behind Prince Of Wales Museum, Kala Ghoda.
Haceinda Art Gallery : 22837232 (Puneeta)
Great Western Building, Ground Floor, next to Artists' Centre, Kala Ghoda.
Gallery Beyond : 22837345 (prema)
130/132, 1st floor, Great Western Building, Shahid Bhagat Singh Marg, Opposite Lions Gate,shahid Bhagat Singh Marg.
National Gallery of Modern Art (NGMA) : 22881969
Cowasjee Jehangir Public Hall, Opp. Regal Cinema and Opp. Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Museum (Formerly Prince of Wales Museum), MG Road. Regal Cinema Circle (Shyamaprasad Mukherjee Chowk)
Sakshi Gallery : 66103424
Tanna House, Ground Floor, 11-A, Nathalal Parekh Marg (Woodhouse Road), Colaba.
the Guild : 22848260 (Preeti)
28 B, Pipewalla Building, 58/70 Shahid Bhagatsigh Marg (colab causway),Opp. Camy Wafers, Colaba.
Jamaat : 22162957 (Pravina Mecklai)
40, Seventh Floor, Shirin South, Shahid Bhagatsigh Marg (colab causway), near Post office, Colaba.
Ashish Balram Nagpal's Gallery : 56385472
No.#7, the Courtyard, SP Centre, Behind Radio Club, Next to Athena, 41/44, Minoo Desai Marg, Colaba.
Gallry 7 : 22183996 (Chandra Doshi)
21, Old Cuffe parade Road, next to Atur Terraces, (before Hotel Taj President), colaba.
Kamalnayan Bajaj Art Gallery : 22023626 (Sandeep Prabhakar)
Ground Floor, Bajaj Bhavan, opp. CR-2 (inox) Nariman Point.
Piramal Gallery / Centre for Photogrphy as an Art Form (CPA) : 22029483
National Center for the Performing Arts (NCPA) Complex, Experimental Theatre Block, First Floor, Nariman Point- NCPA.
Jehangir Nicholson Gallery : 22833737, 22833838
National Center for the Performing Arts (NCPA) Complex, Library Block, First Floor, Nariman Point- NCPA.
Walk/Drive B : Nehru Centre and Breach Candy
Art & Soul : 24965798
1, Madhuli, Poonam Chamber Complex, Dr. Annie Beasant Road, Worli.
Tao Art Gallery (1,2 and 3) : 24918585
Sarjan Plaza, behind Lotus Petrol Pump, 100, Dr Annie Besant Road, Worli
Nehru Centre Art Gallery (+ Nehru Centre Circular Gallery) : 24964676
Discovery of India Building, Ground Floor, Dr. Annie Beasant Road, Worli.
Cymroza Art Gallery : 23671983
72 Bhulabhai Desai Road, between American Consulate and Breach Candy Hospital, opp. Snowman's Ice Cream Parlour. Breach Candy.
A Strongly Recommended Art Resource Centre:
Mohile-Parikh Centre For Visual Arts : MPCVA :22838380/81
National Center for the Performing Arts (NCPA) Complex, Library Block, Ground Floor, Nariman Point- NCPA.
Some other spaces/ Galleries :
Pradarshak Art Gallery : 26462681
100. Kalpana, Plot No. 338, near Madhu Park, 12th Road, Khar. (Western Railway)
The Osmosis Gallery : 2637 0194 / 3291 1534
175, Aram Nagar II, J P Road, Versova, Andheri (W), Mumbai - 400 061 (Western Railway)
Alliance Françoise : 22036187 (Shireen)
Theosophy Hall, next to Nirmala Niketan College, 40, New Marine Lines, Churchgate.
Art Land 56350776
3rd Floor, Esplanade Mansion, Next to Army & Navy Bldg., MG Road, Kala Ghoda. Churchgate-CST.
Art Musings : 22163339
1, Admiralty House, Opp. Dunne's School, Colaba Cross lane, next to Sassoon Dock, Colaba.
Art Quest : 22150083
Shop No. 1, Daulat Building, next to Colaba Post Office, Colaba.
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