The artist in distressing times
The plague struck Mumbai (then Bombay) in 1897 and claimed Bapubai, M V Dhurandhar’s (first) wife, as victim in early 1898. One of the leading practitioners of the Bombay School, Dhurandhar — an accomplished artist of the realistic style — spent the hours in the hospital waiting for relatives doing what he knew best: painting the subject beside him in meticulous detail. The work, unimaginatively titled She Is Dead, became part of a personal body of work that formed a sketchbook including later drawings of his second wife, Gangubai. It was last exhibited at a retrospective of the artist at the National Gallery of Modern Art in Mumbai.
Dhurandhar’s preoccupation with the dead body of his wife might appear ghoulish, but artists have been drawn to the study of anatomy since times immemorial. Leonardo da Vinci was known to visit morgues for a keener understanding of the human body. From the macabre to the vicarious, artists have been compulsive record-keepers of human misery and suffering. In Europe, the ravages of poxes and plagues provided ample content. In current times, photographers have replaced them when it comes to documenting sorrow and acts of violence, but we can be sure that artists will react to these distressing, fatalistic circumstances sooner rather than later.
How are artists keeping themselves occupied in this period of forced confinement? Those with home studios are fortunate to be able to work, saved from distractions — one can be sure no gallerists or collectors are pursuing them for works required for exhibitions in the immediate future. Most I know are confining themselves to small works in the absence of assistants to help with the preparation of canvases, the grinding of colours, and all the paraphernalia artists are no more prone to doing. In the absence of such support, they’re more likely to be experimenting with mediums and materials that they are preparing themselves.
Because they need constant self-validation, artists do not take to confinement easily — even though, ironically, they’re used to working in the isolation of their studios. Being somewhat otherworldly, they can be dismissive of such chores as cooking, cleaning and caring for the family that is now required of them in the short duration. More distressingly, many find themselves locked out of their studios that are located at some distance from their homes. The older among them have resorted to sketching, drawing and painting watercolours; the younger have turned inevitably to their computers in search of inspiration, scouting ideas, catching up with the rest of the (moribund) art world. Most of all, installation artists, those who work on a large scale, are piqued by this incarceration. Perhaps a miniaturisation of their works will help them rethink their ideas and its ability to reach the homes of art lovers who don’t boast an abundance of either space or spending power on works they nevertheless admire.
This time has been a boon for art writers, with artists more than happy to engage in conversations, Skype home-studio sessions, explain work processes, and share the work they’re completing, or starting. A few are away from the city, in alternative studios by the beach or in the mountains — they are the ones I envy most. Many are self-educating themselves on artistic practices, styles and philosophies, spending time watching documentaries and films on artists online. The adda is back by way of virtual conversations. Bereft of pressing schedules and the pressure to produce, many are rethinking their priorities and the implied legacy of their work. Is it too much to hope that a new chapter in art practice will find fertile root — without having to suffer the loss experienced by Bapubai or the painter of her mortal body, M V Dhurandhar?
Those with home studios are fortunate to be able to work, saved from distractions — one can be sure no gallerists or collectors are pursuing them for works required for exhibitions in the immediate future