Digital Art by Samanta Batra Mehta

Some of Samanta Batra's recent work is on display at Gallery BMB's new show, A Place Of Their Own: An exhibition of South Asian-American Diaspora Artists. Born in New Delhi, her undergraduate years were spent studying economics and information systems. She worked in the finance and international shipping industries before beginning a full-time art career. She currently lives in New York. I was instantly taken by her series of four digital photographs: The Last of the Uncolonized Lands. The dark physical beauty and psychadelic dream-like atmosphere of these images, work quickly on the eye and mind. In the background of each of the images is a dark forest of morphed leafless trees. I have seem similar computer manipulations of objects, so it's not a unique idea. However, the structured yet confused images of the trees suggest a sad and tortured mind or internal state. This is a great setting for the figures of women draped in white translucent satin-like cloth, in various dramatic poses, some on beds and others floating in space. They seem to be in various states of emotional pain or sexual longing. They are passive women, either experiencing the aftermath of events, or waiting for something to happen to them. She writes on her website, "I am interested in mapping connections between the human condition and the environment we inhabit. Using the body and abstracted organic forms as metaphor for land/earth/people, my work investigates themes in gender constructs, socio-cultural order and colonization." Her works at the exhibition clearly fit this mould. Though not groundbreaking in theme, treatment, or technique, Mehta's photographs have a beauty and power that will attract most viewers.

Three Men and a Hike

On a recent trip to Germany, my brother, Salil and close friend, Vinay, drove two hours north of Frankfurt to a small town called Glashutte. The hotel we stayed at, The Jagdorf, was a paragon of hospitality. One of the stewards, an Austrian, who served us during a luxurious three-course meal, had helped set up an Italian restaurant at the Four Seasons in Mumbai. The unexpected Mumbai connection ensured that we were treated extraordinarily well.

Though constructed in the 1980s, the Jagdorf had a warm, traditional German charm. The use of light colored wood for the staircases and furniture, created a comfortable homely feel. Reindeer motifs were all around: statues at the entrance and in the lobby, and antlers on the walls of the staircases. I saw a photograph of the hotel in winter, draped with Christmas lights in the snow; it looked like the perfect setting for a Disney movie. Our rooms consisted of two floors: the living room and the bed room upstairs. As I walked up the staircase to the beds, I remembered my childhood bunk-bed.
We arrived at the hotel on a Friday evening. The next day we went for a wonderful hike through the forests around the hotel. Vinay, who is very good at reading maps (even if they are in German), ensured that we didn't for once get lost, during our 10 kilometer adventure. Though overcast, it was the perfect weather for a hike. The occasional light rain, and the fog, were welcome companions.

A Strange Garden

On a recent holiday to Prague, I visited The Wallenstein Palace (1624-30), which is now the Czech senate. It is located south of Prague castle, and was built by Albercht von Wallenstein (1581-1634), a powerful and celebrated Catholic general. He fought vigorously to quell Protestant uprisings during the reign of Emperor Ferdinand II. However, as success and power got the better of him, he aspired to become King of Bohemia, and plotted against the emperor. Sounds a little like Macbeth. He was murdered for his disloyalty.

A day before my visit to the palace, I had seen a mysterious patch of grey from the Prague castle and wondered what it was. I unconvincingly dismissed it as an odd-looking garden with grey plants and coniferous trees. Now, as I stood before the massive grey walls in the Wallenstein garden, it all made sense.

The wall was probably viewed as symbol of Wallenstein’s over-ambition, especially after the news that the general was plotting against the king, reached the king’s ears. I can imagine the king looking out of his palace window at the grey patch, which even today sticks out like a sore thumb in the otherwise beautiful urban landscape below, wishing quick riddance of his once-loyal general.

The grey wall is ugly, and under a grey overcast sky, looked even uglier. Its scale and contorted forms, which resemble stalactites, are overwhelming. Notice the live pigeons camouflaged by the grey stone. There are animals and demonic faces lurking in the stones. A snake slithers along one side. There are subtly hidden entrances to possible tunnels or caves hidden within the imaginary womb of the wall.

The wall has the powerful effect of taking one into a world of mystery and the imagination, far removed from the politically and religiously tempestuous times during which it was created. A sort of an baroque Disney land for royal Praguers.

However, I’m sure the current state of the wall is far removed from its orginal one. There were probably a wider variety of plants crawling up its surface. The extreme right of the wall forms the backdrop for an aviary. I saw three or four large owls hopping along long iron bars. A sad sight. Wallenstein probably had a range of exotic caged birds in his time. Besides the wall, nothing else in the garden or the external design and structure of the grand baroque palace suggest that Wallenstein had an interest in the macabre.

Give Jehangir Art Gallery a chance

If you are a Bombayite, you will recall the time when you would visit Jehangir Art Gallery on Sundays, and complain about how puerile the art on display was. In the last few years, the art scene has changed significantly; one has a range of galleries in Colaba and Fort exhibiting young upcoming artists and established "masters," to choose from. But today, I did drop by Jehangir, and felt surprisingly refreshed.

For one thing it's great to have a gallery open on Sundays; all the trendy new ones in SoBo are closed (except for a couple). Most of us can't visit galleries during working hours. So that leaves the late evening art-openings, which no doubt are fun, with all the wine flowing, and Camy "jali wafers" being served in plates. But it's nice not to have to use your head too much, and not to have to read the explanation on the gallery wall (which often only succeeds in enhancing your confusion) as you enter, to better understand the exhibit.

It's comforting to have a relaxed stroll through the two halls, one hot and humid and the other air-conditioned. It's a capitalist world after all, and the have's and have-nots are part of art world too. The crowd wasn't snooty, and seemed to appreciate art that offended me.

The highlight of my visit was a series of paintings of trains; a very mundane subject that impressed me for being everything but ostentatious and intellectual. It's great when you don't need a reason to like art.

The Reluctant Fundamentalist

It's a pity I took so long to get to this book. It was published in 2007. A copy would weakly beckon me from my brother's bookshelf whenever I visited him, but I didn't pay any heed. This past Sunday, I was looking for something desperately to read and chanced on a copy in my home bookshelf. This time I picked it up and was immediately riveted to it.

If you haven't read it, get to the closest bookstore and read it today! There's probably so much written about this book already, that I don't have anything original to say. But take my advice.

Books on Photography

I skimmed through these three books on photography and recommend them to anyone one who wants to get a big picture look at the history of photography and contemporary directions in photography.They are: Icons of Photography: The 20th Century (Prestel), Photo:Box by Roberto Koch (Abrams)and The Digital Eye...Photographic art in the Electronic Age by Sylvia Wolf (Prestel). It's great going back to them from time to time to refer to a particular photographer or image. Each time I look at them, it's like I'm leafing through the book for the first time. However, that's probably more a reflection of my memory!

Catching the Big Fish by David Lynch

I picked up this book because David Lynch made Mulholland Drive, which is one of my favourite movies. I had high expectations of the book, but it was a disappointment. It seems to be a transcription of talks, and is a compilation of a series of thoughts on various topics. However, its primary focus is to entice the reader into the world of “transcendental meditation,” a technique taught by his late guru Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Meditation is what gives Lynch the strength, creativity and peace of mind to make great movies. The subtitle is therefore, “Meditation, Consciousness, and Creativity.” Predictably, the book does have 60s feel to it. Catching The Big Fish is forced and though there are a few gems of advice, I felt the book was superficial. Since it’s rather brief, I’m glad one can flip through it quickly.

Restoration - a play by Claudia Shear

In Restoration, Giulia (played by Ms. Shear), a Brooklyn-based art conservator, is selected to restore Michelangelo’s masterpiece, David, in Florence. The statute is the axis of the play, both visually (a large impressively created prop is at the center of the stage through most of the play) and dramatically. The characters, especially Giulia, revolve around this lifeless, but beautiful work of art as if it were alive. David is Giulia’s object of obsession. The restoration consumes her days and nights, but is also a crutch with which she combats the loneliness she feels as single aging woman. Through the course of the play, the security guard, Max who becomes a confidante, emphasizes that her life and happiness are more important than stone, however beautiful. By the end of the play, she learns to laugh a little and celebrates the coming of the new year, something she hasn’t done in ages.

The theme of single women traveling and ‘finding' themselves is not original. A number of movies and books (such as Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert) published recently follow this theme. However, the play is witty and entertaining, and at no point did I feel like the play was like something I’ve seen or read before.

Shear delves into the personal lives of the other characters, especially Max (who is lonely despite being married), Professor Mandel (who has cancer), and Daphne (whose mother dies). As the play nears it’s end, their lives get intertwined further and they learn to support each other emotionally, despite their minor differences. Restoration is therefore about the restoration of the human spirit and love of life. David may be the axis, but his restoration is incidental.

Photographs by Valerie Belin

At Sikkema Jenkins and Co., a Chelsea gallery, I saw recent works by Valerie Belin. Her photographs include a few still lifes of fruits and portraits of glamorous (but not famous) women. The large format photographs are glossy and colourful, almost too colourful. The bright reds and yellows reminded me of the process of injecting fruits with artificial colours to make them look brighter. The construction of the fruit group with the careful placement of sliced strawberries and other fruits on each other gives the photo an eerie feel. Nature has become unnatural. Beauty has become sinister.

In a portrait of a beautiful black woman (the photos above is a different one), the subject’s skin and eyes look perfectly smooth and bright. She is pristine, not a single blemish on her face is noticeable. But she lacks emotion, and resembles a mannequin or a movie animation character rather than a human being. She is cold and heartless. While observing a series of 3 portraits of a smiling woman with exactly the same face but different headdresses and costumes out of a sci-fi fantasy, I felt the same mannequin-like heartlessness. It’s as if human beings, by deifying female movies stars and models have created beautiful monsters.

Photographs by Anna Gaskell

Earlier this week I saw Anna Gaskell’s photography exhibit Turns Gravity at the Yvon Lambert gallery in Chelsea. Her photographs were in black and white and they immediately reminded me of works by the great B&W photographers of the first half of the twentieth century. Most of the photos were of people, mostly children, in natural settings. A couple of them were shot in the snow. The high contrast between the children dressed in black, some in formal attire, and the white snow was striking. A number of shots were framed to include only parts of the body, especially the lower portion of running legs. In one photo, the frame in effect beheads the child at the neck. The children play with great energy and the body parts often are brimming with excitement. However, the overcast winter skies and the ruthless framing suggests that the children’s happiness will shortly be truncated.

In some of the photographs the children's positions are overtly staged, and the effect is surreal. It’s as if the photographs are the images in the mind of someone longing for his or her lost childhood. The hazy image of a child, as if shot from an early box camera in the late 1800s, is one such photograph.

Known Turf by Annie Zaidi

Annie's well-written book bring back into focus the India we can't wish away: dacoits, high child mortality rates, malnutrition, crimes against women, extreme poverty, caste violence, displaced communities, bonded labour, murky local politics, corruption and much more.

The media often covers stories on these topics. However, Annie ties these themes together with her own thoughts and experiences which make for stronger and lasting impact. However, I liked her more personal pieces on chai, Sufism and growing up in Mumbai the most. In her last piece, she writes that Delhi has often been painted as "woman-ravishing monster." That's what I thought until I read about Annie's encounters with men in Mumbai. Mumbai is no angel on the "woman-ravishing" index either.

The Caravan of White Gold

In The Caravan Of White Gold, the author Michael Benanav travels with a Tuareg nomad caravan, along an ancient trade route, to salt mines in the heart of Mali in West Africa. The mined salt was sold at Timbuktu, the closest commercial center. Benenav adapts to the extreme conditions of the desert for nearly 6 weeks, and develops a strong friendship with Walid, his guide and companion.

What interested me most about the book, is the last chapter in which Benenev emphasizes that, with globalization, life is being squeezed out of traditional cultures with startling speed. We've all heard this observation a thousand times before, but when one reads real-life stories of this global "compression," one can't help but feel a sense of loss and ambivalence. Benanev writes, "None of them (the nomads the author befriended) was sentimental over the prospects of leaving behind the lives they've know." Who could blame them?

What makes us want ancient societies to continue to exist while while most of us enjoy the benefits of modern life? It's a double standard. But despite that logic, I can't wish away my fascination for older ways of life.

Read Benenav's amazing but sad article about the displaced Van Gujjars of the Himalayas here: http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Asia-South-Central/2009/0731/p17s07-wosc.html.

Walkeshwar Ruins

Kaiser-i-Hind

I was walking through Ballard Estate this morning and spotted a building called Kaiser-i-Hind. It's logo has a prominent abstract swastika in it which also forms an important part of the window grill designs. The swastika is based on the Hindu design and not the one used by the Third Reich. The building name does however suggests a connection between India and Germany, one that probably pre-dates the World Wars. The 'Kaiser' was a German term for 'emperor.' However, with a little bit of 'research' on wikipedia, I found out that, "The Kaiser-i-Hind was a medal awarded by the British monarch between 1900 and 1947, to civilians of any nationality who rendered distinguished service in the advancement of the interests of the British Raj." However, the medal was oval-shaped and not in the form of a swastika. This makes the building all the more mysterious. The building is currently owned by Nestle.

Drug Mosaics

I've been toying with idea of doing a series of photographs using prescribed drugs. A mosaic of sorts using these pills works on a couple of different levels. At the simplest, pills are pleasantly shaped, and by using a range of colours and shapes, one can create a striking design. Note the cute heart-shaped pills and green bottle ones in the adjacent photos. If one were to take things a little further, one can echo mandala patterns. Interestingly, one of the pills I used in the photographs reminded me of Shiva's third eye.

On another level, drugs are now part of most people's lives. We sometimes take drugs as often as we eat meals. However, medicine has obvious associations with poor health and hospitals. Then there's the commercial side with Pharmaceutical companies sometimes seen as greedy, heartless behemoths that make money from human pain by overcharging for their products. The debate about pharmas influencing doctors to prescribe their drugs by giving gifts and free trips is also now raging in India.

No Follow-Through

Here are two photographs of two different configurations of three iron balls that my brother and I used as a school-kids while learning tennis. I liked the idea of taking these tennis-aids out-of-context. Here memory and physicality collide.

Rock and Roll Jihad

Salman Ahmed, the leader of the once-banned Pakistani sufi-rock band Junoon, recently published his autobiography, Rock And Roll Jihad. The book is essentially about the struggles of a rock musician against close-minded Islamic society. It’s about man who fights for his rights to free speech and thought, while Pakistan goes through tempestuous political times during the doomed reigns of General Zia, Benazir Bhutto, Nawaz Sharif and General Musharaf. Salman practices a benevolent, open-minded form of Islam that he believes is the “real” Islam. Through his music he attempts to remind the world of the values that “true” Islam stands for at a time when most of the world has stereotyped Muslims as trigger-happy jihadis. At the end of the book you respect the man for standing up for what he believes in, and for walking his talk and music. Through grilled and derided on an American TV show, just after 9/11, Salman continues to remind us than only a few Muslims are terrorists, and most Muslims are peace-loving people.

The Mother of Mohammed - A Woman's Extraordinary Journey Into Jihad

If you ever need to support the statement that truth is stranger than fiction, this book is the only evidence you will need. Whenever I speak to a friend about it, the first question he will ask is, "Is this fiction?" And, as always, with hidden glee, I say no.

The moment I saw a review of this book in The Economist earlier this year, it was love at first sight. I wrote to the Australian publishers (The University of Melbourne Press) of this book and eventually got the permission to publish it for the Indian market. You can see the Australian and Indian covers here.

The book rapidly moves from one climax to the next, like a John Grisham novel. The final climax is the aftermath of September 11, 2001 - the US bombing of Afghanistan. By this point in the biography, the Australian protagonist, Rabaih Hutchinson, is the second wife of Abu Walid, a senior leader of the al-Qaeda. She had previously married and effectively divorced a string of staunch Muslim men in Indonesia and Pakistan. She is forced to flee Afghanistan and lives under house arrest in Iran for 2 years before moving back to Australia, where she is considered a threat to national security, for dubious reasons, according to the author. For a girl who grew up in a sleepy Australian suburb and dated a young surfing star, this is quite a journey.