Going beyond boundaries, with Ravi Kashi

Don’t look for prettiness. Don’t expect to be soothed. For that surely isn’t what you are going to get.

Expect the unexpected. To be jerked out of complacency.  To be bereft of speech.

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I would say that Ravikumar Kashi is perhaps the most adventurous contemporary artist of Bengaluru. His body of work extends across paintings, sculpture, photography and installation.

His current exhibition, ‘Silent Echo’ (at Gallery Sumukha is on until Dec 31, open 10.30 am – 6 pm, Mon-Sat), is an exhibition of installations and artists’ books, and revolves around the ‘object.’ Says Kashi, “One of the main threads that bind these works is an insight as to how objects become an extension of ourselves, retain memory, gain their own persona over a period of time. And when more than one object comes together, they affect and alter each other’s meaning. Five distinct but interrelated pieces of work in the show address the character, historicity, function, and relevance of diverse objects that the artist chooses to build his narratives around.”

The main work ‘Silent Echo’ is a sculptural installation of mesh and paper pulp. Says the artist, “It evokes many of the metaphors of our time where hope and despair ride together side by side”. Kashi handcrafts objects and puts them together with other objects that he finds, creating installations such as ‘Heirlooms of Fear’ and ‘Dark Revenue’.

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Kashi has won the Kannada Sahitya Academy Award for a book on art, apart from the awards given by the Karnataka Lalit Kala Akademi and the Lalit Kala Akademi, New Delhi, for his art. A fascinating aspect of the current exhibition, is a set of ‘Artists’ Books’, called ‘All is always now’Ravi has been creating artists’ books for ten or more years, making the paper by hand and drawing images that are times radical and subversive at times.

These books predominantly have more visuals, and less text, and as a publisher, I found his earlier works ‘In pursuit of happiness’ (a series of water colour and ink on cast cotton pulp) and ‘A thousand desires’ (an installation of a thousand tongues) – a perfect fit for the BEST OF BANGALORE- Innovation edition (Raintree Media, 2014).

Kashi says that he intends ‘Silent Echo’ to be a multi-dimensional experience with a common thread running through it. “The third dimension is provided by two sets of works with photography as the mainstay. The first is a set of four individual photographs called Memorial.’ The second is a photobook called ‘Shelf life. Together, the two explore complex narratives that emanate from ‘showcases’ which are ubiquitous in most middle class homes, and display cases in shops.”

This is not an exhibition you should breeze through. Plan to spend an hour, if not more. You will need it to absorb what you see. It’s an education. I wish schools and parents would take kids to let them see that art is much more than pretty pictures and straight lines, to let them see art that goes beyond boundaries.

 

 

Brace for impact : ‘Sully’

I like chatty pilots, especially those with a fine turn of phrase. But the one time that I could have done without a compulsive talker for a pilot was in September 2010, when I was returning from Spain & Portugal. Our take-off was delayed as some passengers arrived late (their connecting flight was late) and there was congestion at the airport. The Lufthansa captain wasn’t too happy and kept up a running commentary.

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The details are a little hazy now but I remember she said that she was asking permission to fly at a lower altitude than scheduled as we were running low on fuel. When we landed, perhaps at Frankfurt, she announced that the plane was being refuelled with all us on board, and told us to unfasten our seat belts and be prepared for a quick exit if required. I am not a nervous flier, but I confess my heart did a quick flip and I breathed easy only when we were safely up and away once more.

Thankfully, that was the most frightening flight experience I have had. I can’t begin to imagine what I would feel on hearing “This is your Captain. Brace for impact”. This is what Capt. Sully, who was in command of US Airways flight 1549, announced to the 155 passengers and crew on January 15, 2009. With both engines disabled by bird hit, he chose to make an emergency landing on the Hudson River.

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‘Sully’, the movie is directed and co-produced by Clint Eastwood, with Tom Hanks playing the lead with impressive understatement. A finely crafted movie, it is a tribute to the pilot who chose his ‘human’ ability (instinct backed by solid experience). It is also as much a tribute to the rapid response of rescue teams who had all the passengers on board the Airbus 320 safe in less than half hour after the landing.

The heart soars up when one sees such a fortunate coming together of people; as Sully – astonished at finding himself become a hero- said at the end of the hearing that proved that he had taken the right call, it was all of them together who made the miracle on the Hudson happen.

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The irony when most of the world hails Sully as a saviour while his company wants to pin the blame on him, the worries of a career in jeopardy, the family’s pressing need for money – the tumult of emotions are delicately portrayed. As biopics go, this ranks amongst the best; the very simplicity of its narrative makes it a compelling watch. It might just make you go out to the nearest pub and stand everyone a round of beer.

A soulful of art –tribute to Yusuf Arakkal

It feels like a million years ago now that he gave me a lesson in art appreciation, and this gift has given me immeasurable happiness in the best museums across the world. He also taught me how to enjoy my favourite tipple without getting tipsy.

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“Art is my soul”

Others far more qualified than me have spoken about Yusuf as an artist, this is my personal memorial to an old friend.

I got the news of his death very late. I had slept through the day, after a long travel. That night, I lay awake remembering the many ways Yusuf impacted our lives. On a Monday afternoon, nearly 20 years ago, when I went to pick up my son from Lumbini play school, Gayatri Rao who ran the school, showed me a wondrous sight. After weeks of refusing to colour any drawings, Aditya had spent the whole morning colouring. Realisation dawned as we looked at the many colourful pages.

I was then a columnist for the Times of India, and the previous Saturday had gone to interview Yusuf (in their old home in NGEF colony). I had taken the little fellow along, and while Yusuf and I chatted, he was left to explore the studio and had been obviously inspired by the world of colour.

My interview was about a new series of nudes that Yusuf was going to show; those were days before digital cameras and I needed a visual to illustrate my piece in the column. Yusuf picked up paper and pencil and quickly sketched a small version. I handed in the sketch with my article and retrieved it from the press after the page was made. The lovely little sketch hangs in my drawing room, along with a few other artworks that he took pleasure in gifting us over the years.

Afternoons that stretched to evenings at the iconic Victoria hotel, which used to be his home away from home (where Bangalore Central mall stands);  impromptu Sunday lunches in their new home, the travel tips that both Sara and Yusuf offered (he was a great one for travelling – “Only when you see the world, will you grow”, he told Allen when the latter complained about my wanderlust).

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Yusuf Arakkal, me, SG Vasudev & G Subramanian – catching up after many months at Galerie De’Arts in 2014

It feels like a million years ago now that he gave me a lesson in art appreciation, pointing out what makes SG Vasudev’s work special. And this gift has given me immeasurable happiness in the best museums across the world. He also taught me how to enjoy my favourite tipple without getting tipsy.

He turned out dapper in beautiful jackets picked out by Sara, and good naturedly preened about his likeness to Col Gaddafi. A gregarious soul who loved serious debates as much as unabashed flirting, he was completely at ease with himself.

He didn’t call or visit when Allen died, and it pained me. They were as close as brothers; Yusuf had taken it upon himself to play counsellor to us, advising us about relationships (and me about clothes). And for a long time, like with many others, he too had forgotten me, and Aditya. Many moons later, the phone rang late at night, and the familiar teasing voice spoke. He gave some reason for not being in touch earlier; they were out-of-town when they got the news. Now, he had more pressing matters to speak about; in his usual outspoken way, he was up-in-arms about something, and prodded me to carry on working with the same ideals that Allen had.

We spoke and met a few times over the last few years, and as it is with old friends, the undeniable warmth and easy banter resurfaced. He had attained great fame but he allowed me the privilege of chiding him.

The energy of his paintings is a tangible presence and I was enveloped in it as I sat on the couch with Sara, two days after he died. The world mourns the passing of a great artist. For Sara, it is a loss of a person who sculpted her life. Forty three years is a lifetime, and yet it is not enough. It is going to be a long, hard walk ahead for her. One that I know well, and my heart aches for her even as it does for Yusuf, whose warmth and friendship I cherish.

What a man, what a life. I can’t say adieu as some one this larger than life can’t be forgotten. In a quote in BEST OF BANGALORE (Raintree Media), Yusuf said, “Creativity is God’s gift to mankind, art is my soul”. That is the measure of the man.

Villain on screen & a gentle soul off it

 

SRID9586He may be a villain on screen, but in real life, he is an erudite polyglot who wears his fame very lightly and is sensitive to social imbalances. Prakash Rai aka Prakash Raj has adopted a village that he hopes would become a model.

This Bengaluru huduga has shot to national fame, but when he spoke to us at the Rotary Club of Bangalore last Monday, there were no starry airs. He preferred to answer questions from the audience. Three key points have stayed with me:

Persistent demands for him to quote dialogues from his film were met with the stoic and dignified reply, “I get paid to say my dialogue”. When someone asked him yet again, he cited the example of veteran Hindi actor Raaj Kumar who when asked to say dialogues at a party by an army officer, retorted, ‘Why don’t you do a march past?’.

Prakash is an avid reader, and can speak and read all the languages of the films in which he acts. “I would just be a parrot if I said the dialogue without understanding the context of the culture.” He added, “ Learning to speak a language shows that you respect the people of the land.” (Will all those who crib about learning Kannada or the language of any region that they live in, learn from this great person?)

What would he have been had he not been an actor? “Even had I been a mechanic, I would have been an award-winning mechanic”, he said without sounding the least bit boastful. This is my motto too, and as you can see, I acted like a complete fangirl.

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There is a little backstory that I want to share too. When I published Allen’s novel a few months after he passed away in 2009, I relied on our friend and old colleague Prakash Belawadi to help me with the launch. He wanted Prakash Rai/Raj to be present, as Allen Mendonca who was also a film critic had apparently shared a rapport with the actor. But Prakash Raj was away at a shoot, and couldn’t be at the launch. Yesterday, six and half years later, the President of the Rotary Club presented him with a memento and without knowing what it was, Prakash opened the gift wrap and smiled when he saw the cover of Sentinel House.

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President of Rotary Club o Bangalore Ranga Rao hands over a memento to the speaker of the day, award-winning actor Prakash Raj.
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Aditya Mendonca is thrilled when Prakash Raj holds up the book authored by Allen Mendonca.

Search for safety

where do you search
for safety when hatred
finds stronghold
in hearts and minds

where do you search
for safety?

in a world where faith
is the flashpoint
between life & death
nothing is bomb proof

shattered limbs, lives
and loves lost,
an ordinary place
becomes a mortuary

the echoes of wails of
frightened children
mirror the state of
women & men

where do you search
for safety when hatred
finds stronghold
in hearts and minds