An oblique view of selling and buying art

Balvinder

Chandigarh was once known as a pleasant and calm city inhabited by the retired and aged. Today, if one goes by the ever-rising number of swanky cars and plush houses, most of which perpetually remain under garish renovation, it can be said that the city is mostly occupied by filthy rich people. Le Corbusier’s creatively crafted soft spirit of the city, having a simple and spatial architectural uniformity, seems to have been devoured by this recently befallen opulence, within a span of mere 50 years.

Heavy and high-rise front gates of these dwellings, bearing grotesque designs, project asymmetrical and strange looking architectural facades. And I am sure Corbusier’s soul must be turning in his grave at their sight! However, despite the city having such wealth, it surprises me to see that there still is no culture of buying art. In fact, it is only recently that people here have developed, rather reluctantly, an interest in flowers, to be gifted on celebratory occasions. This often reminds me of how, on my first visit to Bombay, I was surprised by the fact that people there routinely buy flowers while returning home from work.

I, being a painter, know pretty well how difficult it is for an artist from the city to sell his or her work here. The city’s overall lack of interest in art can well be imagined from a little-known fact that the modern city of Chandigarh does not have even a single proper art gallery. The few that are there, like the one at the Government Museum, are but makeshift arrangements. Little wonder then that in order to sell their art works, many artists from here depend on commercial galleries based in Delhi or Mumbai.

In my 50-year career, I have put up more than 30 exhibitions at various places. However, it was only one show that I had held at Mumbai, where I could sell all works on display. Despite such a huge commercial success, I have not been able to take my works to Mumbai again. One, because the gallery that I had exhibited at needs to be booked years in advance. Two, because I had got the gallery for my first show, that was also the last one there, in October 1983. A chill runs through my spine every time I imagine that it could have been a scary October 1984 also!

However, I have visited Mumbai often, particularly when my daughter’s husband, a decorated Army officer, was posted there. My favourite pastime would be to spend most of my time in the Kala Ghoda region.

Kala Ghoda is a crescent-shaped art district in Downtown Mumbai. It houses a large number of the city’s heritage buildings, and is full of museums and art galleries like Jehangir Art Gallery, National Gallery of Modern Art, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya and The Arts Trust. Each year, the area hosts a Kala Ghoda Arts Festival too.

The name Kala Ghoda refers to a black stone statue of King Edward VII (who was then Prince of Wales) mounted on a horse, which was removed from the precinct in 1965. In 2017, the Kala Ghoda returned to the area with a new statue of a similar looking horse, but without a rider.

Once on a trip to Kala Ghoda, my daughter accompanied me. While coming out of the famous Jehangir Art Gallery, we both took a keen interest in the paintings that the artists had displayed, as a routine, on the footpath. At one stall, my daughter was awestruck by a drawing on sale. She sought my ‘expert’ opinion too. I nodded in agreement at the drawing showing a majestically postured Lord Krishna playing the flute.

She asked the artist about the price of the drawing. “Rs 1,500,” he said of the reasonably well-framed work. As is the inane habit of most of us, I, while taking my purse out of my pocket, asked the artist, “Bhaiya kitney ka lagaoge?” Angry and surprised, my daughter gave me a hard nudge and said, “Papa, how could you say so!” Standing shamefacedly in that arty Kala Ghoda, I sheepishly made the payment and felt like a well-beaten gadha!