Arts Education Conference

We've all studied art in school and in college. Well almost, that’s if you consider the demographic of the students studying here at CEPT. Between Munnabhai, our in-house Xeroxman who coats pages with ink as we rush from jury to jury, Sameerbhai, our stationary quick fix who manages to stuff many rolls of paper, paints, pens and people in one small space, two art galleries, two theatre spaces, walls painted by students or waiting for such an honor, two resident artist spaces, several workshop spaces and much more, our everyday negotiations in the space in and around CEPT involves artistic and aesthetic exposure and engagement at one level or another. But for many students, and their teachers, arts and academics belong to two ostensibly contradictory poles.

To negotiate the distance between the two, efforts at the local, national and international level are being made. "With the economic crisis, the fear of terror attacks and the growing social unrest as the social gap widens, people are feeling insecure. Art helps you deal with the your insecurities as you have to deal with unfinished products all the time hence arts education is gathering considerable attention", opines Dr. Evelin Hust, Director of Goethe-Institut, which organised the Arts Education Conference (Bangalore) in collaboration with the India Foundation for the Arts. The conference brought together policy makers and practitioners interested in integrated art education for rural and urban students, children and adults living in troubled regions such as Kashmir, museum visitors etc. It also brought to the fore interesting pedagogical practices and projects recommended and implemented in Europe, Karnataka, Chennai, Kerela and other places.

One particularly interesting idea that was communicated through a hands on workshop by Dr. Manfred Schewe is the idea of using Theatre in the classroom to teach other mainstream subjects such as a Language class. Based on the premise that playing helps the learning process, a 2009 research by Wager, Belliveau, Beck and Lea published in 'Scenario', a specialized German magazine for teachers, shows that theatre not only creates a platform for intercultural awareness and exchange but it also could "bridge cultural and linguistic barriers". The benefits of such a pedagogical practice are manifold but let us explore what it means to learn with what the workshop leader called 'drama pedagogy'.

Try to visualize this, you are in a foreign language class. You are standing in a circle and the entire class represents 'one person' and this 'person' is a murder suspect. The teacher is 'in-role' of an inspector and asks you, the collective entity where you were last night, what you were doing, who you were with etc. The moment one player contradicts another, the 'murder suspect' i.e. the entire class, has contradicted itself and is found guilty. Imagine studying the entire time with such activities. Being present in the workshop, I can assure you Dr. Schewe had no issues of discipline, maintaining silence as the others strained to listen attentively, or participation as the non-threatening and playful approach invited even the shy ones to come forward. It gave a rightful space for the 'process' to take center stage as opposed to the 'product' and the exam. And more importantly, it allowed the participants the freedom and the space to fail and learn and fail again before learning some more.

The advent of such practices in formal and informal education is significant. And it will benefit many students. What is heartening is to observe the sudden surge of interest in arts education at the national and the international level. The Second World Conference on Arts Education was organised by UNESCO at Seoul this year amidst several other projects in Germany, Kashmir and other places. This conference is part of a larger movement of consciousness about arts education.

Look who's talking...

As the crowd thronged, tugged and pulled to get a glimpse of Benjamin Zephaniah in the green room at Natarani, we waited with bated breath for a shared moment with him after his recital. His poetry was so inspiring, so playful…so refreshingly different and yet so evocative and intense that meeting him had to be something more significant than – "Hey loved your performance", "Awesome", "Amazing"...

Finally, amidst fifty people squeezed in the small room, I came face to face with him and smiled vainly. I had one shot at striking a meaningful conversation with him. It was not fair!

"Which form of martial arts do you learn?" I quipped.

He jumped with delight. He looked at me half expectantly and said "Wing Tsun, it’s a quaint form of kung fu, not many people have heard of it... (suddenly his eyes twinkled) do you learn martial arts?" My heart skipped a beat, we were learning the same form of martial arts and both of us were passionate about it.

 He insisted we compare how it was being taught to us and suddenly, the space was cleared for us to practice 'siu nim tao' form, 'chi sao', and chain punching. I was gleaming with delight. As we finally started 'talking', with sweat pouring down our foreheads and the crowd gathering around us again, he shared anecdotes and stories about his work, his life and his art. He couldn't hope for a more eager crowd. Finally, almost an hour later, his manager grumbled and requested us to leave so he could wind up and sleep.


What is remarkable about this experience is the lesson it unassumingly taught. It acted as a subtle reminder about the complexity of thinking and approaching the Arts world. Transposing this experience into the learning curve, I realized that the humanness of an artist must not be lost when interviewing him or writing a story about his work. An artist draws inspiration from real life experiences and activities. Zephaniah's art of writing for example, is also influenced by Kung Fu. The balance and the fluidity present in his work are characteristics of both art forms however, it does not imply that it is the only influence. There is more to the lines drawn or written by an artist than meets the eye, and simplistic reasoning cannot even begin to account for it.

As humans, we constantly make connections with the world around us. This ability to relate to things, identify interdisciplinary relationships and gain a holistic picture is essential for any art journalist. A response to a work of art is about having a conversation with that piece of art, the artists and the context in which it is anchored. It is about connecting.

ABOUT ZEPHANIAH

Benjamin Zephaniah is an eclectic Rastafarian writer and dub poet. The Times (2008) listed him in Britain's top 50 post-war writers. He was born and brought up in England in conventional, straight-jacket poetry but it is his Jamaican roots which have brought in a fresh lease of life into poetry. His work breaks linguistic and racial barriers and reflects cross-cultural references. His poetry is 'political, musical, radical, relevant and on TV.'

(Image courtesy: the official website of Zephaniah- http://www.benjaminzephaniah.com)

White Comedy
from "Propa Propaganda"

by Benjamin Zephaniah



I waz whitemailed


By a white witch,


Wid white magic


An white lies,


Branded by a white sheep


I slaved as a whitesmith


Near a white spot


Where I suffered whitewater fever.


Whitelisted as a whiteleg


I waz in de white book


As a master of white art,


It waz like white death.



People called me white jack


Some hailed me as a white wog,


So I joined de white watch


Trained as a white guard


Lived off the white economy.


Caught and beaten by de whiteshirts


I waz condemned to a white mass,


Don't worry,
I shall be writing to de Black House

(republished from his official website)

Eternal Companion

Like the thousands at the India Art Summit, I too was looking for my ‘moment of connection’ amongst those innumerable pieces of art, that kept passing me by, and as I kept passing by them. And when I found it, it hit me, forcing me reconnect with my own cultural self and its connection with themythologically revered Indian Cow.The work was titled, ‘Eternal Companion’ and the Singapore based artist was P.Gnana.

The simplicity of the work hit me the most, and left me marvelingat the seemingly deep bond the artist seem to share with Cows. As an Indian, my mind traversed the holy associations with the Cow, and their symbolic value. But ‘Eternal Companion’ was an interesting depiction of these holy cows and their connection and life on Earth as companions to Humans.

The paintings by themselves were rich with bold colourls, but were juxtaposed with the bony outline of the Cows, their melancholic eyes, that reflected the miles of misery on the Earth. The Cows and the human figures were depicted entwined in an embrace that left me wondering how natural this relationship seemed, and how far we have left it behind in real terms. Gnana, to my mind was attempting a perfect balance and an eternal bond between the two in an attempt to capture what seemed like an eternal moment of connection amidst unending misery of life on earth.

Analysis of a Painting by Caravaggio: Judith beheading Holofernes

Indian mythologies have always seen stories with similar moral told in varied manner; be it the Naagdaman by Shri Krishna, the death of King Harinyakashyap by Narsimha or the killing of Ravana by Lord Ram- all explaining the victory of truth over evil. It is all the more captivating to see a heroic character deceiving his enemy by tactful methods like Lord Krishna in Mahabharata or Lord Vishnu in the incarnation of Mohini misleading the Danavas during the Samundra Manthan.

Interestingly a similar connection is seen in a Baroque style painting of Caravaggio called Judith beheading Holofernes. The very comely and rich widow Judith, had put off her mourning clothes, dressed herself in the finest garments and entered the enemy camp in order to rescue her people. The Assyrian army, led by Holofernes, stood in arms before the city of Bethulia. The Jews had lost heart, were on the point of giving up, and yet this woman set out on her own to seduce the enemy. After her bloody deed, the enemy soldiers fled in panic; Israel was saved and Judith returned triumphantly from the libertine’s tent. This characteristic of Judith is similar to that of the Mohini as she distracted the Asuras took the Amrita, and distributed it among the Devas, who drank it.

Caravaggio has painted the precise moment in which Holofernes is beheaded. His eyes have yet not grown dim in death, but are staring out of his head, full of mortal fear, and his mouth is wrenched open in a scream. The victim is still alive, his head only half – severed from his body. Caravaggio sought to capture the moment of shock and horror. The King Harinyakashyap got killed by yet another incarnation of Lord Vishnu called the Narsinhma wherein the Lord used his nails to kill him as the King would not be killed by weapons. It was a slow death, with prolonged pain, open eyes filled with horror prominently seen on the countenance. In Caravaggio’s painting, Judith’s features betray neither triumph nor passion, but determination and disgust. She lays the defenceless man without using force, keeping as great a distance as possible between her victim and herself unlike the Narsimha who puts him on his thighs (neither on earth or sky and kills him.

Swords, daggers and knives may be seen in almost all Caravaggio’s paintings. Like blood and decapitation, they constitute a kind of sadistic approach in his work. The paintings of Caravaggio expressed a natural vision. Nor does this demure heroine appear in a magnificent Baroque gown, but in the best clothes of the woman of the people. In doing so, he suppressed neither the furrows nor lines on a face nor the wrinkle produced by a life of toil on the hands of an old woman. It was just “too natural “as said by an artist namely Annibale Carracci could say about his contemporary’s painting of Judith. Figures, accentuated by artificial, almost subterranean lighting effects, standing out against a dark, nocturnal background became a characteristic of his work.

house as home: revisiting the place and space

Memories always play with human emotions. They make you introspect as well as retrospect resulting into a chaos of feelings. Memories have a strong connection with something unique which remains forever.Childhood memories leave an impact that lingers for a lifetime. Though the child is able to reciprocate to a less number of incidents, the clarity of those incidents gets manifested in him very deeply; subconsciously transforming his nature of thoughts and actions.

My childhood nostalgia mainly includes the memories at ‘Avdhut’ – my home at Sector 22 in Gandhinagar. This corner plot is a ground plus two structure lined by many red and white colored champa trees at the entrance. My house comprises of a living area facing an open garden, a dining area, a kitchen attached with wash and two bedrooms on the ground floor whereas three bedrooms on the first floor. Through a spiral iron staircase on the first floor, we enter the second floor having three multi level terraces and a huge circular water tank.

Born in a well knitted Gujarati family, I reside with my grandfather, parents and a younger brother since last two and a half decades. I am emotionally attached to all; the place, people and the objects .They have transformed a brick – concrete structure into a livable place and nurtured it into a lovable environment.

This compells me to think that what is it that makes your house different from others? Why is it that by sleeping only on a certain pillow you get a sound sleep? Why is it mandatory to spend some time near that window of your room? And the list is endless..Sometimes we never question our habits which are developed by many of these unobserved elements. A similar intimacy is experienced by me towards specific elements and spaces in my house.

My first and the most favorite of the element is the swing or the hichka (as said in Gujarati) in the open garden to which I am addicted. It is the only element in our entire house which has not changed in the last twenty six years. Never did I realize when it became such an inevitable part of my life. Me and my younger brother are so attached to it that it is mandatory to spend at least an hour with it dis cussing our most confidential and personal conversations. While writing about this special member, I realize that how a seemingly passive element plays an extremely active role in our social structure ; hence making me a secret aesthete for the same.

The second element reminds me of my school days, winter mornings and my grand mom. It was a Parijaat tree in the front of my house which sheds the memories of my late grandmother. It’s special because I precisely recall my grand mom ordering me to get the Parijaat flowers for her morning prayers. Amidst the winter mornings, the joy of pushing the tree and the subsequent pouring of the white and orange flowers on me is still immeasurable. The low height elevated platform on which the grill rested became my seating place. After that, the entire process of choosing the best of the flowers and putting them in a specific order in the steel thaali was brain taxing. For me this entire process was a prayer in itself because there was a sense of complete involvement, sincerity and devotion that was inculcated by me. I now realize that the

Parijaat tree not only had an aesthetic appeal but also a functional value.

The third space that binds me is the Puja room in our house located at the mezzanine level. Though I am not its regular visitor, I feel satisfied by its mere presence.The huge pictures and the idols of God Goddesses emanate vibrancy. When the sun rays disembark on the huge picture of Om, the entire room gets filled up with the repertoire of the yellow color. Spiritually too the vibrations in the room are profound. The intangible space inside the Puja room and its soothing expe rience makes the room special.

The fourth element is the terrace area of my house. This space has become special to me only in the recent times since I have had many Bharatnatyam dance practices on it. During the dance rehearsals, I am able to see the “dhaja” of the Jain Derasar temple that is located at the distance of one kilometer from my house.

I feel God watching over my dance whenever I look at its saffron color. Somehow, I am always able to concentrate on the dhaja inspite of the complicated actions and immense mobility. Hence, I feel an interesting juxtaposition of the physical horizontal plane and the unseen space.

What intrigues me is how the solidarity of an element, (in case of the Parijaat tree /Hichka) or a space, (Pujaroom/ terrace) gets transformed into an emotion. The familiarity of these elements encourages me to feel deeply for my house. I cherish the connections with these spaces, treasure the conversations with the intangible and value the feeling that it belongs to me. Most importantly, it unfolds the intricacies of the emotion those appeal me and make me say – that’s my ‘home’.

Friend

I never had friends in my life. I only had guides.Never was I loved by them, nor did I make any extra efforts for the same. It was kind of mutual. So I am completely unaware of what ‘missing friends ‘is all about… Or in the first place, is it necessary to feel so? It’s so difficult to write about the people to whom you are not close to ; all the more difficult when you know that person is unaware of the fact that you are writing for them and very disheartening when you realize that their physical presence is nowhere to be hugged, kissed or touched. I often wonder whether God ever heard of a something called a ‘close’ friend – Did he ever experience the unlimited gossips, frequent get together’s and baseless group studies! It’s good that he did not waste his time after that .He surely must be too busy in ticking in front of his favorite names which He needed soon. He needed ‘Binu’ soon enough!

Life was complex earlier – understanding the concepts of integration, differentiation and atomic tables but it is much simpler now – one has to know only oneself. But, it’s strange as there was a sense of satisfaction even in those complexities unlike a feeling of restlessness in this simplicity. Somehow, I have managed or will get accustomed to enjoy this simplicity as well. Now coming back to ‘friends’, in my school days I used to hang out with some weird bunch of people namely Ankita Thaker , Binal Pandit and Pooja Jethwani who knew a little more about me (Heta Vyas) than my role number. Out of the three, Pooja was somewhat close to me. I was indifferent to Binal and used to hate Ankita; or even more than hate.After my plus two in the year of 2003, I and Ankita got admission in an Architecture college at Rajkot and Vidyanagar respectively; Binal went to an Engineering college at Ahmedabad, and Pooja made through a dental college at Jaipur. I was too excited of my new world of unknown people, lots of friends and interesting boys! I was sure of not ‘missing’ them.

I was enjoying everything to the core – my new city, my college, my hostel. In the midst of all this, I realized that the frequency of my remembering that weird bunch also increased day after day. I just smiled when their faces crossed my mind. Free messages scheme accelerated the process of sharing between me and Binu. (That’s the nickname of Binal).Anki a.k.a Ankita also managed to remain in touch; I still hated her but could not ignore her. Days went by and the sharing between me and Binu increased, the gossips with Pooja varied and the fights of ‘You don’t understand’ between me and Anki got transformed into discussions of ‘I understand’. Things went pretty well for all of us; sharing each others pain and gain making a huge roller coaster ride whenever we met. In 2007, all four of us somehow managed to spent time with each other at Binu’s place, making my first unofficial visit to Ahmedabad during my final submissions. It was definitely worth it! Yes, I missed them on my way to Rajkot.

But in the month of September in the same year, things din’t seem well for Binu. She experienced some kind of frequent joint pain but just could not figure out it’s actual reason. She was quite OK in spite of her aching body and her pale face which said a different story altogether. This story took a different turn on May 27, 2010, at arnd 11 am when one of my classmate Prachi Oza called me from Pune. I had my final exam but somehow managed to pick up her call. ‘Did u get the news?’, she asked. ‘What news’ was my reaction.‘Binal passed away yesterday ‘was her reply. Did I mention it was Ankita’s birthday?

After two and a half years, when is it alone I ask myself has anything changed between ‘us’. Yes, there is a change. The way I feel for my friends. I mentioned earlier I never had friends; I had guides – the best of guides whom I also loved.It’s true that never was I loved by them because I was always valued by them - the most ; love just fell into place. I never had to make any efforts because they always understood my needs and worries and they still understand. And that’s why I really don’t know what ‘missing’ is all about because they are always there… guiding me, loving me and supporting me.

I m lost in the thoughts.. I am about to cry when I am interrupted by a blink of light ‘Meeting at 7, Binu’s place ‘, text from Anki … Binu’s place is the leading chain of restaurants of India ; probably a return gift for our guiding angel!

Notes from the Bansari

It was the opening of an exhibition of an internationally prominent and senior Indian artist at a popular gallery in our city. The artist had displayed his recent cubism inspired, female figures. In the pristine white gallery space there were small circles of many known faces of the city, busy discussing the paintings on display and also each other. A high profile event it being, the organisers had set up a seven-star hotel’s stall to serve samosas and chaa. To add more colour to the grandiose of event in the court flanking the gallery, a ravanhatta and bansari were being played by two men-attired to be from rajasthan. This is the first time I met Jagdish Bhai, playing melodious tunes from the bansari. And inside outside-on display was an ironical comparison.

Both Jagdish bhai and the artist were almost of the same age, late 60s. The artist was inside the gallery, being well hailed at; while Jagdish Bhai played away in the corner of the court outside. The artist just had had a discussion with me on the pains of an artist to produce art and how irresponsibly the media represented both the art and the artist, while irrespective of the questions I asked, Jagdish bhai had begun a spontaneous conversation about the maya of this sansar. There were turns to congratulate the artist or to be introduced to him, while Jagdish bhai was easily passed by- reduced as a background score for the whole high profile event. But why I remembered Jagdish Bhai for a long time, even after that event, was the warmth, comfort and content his tunes played. So enthralled were a bunch of us by his music, we expressed him our joy, to which he smiled and replied, “Main uski den se ek kalakar hu!” (I am an artist because of his blessings) And so curious was I, that I had decided to meet him again.

The next time I met Jagdish bhai at his house in Gulbai Tekra-where the community of Solankis from Sarala in Marwar have settled around 150 years back. Jagdish Solanki born and brought up here showed no trappings of modernity of the city which surrounded him. Interestingly he was a government driver before he gave up his job for the love of the flute 40 years back. “I began learning practising folk songs from our Rajasthan and a few filmi songs.” He now plays at bhajans and functions. Sometimes he goes to Delhi and Mumbai to play. Also for the Jain monks at their utarans i.e. the temporary stops on their pilgrimage routes. His father and grandfather were dari-makers. “There wasn’t a fixed occupation. We were nomads who decided to settle.” He shared a dramatic story of how the Solankis decided to move away from Rajasthan to escape the tyrannical rule a feudal king before he had begun talking about the workings of the world-displaying highly philosophical and liberal views.

Of his seven children only his elder son has inherited his love of playing the flute. Two of his other sons are sculptors and artists who make traditional murals on the walls. Recently one of his son who was approached by a UK based organisation for some work in London, was denied help to go abroad, for reasons of being an illiterate. Then the family collectively decided to educate the grandchildren. However he wants them to be kalakars. What about clichéd desires engineering or medicine? Amused, they laughed a no.

“..it is like the fish and the bird. You remove the fish from the water to live in air, it will die. So will the bird die in the water. Each can survive only in their worlds. One cannot live in the world of the other.” Jagdish Bhai told me in one our meetings. Were these thoughts a consolation or the cause of the existence?

Jagdish Bhai is just one of the many stories of people who are anonymous folk artists, lost in economic and caste crutches. What would be art in stories of such ironies? An artist in his x by y studio, moulding with paints and clay with great effort an abstract meaning into reality versus the man who engages with a musical object like a bansari creating something as abstract as music –everyday everywhere. The artist who reveres the art on a pedestal, only to viewed and touched by a select few versus the notes of the bansariwala constantly modulating and being familiar to the streets around Gulbai Tekra. One was displayed in the ‘privileged’ space of a gallery versus while the other person’s notes were played, forgotten outside the gallery.