Curatorial Space

How does it prescribe itself?

How do ‘WE’ interpret it?

How well does it penetrate into our insights?

Is it definite or an ambiguity??

Is it consistent or transitory??

Is it our wealth or a burden??

Is it tangible, or is it our fantasy??

Do we breathe life into it??

Do we amplify it??

In what form does it survive??

life? death? identity? illusion? need? want? love? lust? anxiety? futility?

Trying to roll the ball hemming and hawing for a million years in the midst of persuasion, chaos, satisfaction, contentment, misery, turmoil, greed, triggered by glory, and trapped by the delusion, the quest seems to collapse every time.

The search streets often persuade us to consume all the hollows and pathos on the way and etch the irony of it all onto the fabric.

How well do we explore the conditioned alter self that presides over our minds, looking for triumph and rallying on, unfazed?

How well do we know ourselves?? Our psyche?? Our body?? Our breath??

Do we possess??

Are we possessed??

Figure Study in Light by Paul Holmes

I’ve always been fascinated by suits and tailoring.  Skilled cutting of cloth can flatter the form and make an imperfect body seem well-proportioned.  A good suit lends its wearer confidence and dignity, power even.  The suit had its origins just over a hundred years ago in sporting fashion and the connection to the athletic ideal hasn’t entirely been lost.

I’m also interested in the way in which we are identified by others – often the state or large corporations – as unique individuals.  These identities are articulated and stored by these institutions in various forms – photographs and fingerprints, for instance, as well as facts about us, such as body weight, shape, and size: our vital statistics.

It is similar measurements that a tailor uses to create a suit of clothes, and it is these figures that I have converted into lengths of glowing LED tubing.   This seemed to me an intriguing basis to create some kind of schematic evocation of the human figure, akin to a child’s line-drawing or graphic signage.  In this form the body seems almost skeletal – quite unlike the enhanced figure created by the tailoring itself.

My work is preoccupied with our bodies: Their actions and gestures, their impact on the world, and their gradual deterioration over time.  Often this is through video art, installed on large CRT monitors that make the spectator engage with the work sculpturally by moving around it in space.

হোয়েন ডিড বিচ্ (Bitch) বিক্যাম এ ব্যাড ওয়ার্ড

দ্বিতীয় পর্ব

কালী অ্যান্ড দা ফাইটব্যাকস্

বিচ্ (Bitch) আদপেই একটি শালীন শব্দ

এই প্রজেক্ট আমাদের দৈনন্দিন আলাপ আলোচনা’র মধ্য দিয়ে বেড়ে উঠছিলো। প্রজেক্টের দ্বিতীয় অধ্যায়ে’র শুরুতে আমাদের যা ভাবনা ছিলো তার  থেকে মূল ভাবনা’র অনেকটাই প্রসারণ ঘটেছে।আমি সাধারণত অত্যন্ত সজ্ঞালব্ধ ভাবে নিজের কাজ করে থাকি, কোন বিষয়ের ওপর আমার তাৎক্ষণিক’যে প্রতিক্রিয়া হয় সেটাই আমার শিল্পচর্চাকে এগিয়ে নিয়ে চলে।অয়ন মুখার্জি এবং আমি দুজনেই সিদ্ধান্ত নিলাম, এই প্রজেক্টের ক্ষেত্রে আমরা স্টুডিওর ভেতর এবং বাইরের সব দেওয়ালে রঙ নীল করবো (এই প্রজেক্টের প্রথম অধ্যায়ে আমরা দেওয়ালের রঙ গোলাপি (পিঙ্ক) করেছিলাম, কারণ মাতৃগর্ভে’র রঙ হল পিঙ্ক, আদপে পিঙ্ক হলএকটি নারীবাদী রঙ)।আমি ব্যক্তিগত ভাবে এই নীল রঙের জন্য অত্যন্ত খুশি কারন এটা বাংলার চিরন্তনী শ্যামা কালীর দেহের বর্ণ।

কালী’র বিষয় হিসাবে আমারা এখানে ছোট ছোট নরমুণ্ড এবং লাল জিভ রাখার সিদ্ধান্ত নিলাম। একই সাথে কালী আরাধনায় ব্যবহৃত নৈবেদ্য গুলো দিয়েই আমরা আমাদের দর্শকদের আপ্যায়নের সিদ্ধান্ত নিলাম। আমরা কালীর প্রাণশক্তি’র দ্বারা সকল অশুভ শক্তির বিনাশ ঘটিয়ে বিচ্ (bitch) শব্দটির প্রতি ন্যায্যতা প্রতিপাদন করে একটি শালীন শব্দে উপনীত করার প্রচেষ্টা করেছি।

The times now are absurdly materialistic, incredibly swirling, and compromising. Arguably a significant culprit in this situation is the “words” coming out of our mouth with enormous freedom, but most of the time without self-discipline. Practicing to weigh our words before we release them is something we should strive to do before using this powerful weapon.

Words that were meant to connect and heal people, restore relationships, build up bonding, establish grace, and formulate beings are often used with extreme manipulation and disregard to the extent of being fabricated and often destructive. In the society of which I am a part (India), I have consistently experienced an act of mockery and juggling that is carried out persistently by a larger percentage of the population, flawlessly turning our state of being into a delicious circus. Every sphere of the social structure has a tendency to misinterpret the freedom of speech granted to us by the constitution for our own specific interests and needs. We seldom speak to create conversations; what we create is just ‘noise’. Fictitious statements, loose talks, grievous and unhygienic verbal spats, and discussions resulting in verbal violence have steadily infiltrated and become an integral part of our lifestyles and personas, and we have carelessly agreed and accepted this way.

Words being used as weapons of violence have long been legitimate in various spheres of our society, be they political, social, or personal. It is in no way new, and history may give us ample references to it.

Times now, in the truest sense, are harshly materialistic and dishonestly compromising. Arguably the most significant culprit in this situation are the “words” coming out of our mouth with enormous freedom but brutal dishonesty.

Words that were originally meant to connect people, make relationships, create bonding, establish actuality, and formulate beings are often used with extreme manipulation to the extent of being fabricated and often destructive. An act of mockery and juggling that is carried out persistently by a superior percentage of the population flawlessly turns our state of being into a delicious circus. Every sphere of our social structure has a tendency to misinterpret the freedom of speech granted to us by the constitution for our own specific interests and needs. We seldom speak to create conversations; what we create is just ‘noise’. Fictitious statements, loose talks, and grievous and unhygienic verbal spats and discussions have steadily infiltrated and become an integral part of our lifestyles and personas. Unknowingly, we have stretched our arms towards becoming a breed of consciously provoked politicians who try hard to construct intolerable spaces, annihilating and disintegrating the holistic legitimacy of life. Words alone can now be the best weapon of violence.

It’s all about me rather than we the people, and us, the society.

‘THE SCARS YOU CAN’T SEE’

A Community Collaborative Project

And I walked along the concrete road, crossing a BSF camp that heads towards the village of Rangutia in Bamutia, Tripura, and eventually reaching my destination. The space where I had come to explore and experience… As per plan, I would conceive a project of visual arts (outdoor) and curate the same, collaborating with a group of practicing contemporary artists originating from Tripura. Rangutia struck me as a small village made up of numerous mud houses and a few cement structures (which were new). A surreal environment with man-made forests all around… In the course of time, I discovered that it was one of India’s biggest rubber plantation sites, which was also the main source of livelihood for the villagers. I noticed this unconstructed road that leads into the forest to an unknown destination while wandering with the village and the villagers, listening to their daily acquisition of stories that made up their lives. I followed the path and walked ahead with a sudden sense of interest and tension. After reaching the end of the path, I discovered an endless curtain of barbed wire fences and gates, which were numbered. I realized it was where my country, India, ends and my neighboring country, Bangladesh, starts. It was the ‘BORDER’. I was stoned for some time, became emotional, and yet was unable to express myself… That moment, I was dealing with my own frustrations and misery.  A ‘reality’ I couldn’t fathom from the time I was formally introduced to it initially by our educational system and later on more realistically through my own research and study about it….And the ‘reality’ was ‘PARTITION’..

The land named ‘INDIA’ was suddenly divided into two and eventually three separate land masses. The land was suddenly broken up into fragments. As the ‘intruders’ ordered and the ‘beholders’ accepted and followed. Because self-made politics and greed for power and authority would not absolve us of our sins, a society was not brave and independent enough to oppose the order…as we gladly assisted the intruders fulfill their wicked wish.

When Saumik Chakraborty invited me to come to work and show in Kolkata, I knew his and his wife’s (Piyali Sadhukan) work was already quite good.

I had seen them showing together in Forum Schlossplatz, Aarau, Switzerland, and loved their work. I did an internship on curation at that time in that place. I already noticed that we all had much in common in our ways of working.

Saumik asked his friend, the art historian and curator Ayan Mukherjee, if I could show my work at his art space, A. M. Art Multi-disciplines, Kolkata.

And yes, I could. And I am very glad and honored about both invitations and to have gotten those subsidies from Kuratorium Aargau.

At the moment of Saumik’s invitation, we were in contact on Facebook and saw each other’s posts. I was working on pastel drawings of heads of women and men of unclear ethnicity, together with dog and cow heads.

At that moment, I felt lonely (winter in Bumblefuck) and was thinking about adopting a very small dog, like a Chihuahua, because those very small ones you can carry in a bag when you travel by plane.

The combat of a labor of life attempting adamantly to live… as my mind frequently travelled into a ghastly world of un-naturalism, presence lost control of its existence and paved itself towards a torrid and shadowy space where green had been sold for the construction of a junkyard. A fear of an approaching storm stormed my mind by whispering the awaiting despair into my ears. Suddenly, a day ran back, and the sky screamed departure. My head rested on a burnt pillow, and I saw crows flying in my scary sleep. They searched for water all around, dying of thirst. My meandering mind cried out for rain as I couldn’t find the room for an ideal bath. I could identify dead bodies all around, yet it felt like the bodies were continuing to breathe. The birds killed each other with joy and jubilation. It seemed I was dragging myself into a slaughtered world called Paradise Lost. These junctures of morbidity and freak came to me like wretched moments in my conscious and subconscious as I, along with my community of sufferers, were trying to breathe with the corona virus (COVID-19) as our ill-wishers.

The idea of contextualizing my journey, filled with paranoia, into an expo where the display would be the tool towards sharing and expressing was inevitable from the moment I gathered a certain amount of legitimacy towards coming back to life. I craved long for a substantial dialogue of the cerebrals along with a psychic discourse while exploring the convenient language and practice of art making by an art practitioner with whom I could share and address my experiences. In turn, it could formulate the narrative of the show.

Your name I want and war to live,

And fight the Rose to grant the disease.

Adventure to follow, advert to feel,

All in vague, satire of disbelieve…

Do we know that history may not persist??

Cross my faith to steal again,

Run the aggression and enigma

We love the Rose requisite for us

Juxtapose life towards an organic fail.

Exotic rose riots the mind

The greatness to buy and lose it off

Create a belief of dysfunctional thoughts

The abnormal deeds, the find of toil.

সময়টা ছিল নির্ভীক রঙের।

সকাল গড়িয়ে রাত হতে দেখতাম প্রতিনিয়ত। টিউব কলের জলে তেষ্টা মিটতে দেখেছি, ফিলামেন্টর আলে আলাপ পোয়াতো রোদ্দুরের সঙ্গে জানলার খড়খড়ির ফাঁক দিয়ে উঁকি মরে।

নিরিবিলি দুপুর ঘুমিয়ে পড়লে গলি ভরা কচিকাঁচাদের গলা আহ্বান জানাতো ল্যাম্পপোস্টের হলুদ টিম টিমে আলোকে। আমি ছিলাম সেদিন, দেখেছি সবটা।

দেখতো আমার সাথে আমার বন্ধু গুলোও, বহু বছর পথ হেঁটেছি যে আমরা হাতে হাত দিয়ে।

হেঁটেছি আর গিলেছি এই শহরের ছবিগুলোর পাল্টে যাওয়াকে। নির্ভেজাল হার মেনেছে জটিলতার কাছে,

মানবিকতায় ভরপুর যত্ন ক্রমাগত আঘাত পেয়েছে লোভ চালিত যান্ত্রিক ক্রীতদাসদের হাতে।

হ্যাঁরে, তোরা হাঁফাস না? ধ্বংস দিয়ে মাখা ভাত খেতে ভালোবাসিস বুঝি?

Dark Side of the Moon, the way I had conceived and conceptualised it, features a collection of images and the artistic voices of six different contemporary artists from Kolkata, which comprehensively discusses the philosophical, physical, and socio-political mandates of our existence that can lead us towards insanity and ultimately an unfulfilled life. The images and works try to interconnect and coherently exist to showcase the shades of today’s detrimental and hollow times leading us towards madness, intolerance, and violence. They dig deep into today’s dystopia, facilitating them to be a mirror for society, which brings forth the dark realities and sometimes acts as the root cause of this insane time and our self-centric ways of living, which advocate unfulfillment.

A reality check would suggest that there is no dark side to the moon, but while conceiving the narrative of this exhibition, this phrase turned out to be an ideal metaphor for absolute darkness. The darkness that prevails intensively can destroy all of the positive emotions of human beings and humanity as a whole. In effect, the darkness represents insanity. In reality, the light portrayed by the moon is really an illusion; it’s rather fake, as we know the moon reflects the light of the sun. In turn, this mock light of the moon turns out to be an allegory to the times our civilization advertises and the various deceptive and outlandish dimensions and perspectives of our decision-making, along with the barbaric choices we make by merely riding the tide of times and trends. The landscape of our reality, which can jolly well be termed a well-to-do hoax, harmonises and paves the way towards wretched souls, crime scenes, prejudice-driven fanaticism, abandoned relationships, intimate betrayals, and so on.

‘যখন দেখি ওরা কাজ করে গ্রামে বন্দরে,

শুধুই ফসল ফলায়, ঘাম ঝড়ায় মাঠে প্রান্তরে

তখন ভালো লাগে না, লাগে না কোন কিছুই’

–মহীনের ঘোড়াগুলি (Mohiner Ghoraguli)

In our day-to-day interactions and exchanges, we often use the sound or word “EEYE” in place of something that we have forgotten.

In the light of this exhibition, for whom has the word “Eeye” been used?

Who are they?

Do they belong to that marginalized breed of human flesh and blood that does not leave a mark of their existence on the billboards of the society? Nameless and casteless, this ignored or cornered class has always been kept under our reigns, barred from societal acceptance. However, they have always played a vital role in organising the dire necessities of our daily lives. These hardworking beings with their silent footsteps have been creating the foundation on which we exist for ages now.