The Style Evolution of Artists
These painters, known for their mature vocabulary, had tasted success earlier for work in a style that was radically different

A Journey Through PainSATISH GUJRALb. 1925Satish Gujral is hearing impaired, yet this has little bearing on his art, for which he trained in Lahore and Bombay. His early work resonates with a feeling of loss, the result of Partition that sundered the country and created geographical barriers which left emotional scars on the people who bore the physical burden of its violence. This series, one of the rare voices that lent to the country’s visual documentation of Partition’s horror, would continue to be enriched after a trip to Mexico and a meeting with Diego Rivera.
His return to India after a stint in America saw Gujral’s work change in more ways than one. Though he remained experimental, the palette became more decorative, the context more affirmative. It was as if he was struggling to project a voice that was celebratory, moving beyond the negative to ideas that found a resonance in what might be considered hopeful. Musicians, dancers, jugglers, athletes: These were components that defined his painterly universe, resulting in his popularity in a society that no longer had space on its walls for laments of despair.
At a time when India was providing momentum to the flower power movement and neo-tantra was getting a fillip, De began to work on his defining style around the idea of energy and transcendence. Though devoid of the symbols of tantra that other artists used more liberally, the idea of a powerful force and a focus on meditation is central to the idea of these paintings with their strong, primary colours.
On a visit to Amarnath, he recounts a mystical experience that was to change the direction of his art forever. Taking a few years off to study the role of sufism, Santosh soon developed a visual language of tantric art that was uniquely his. He used the symbols of tantra but abstracted it in the form of a mirror image, locating clues within the field of the painting. This balance of energies was part of the primordial order of nature, and he studied it to develop its evolution into transcendence that is at the root of spiritual awakening. His highly regarded works lay at the cusp of neo-tantra art that was to become popular from the mid-’70s onwards.
Even though his work was highly regarded, Kumar moved into a language of formless abstract paintings—something that did not enjoy a premium in the market at the time. He continued to paint Varanasi, but it was no longer identifiable, represented by a corpus of colours and a sense of animation and movement. Later, he was drawn to the landscapes of Ladakh, but for most part he devotes his energy to Varanasi, giving India one of her few practitioners of the non-representational that enjoys a critical following.
A third and final career change saw him reach towards his Indian heritage from Paris when he began to work, from 1979 onwards, on a series that would develop into his popular Bindu, Mandala and Germination body of works. They evoked the discipline of meditation and the harmony of the five elements, and were a celebration of colours that had resonated with him ever since his first glimpse of Basohli miniatures. Gradually, thereafter, he moved his oeuvre to this new found vocabulary and has been entirely consumed by it to this day, even if the bulk of that journey was realised in France.
But Roy found existing tropes claustrophobic and wanted to create something that was Indian but without the sentimentalism of the Bengal School of art. His inspiration came from the Kalighat pat painters whose bold outlines and simplistic renderings he adopted. His subjects were often the Santhals, musicians and dancers, popular Bengali myths that introduced the parable of the cat and the lobster, and his affinity to Biblical iconography. These folk-like renditions have come to be viewed as India’s earliest tryst with modernism. Wanting to make art accessible to a wider public, Roy created an atelier where his works were copied by disciples and acolytes, resulting in a prolific output.
The transition in the ’80s saw his style becoming more minimalistic, paring away all but the essential in flat colour fields. The subject of his articulation was still violence, but the figures were no longer anonymous. Indeed, in many, it was his representation of Kali, the avenging goddess, in a melee with the demon Mahisasura, that exemplified his best works from this period. The represented figure of these protagonists is horrifying—or is it horror that they, in turn, see? The strong outline and the use of only a few colours peels these works down to communicate without artifice.
In part, this was a rejection of the Bengal School, and Sher-Gil launched on her career somewhat deliberately. She rejected realism in favour of the Ajanta palette, and evoked the world of miniatures in her flat renditions, although her subjects were chosen from an India she discovered on her travels. A first for Indians, she used models for her paintings, and looked around to spot everyday scenes of life that captured her imagination. She died at 28, but has left her indelible stamp on Indian art in the 20th century.
It was in his later years in Santiniketan that Bose began to change along with his students Ramkinkar Baij and Benode Behari Mukherjee, drawn to an expressionistic style and moving away from idyllic notions to the reality of the countryside and its people. It was this transition that would provide the fillip to the genesis of what would develop as modernism as the country grappled to find a painterly language that was its own and not influenced by the West.
His works began to change even before a stint in New York, where he was inspired by the colour fields of the artist Mark Rothko. Considered India’s foremost abstract painter, he preferred the term ‘non-objective’ for his non-representational paintings. He developed a style of layering that added depth and luminescence to his canvases, and though they were static in the absence of any form, a zen-like movement nevertheless animates them. Gaitonde’s excellence is only now gaining global recognition and has fetched him record prices and, later this year, a retrospective at the Guggenheim Museum in New York.
But the transition couldn’t have been more dramatic. On a visit to the countryside outside Udaipur, in Rajasthan, Ramachandran found himself drawn to a temple beside a lotus pond. Mesmerised by its beauty, as by the tribal women who inhabited the area, the artist found his resistance to what modernists rejected as decorative, melting away. He has been back to that spot scores of times since then, painting the enchanted world of nymphets, dragon flies, water-lilies, often painting himself within the paintings too. Viewed by many as escapism, Ramachandran’s sonnet to loveliness and beauty emerges from the finest tradition of Indian art having the ability to inspire and heal.
First Published: Jun 30, 2014, 06:28
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