Geetanjali Krishna: In search of a gallery

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

I always enjoy Nature Bazaar, even though when I visited on its first day this year, there was more chaos than craft that was visible. Until late afternoon, stalls remained unset, or worse, unoccupied. Snatches of conversation I shamelessly eavesdropped on indicated internal politics between the organisers, Dastakar, and the Department of Handicrafts. But all this did not take away from the fact that the day was a pleasant one, and it was interesting to watch people setting up their stalls.

Just then, a blur of bright blue and green caught my eye. It was a large painting of an elephant, bold and almost modern in its style. A couple at one of the central stalls was debating where to display it. I was so riveted by the painting that I decided to watch them for a while, just to see what they’d unroll next. Out came some jewel-like peacocks. “They’re Gonds from Madhya Pradesh,” said a friend who noticed my interest, “and have an unusual painting style — these paintings are entirely composed of little dots and dashes.” I ventured closer and realised that this was indeed true, the paintings up close looked like fine mosaics filled with painstaking dots of colour.

They were obviously too busy for me to talk to them just then.

So I decided to read up on Gond art first. Originally, I learnt, these paintings were made on the mud walls of Gond houses. Using limestone, charcoal and other mineral and organic pigments, Gond artists have thus embellished their walls for centuries. Every year, the rains would wash them off, and the artists would start over again on a fresh canvas, the plastered mud wall. Given that Gonds are some of India’s most ancient inhabitants (some anthropologists believe they’re related to the Australian aborigines, and rank them amongst the oldest people in the world) the paintings I’d seen were representative of a folk art tradition that predated most others I’d had the privilege of seeing.

I accosted him the moment he looked free. His name was Ramesh Teekam, and like most other Gond artists, he was from Patangarh — the Madhya Pradesh village made famous by the noted anthropologist Verrier Elwin who visited the place for fieldwork, and ended up settling down there with a Gond wife. Articulate and well-travelled, Teekam said he was a regular in exhibitions and fairs. “These paintings are an integral part of our life in the village,” said he, “they’re believed to ward off the evil eye, and so people commission them especially during festivals and weddings.” He started painting as a child, watching his father and elder brothers. All good Gond artists, said he, have a signature style of painting.

While he fills in colours into his paintings using small dots, his brother uses tiny spirals. “Others use lines, long and short, tiny geometric figures and more — so consequently, it’s easy to recognise artists by their style of painting,” said he.

Unlike many folk artists who elected to remain in the village, Teekam moved to Bhopal years ago. “I began painting on paper and canvas as well as village walls, when I realised it was the only way to show my work to the world,” said he. Looking at the blue-green elephant, however, I felt it needed a better home than Dilli Haat. “If only Delhi had galleries dedicated to folk art…how many paintings can I display in this tiny stall?” said Teekam.

I wondered at the irony — museums across the world celebrate our folk art heritage, but after all these years, the only place we find to showcase it is a cramped stall in Dilli Haat.