Rare pictures of artist F N Souza, as seen through the eyes of Ida Kar, are on display in the Capital.
Our art has evolved over the years of its own volition; out of our own balls and brains,” said Francis Newton Souza, founder of the Progressive Artists’ Group of Bombay, in his manifesto. One of the first post-independence Indian artists to achieve recognition in the west, Souza was by no means, a simple man. In a career spanning several decades, countries and wars, Souza’s art flourished most in war-stricken Britain (World War II) where he arrived in 1949. It was here that he met Armenian photographer Ida Kar (1908-1974) and became one of her many subjects.
Kar — best described as a bohemian photographer with a lens — was known for taking sophisticated shots of young actors and fellow artists, capturing their various moods and translating them into iconic photographs. Married to British art dealer Victor Musgrave who carried Souza’s work to Gallery One in London, Kar was commissioned by the gallery to click photographs for the catalogue. It was then that the painter became the focus of her lens between the years 1957 and 1961, a period when both their careers peaked.
Seven distinct photographs — that have never been published or exhibited before — have now reached the capital. The photographs are now on display at the refurbished Queen’s Gallery at the British council, the National Portrait Gallery in London and Vadehra Gallery in Delhi. ‘IDA KAR: Portraits of F.N Souza’, opened with a discussion between scholars and personal acquaintances of Souza such as Conor Macklin, director of Grosvenor Gallery, curator Yashodhara Dalmia and artist Krishen Khanna, offering insights into the painter’s complex persona.
Perhaps the most striking feature of Kar’s photographs is contrast, both visual and symbolic. Capturing the essence of the artist, his art and the years that catapulted him into fame, the photographs depict a sombre Souza dressed in a well-tailored yet ill-fitting suit, in different moods and positions. The one common feature is the background of his tiny studio — a cluttered room with a tousled bed, strewn paints, brushes and dirty laundry. This juxtaposition of a ‘civil man’ in immaculate attire against a demonic background is, according to Dalmia, “sheer theatre”. Souza, embittered by the war, fighting bouts of alcoholism and at times poverty, used his art to convey the hypocrisy that was eating away at the heart of society. Portraying him as civilised man in an uncivilised world in her photographs, Kar makes a similar point, effectively so. Souza fashions a neatly trimmed moustache, as he looks into the camera unflinchingly. You can almost hear him repeat his famous words, “I express myself freely in paint, in order to exist.”
London, post war, nurtured art, as found out Souza and Kar. “Yet it was an intense, dark period… it almost ate away at your soul,” recalls Khanna who visited the city at the time. Did Souza ever desire to return to a life before the fame, Khanna had once asked him over a beer in a famous London pub. “Yes…to recharge my batteries,” replied Souza matter-of-factly. He died in 2002.
“He ran the risk of getting transfixed in his own problems,” believes Khanna. His art, that comprised evocative nudes, received criticism from upholders of British morality and Catholicism. Living as a destitute for several years, Souza was admonished by his landlady for throwing his “pornographic” art into the bin, and directly into the hands of her adolescent children. Yet for Souza, there was nothing “sleazy or unnatural about sex”, says Dalmia. Souza lay the truth bare, much to the ire of some. It is this unabashed, unapologetic artist that stares back at you from Kar’s greyish tones.
(Ida Kar’s portraits of F N Souza will be on display at the British Council, New Delhi, till October 15; Sunaparanta Goa Centre for the Arts till October 18 ; and Pundole Art Gallery, Mumbai, till October28)
