Art Vs Artist

I was browsing through some Indian art blogs I hadn't seen before when I encountered this article. The article itself was quite sensible, doling out advise I often echo myself - "Art is something personal. You have to develop an interest in it, you have to do so with  a [sic] passion – not just to make money and definitely not for a [sic] short-term." Bad grammar aside, this is good advice - so many clients/collectors will spend ridiculous amounts of money for something they don't even like. I remember in particular a lady who came by the gallery I used to work in, asking if we had any pieces by a particular artist. We did, but it wasn't his best work - indeed, my respect for the artist in question had somewhat diminished when I first saw the piece this lady was shown - the work was lazily executed, lacking the intellectual depth and sensitivity of the artist's other work. It was with a heavy heart that I unwrapped the artwork we had left for our guest.

The lady, obviously a wealthy wife, was determined to 'shop' for some art before heading back to her home in Mumbai. Casting aside an initial flicker of disappointment, she set about trying to ascertain that the piece was indeed by the artist she sought. She then proceeded to bargain down the price, bashfully confiding that her husband was very particular about the way she spent her money. The next few weeks were spent authenticating the work, producing certificates to substantiate that this was an original Mr. X artwork, and negotiating the price. The work was sold. Honestly, she would've found something similar at a construction site.

Is the rush for collecting artists compromising the quality of their art? Its not an original thought or question, but its one I have been pondering over for some time now. While the boom in the contemporary art market has brought prestige and honour to those who practice art, one wonders if it makes sense to subsidize their lives quite so generously. Successful contemporary Indian artists live lavishly, building designer homes, wearing designer labels and jet setting off to 'hot' destinations all over the world. I do not resent their success (more power to them!) but wince at the hypocrisy of the situation - these are the same people who will berate consumerism and elitism in the cold, sterile light of a gallery installation.

But perhaps I speak too soon - the Modern and Contemporary "Indian Artist Survival Rating Map" may point to an altogether different story. In fact, the article citing this map never once alluded to the cruelty or even the absurdity of the existence of such a map. Despite exalted reviews in the New York Times, inspite of his/her millions, an artist's reputation can wax and wane with the tide of public opinion and spending. How very bourgeois.

Face-to-face

I saw my parents for the first time since I left Brazil yesterday...on Skype. I am a big fan of Skype, having learnt how to use it only a few months ago. I love how the video chat function instantly brings home to me all the familiar features and gestures of the people I love - my father's quizzical eyes, my mother's alert, amused look, my sister's playful asides...

The funny thing about Sykpe though, is that we often spend more time looking at ourselves than at each other. That little box in the corner is far too fascinating to ignore. I often catch myself glancing down at the box at the end of a sentence, surprised by the way I look when I say something. While chatting with my mom yesterday, I noticed her peering down at her reflection, checking for stray crumbs from the toast she'd been having. My sister once got ready to go out for lunch during a Skype chat - the video, it seems, was even better than a mirror.

One may see these actions as narcissistic, and perhaps they are...to an extent. It is human nature, after all, to be a little preoccupied with oneself - right from the moment when we first recognize our mirror image in childhood, the journey towards self-absorption and representation begins. After all, who doesn't look for themselves first in a group picture or blush bashfully at a compliment? 

In the context of Skype, I actually find this 'checking out' of oneself endearing and intimate - it makes me feel, even more, that I am there with the people I love. But maybe I'll try closing the little box next time.

Home away from home
  
I just returned from a long holiday on the other side of the world - Brazil. I didn't know what to expect and it didn't matter - I would be safely ensconced in my parents' home there, catching up with the family I hadn't seen in over a year. Indeed, this trip was more about family than anything else - traveling across the world from far flung destinations to congregate in South America for one month of bliss.

I have made this journey often - not necessarily to Brazil but to wherever my parents have called 'home' in the past five years. We made these journeys together when I was younger. The first of them was to Vienna, Austria, when I had just turned nine. I remember my sister attempting to explain the circumstances of the Second World War to me while improvising gory stories on the Neo Nazis [to addle my overactive imagination]. Three years later, we found ourselves bursting into tears as our plane heaved itself off the runway in Vienna, wondering what the future held for us in Sri Lanka. 

Being the daughter of a diplomat, I have become accustomed to these arrivals and departures. I find myself growing restless at the prospect of a long holiday - the wanderlust is still there. I sometimes wonder if I will ever be able to fully 'settle down' in one place - there are so many places to see, so many possibilities to choose from. 

But perhaps the truth lies in the moment I see my dad waiting outside the sliding doors of an airport.