Some works from Swati Pasari’s latest series — ASIAN AGE

Once en route to Tirupati from Bengaluru, I was completely fascinated by ghadas or pitchers in neon colours strung outside quaint village shops. I even bought one in fluorescent green and lugged it all the way back to Delhi, much to the amusement of my co-passengers who must have thought I was cuckoo in the head! What was interesting was that while the shape of the pitcher was traditional, the new-age material had rendered it more mobile and more durable.

No matter what the environmentalists said, ask the women who have to lug water in heavy metal or earthen pitchers from long distances and they would give the thumbs up to the plastic or lightweight stainless steel versions any day.
I had a similar experience at the Ahmedabad airport when I wanted to lug heavy brass chains of a hitchko or jhoola and the security fellow couldn’t contain his curiousity as to why I couldn’t buy them in Delhi. I appealed to his regional pride when I told him that the stylised and pretty ones available in Gujarat couldn’t be found anywhere else, and he let me go! But I was not exaggerating. Utensils and other objects of everyday use have specific regional versions and shapes and sizes that have been perfected over the years according to the cultural usage and contexts. But what has changed are the materials of these objects. A case in point being the lowly earthen pitcher or ghada that retains its traditional shape, but plastics and stainless steel has rendered it more user-friendly. New age materials like plastics, aluminum and stainless steel have rendered brass, copper, bronze, kansa, wood and stone, obsolete in most kitchens across the country.
There are two ways to protect heritage. One is to mummify it and put it in the museum a la the most beautiful Kerkar Museum of utensils in Ahmedabad where the display ranges from huge storage utensils for water and grain to tiny ritual utensils used in worship. The other way to preserve is to find a new interpretation for it and contemporise its context. This is true of literature as well. If that was not the case, our epics Ramayana and the Mahabharata would not touch the hearts of millions, eons after they were written.
Kaya Kalp, sculptor Neeraj Gupta’s latest solo show was an exercise in both — preserving as well as contemporising the context by using the traditional form. He has juxtaposed traditional pitchers, tumblers, and other utensils in bronze from northern parts of the country in varying shapes and sizes to create forms that appear to be dancing or seem frozen in stylised dance movements. These pitchers have been used in conjunction with ghungroos again in varying sizes that bestow a feeling of movement or like a dancer in the tribhangi or chowk mudra or in a stylised adavu. He has screwed these on with great precision, as soldering was not feasible for several technical reasons. He lit the works from the bottom casting interesting patterns on the walls so the walls didn’t look empty as is often the case with sculpture shows. It was a show that celebrated the old in a new form.
Various dance forms and musical instruments also form the basis of Swati Pasari’s latest series of paintings. Performing art forms that are a part of her experiential mindscape quietly walk into this series — albeit in rhythm and taal. She has used traditional Indian dance-theatre that has dipped into the Krishna lore for its thematic content for centuries — be it Kathakali, Ankia Nat, Yakshagana, Therukottu or Bhavai — all have the Ramayana and the Mahabharata as the backbone of its natya. The figures that Swati chooses have these forms as her inspirational mainstay.
One work has the feel of a female Kathakali dance character complete with headgear playing the chenda drums and another gives the feel of Bihu dancer gracefully turning a pirouette as she welcomes the harvest. The manifestation is still stylised nonetheless. Does the dance hold her down? Or at another level does it liberate her? Like a good book, the rest is left to the imagination and interpretation of the viewer.
The artist has chosen a stylised manifestation to depict these and other complex emotions in her the almost abstract works rather like the pure dance or nritta, yet these works are as much a part of the voice and yet stand out for their very contemporary thought. The harmonious hues of these works depict a mood that is enticing as it is enthralling.
Imagery replete with shringar rasa or love as its sthai bhava or prime emotion is part of this series. Drenched in the bliss of sheer being, the central figures appear to be dancing with joy and where there is ananda, can Krishna be far behind? He peeks from within the fluid strokes of Swati’s lyrical lines that draw the onlooker into its folds. The quicksilver feel of an instinctive and deeply emotional artist is evident in the sweep of the work. There is an innate sense of speed and swift and rhythmic movement in this series.
The recurring leit motif of the piano keys (or is it harmonica?) highlight the inspirational bond of music in the artist’s worldview. The plethora of contrasting colours that Swati uses with child-like abandon, find their own balance and join each other in a harmonious dance of the Blue God. In this day and age that finds “anti-beauty” as a politically correct genre, both shows celebrate aesthetics and beauty, which is reassuring to say the least.