I call art a honey trap. And when you know why I make this generalisation, you will also agree with me. For the ones who come to only look, get hooked. For those who want a piece of the action too stay hooked. And God alone help those who want to collect! Today I want to share the story of a dealer who wanted his share of the cake so he decided to have an art show. Lest you think I am getting soft in the head as I reel under an overdose of reality television, let me assure you it is completely true — both softness of the head and the story!
A rather dishy, handsome hulk who we shall call “sexy eyes” because he keeps his name a state secret, is not only a visual delight, he also happens to be well-connected. He has grown up surrounded by fabulous art and arty aunties. So he went to this arty gallery aunty to request for a show. And I will have you know that gallery aunty was not interested in the art he was trying to market, but in him! The only stumbling block in the matter was that sexy eyes was reluctant to announce to his parents that he was a closet gay!
The gallery circuit I will have you know is a rather closed cluster, who like to keep things within themselves and don't take kindly to people approaching them. That you might wait till eternity for them to come to you is another matter. Instead, they are happier to be kept dangling by a few artists rather than bet on new ones. Sexy eyes tried to invert the rules. And who likes reinvented wheels? Notwithstanding our friend's stylish and rather debonair Dilliwala charisma, when he ran to the next art aunty, she ticked him off and told him that her calendar was booked for the next three years. Poor dear was on a trip to make quick money so he decided to rent a gallery. Off he went to a downtown gallery, which was supposed to be this hot shot venue for art sales.
First the aunty made him wait for long enough to grow creepers around his pedicured feet, she arrived. Voila! Her black spaghetti top was held together by sheer will power and a safety pin as it threatened to burst open and reveal the contents that were well past the use by dates. Then the art aunty devoured him inch by inch, lingering dangerously on the most interesting parts — his eyes of course! What did you think? Tsk, tsk, dirty mind. And guess what, she too was booked all the 365 days of the next five years. That was 1,825 days in all. Phew!
Who was the curator asked gallery aunty. Sexy eyes mumbled one of the more respected names of the art world. Aunty looked at him in complete shock and amazement. Of course there was no gallery availability! But wait! All was not lost. Spaghetti aunty was open to negotiations. She was willing to “adjust” some dates to his liking in the next two weeks only if she was appointed curator. Not a bad deal thought dishy eyes, even if meant a couple of lakhs down the drain! Happiness and joy was in sight.
Sexy eyes went home happy, dreaming of mega bucks in sales. Dates were sorted out and the next day just when he was going to get the invites printed, the artists whose dates got jostled around decided to play spoilt sport and not take it lying down. When last heard sexy dreamy eyes had managed to bat his curly eye lashes at burly, bicep flexing gallery owner in Goa to hold that art show over the Christmas week with all the feni happy potential buyers dancing attendance. What do mean when — this year of course!
In the meantime, all the gallery aunties are all gunning for me for I voice the experiences of the artists more. They often tell me the economics of running a gallery are mostly loaded against them, but my logic tells me that in case it was not profitable enough, they wouldn’t bother running them. After all who wants to listen to one more unk-empt jhoolawallah after another saying “main bhi artist”? Many gallery aunties are severely allergic to the desc-ription by the way.

Dr Alka Raghuva-nshi is an art writer, curator and artist and can be contacted on alkaraghuvanshi@yahoo.com