For Himmat Shah (1933-2025), art and life were inseparable

An ancient stone, split apart by the conflicts of time, moves its own way—rumbling, balancing on its shadow. In its solitude, bearing cracks across its body and absorbing intense light, it begins to create new meaning and form. The fierce texture of life, etched onto its surface, stares back at us with an unyielding gaze.

Such a description fits no other I know of in the world of Indian art more than Himmat Shah, the renowned sculptor and painter who passed away on March 2. He was a singular figure in contemporary art and culture. Rejecting the conventional norms of life, he embraced the complexities of time in his search for the meaning of existence. A wanderer at heart, he lived in solitude, moving from one place to another, engaged in an internal dialogue about where he truly belonged. His works reflect the contradictions of the urban and the pastoral, belonging and non-belonging, shape and shapelessness—all woven together with a deep awareness of material and memory.

Shah’s art and life were inseparable. No boundaries existed between his inner nature and the world outside. The wind, the rain, and the searing summer sun left their imprints on his existence. A liberated spirit, a maverick amid constructed realities, and a rebel against stagnation—he shaped his sculptures through self-interrogation and an intimate bond with soil, water, and fire.

When I first met him in the mid-1990s at Garhi Studios, New Delhi, he identified himself with Alexis Zorba, the unrestrained character from Nikos Kazantzakis’ novel Zorba the Greek. He would laugh and say, “When my terracotta sculptures undergo their mysterious transformation under fire, I dance like Zorba, just as I did on the barren lands of my childhood.”

Born in Lothal, Gujarat—one of the southernmost excavation sites of the ancient Indus Civilization—Himmat often recalled childhood evenings spent wandering through barren lands once inhabited by his ancestors.

The stories of the invisible city buried beneath the soil and the fragments of terracotta objects found there later became the source of his artistic imagination. As a child, he would frequently skip school classes to visit the village potter, mesmerised by the movements of skilled fingers shaping clay on the wheel. It was there that he made his first object in clay.

During our travels across India, he often expressed deep curiosity about craftsmanship in different regions. Our conversations would drift towards the hidden wisdom of hands—the textures and colours of mud and fabric, the distinct aromas and flavours of each place, even the venomous snakes and poisons of the desert.

Around 22 years ago, he travelled with me to Kerala and stayed in my hometown, Thiruvananthapuram. He wished to live by the sea, so my friends and I arranged a place for him near the shore, where he remained for three months. He would visit local homes, instantly befriending people, even attending weddings uninvited.

One night, he said to me, “At midnight, I sit on the balcony and watch the sea. The enormous waves crash against the shore with a deafening roar. I create my sculptures from these waves and erase them. I now know I can live without a studio and still create.”

For Himmat Shah, art was a state of constant evolution and being. He pursued solitude and the soul, often forgetting the body. He called me two years ago, saying, “Solitude alone cannot survive—it needs a body too. So, take care of your health.”

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