The Art of Being

When I look back at the last three decades, I am awed. The track my life has taken cannot be just written off as serendipity or destiny. It is a blessing from God.

Coming from a business family with no background in art, I was introduced to the world of art in my late twenties by my husband’s family which collected art and had the works of artists like MF Husain, Anjolie Ela Menon, B Prabha, Laxma Goud, and Jamini Roy. In the 1970s, I would often accompany my brother-in-law to Dhoomimal (art gallery), run by Ravi Jain. It was there that I set my eyes on a very large Bikash Bhattacharjee and Jogen Chowdhury, and fell in love with their works. I think that is where the seeds of my love for art were sown.

My husband DK and I started collecting art for our new home in Modinagar. We acquired a few Husains from Rashda Siddiqui and were introduced to Husain Sa’ab. Husain Sa’ab changed the course of my life as our friendship grew. We would spend hours talking about his life, his art, his inspirations. I used to watch him draw and paint. He would tell me to look at the power of the line. I feel my love for drawing stems from watching him draw and talk about the importance of lines in an artist’s work.

In the early 1980s when we were looking for a property to build a house, he proposed to design it through Rashda. I laughed it off. He said he was serious. He told me that it was his junoon to make a house and a commercial film. In 1986, we finished our house. The many hours we spent during the making of the house strengthened our bond and brought us closer. When I asked him why he spent hours in the British Library in London researching for his British Raj series, he told me it was an artist’s riyaaz. I absorbed all of our conversations; they would go on later to shape my gallery programme.

Husain inspired me to start a gallery. He went around looking for a space for the gallery, designed the logo and gave Espace its first show of his autobiographical works till he was 14, in October 1989. I had no idea of how to run a gallery, but I learnt on the floor.

The initial years were a struggle. No one believed that I would last for long. I was thought of as just a bored, rich housewife. Husain Sa’ab had introduced me to NS Bendre and his other friends like Tyeb Mehta, Akbar Padamsee, and Bal Chhabda. When we went to visit Bendre, he asked Husain Sa’ab, “Why are you dragging her into this whirlpool?” Husain just laughed. Bendre then turned to me and said it would take me three-four years to establish myself and be acknowledged by everyone. His words were prophetic and true.

I have often been asked how I have managed to stay on in this business for so long. I believe it is my passion and love for art that, despite all the years, shows no sign of waning. To me art, like life, is constantly evolving. Looking back, it’s so difficult to segregate my life from art. Thanks to art, my views on life changed completely. A whole new world opened up like a blooming flower. There have been so many teachers, so many small incidents and experiences during the course of my journey. Each gave me a new lens to look at life.

I come from a family where women didn’t work in those days. In the beginning, it was challenging to travel on my own or be at work when there was a family get-together at home. I remember my parents would be aghast when I would tell them that I was going to Santiniketan. A cousin or a nephew was always asked to accompany me. I thank my husband whose silent support has enabled me to be what I am today. Art has given me my freedom to be. I suppose I am a survivor.

I have always believed in a supreme power which has guided my decisions, and continues to do so. I have been fiercely independent and followed what I have believed in, irrespective of whether it would bring financial gains. I went headlong into organising large medium-based shows like Drawing ’94, Sculpture ’95, Mini Print ’97, and others. All because when I looked around, collectors and the public were unaware of the importance of these mediums, and how important they were to build a holistic collection. It has always been my primary goal to help collectors build their collections wisely and aesthetically. These shows, presented in public spaces, did help to move the wheels for these mediums. As for me, I was happy that I simply broke even with these shows.

Money is important for us to survive, whether in art or for any other business, but art has given more meaning to my life. It is my ikigai. Not that I have not had my bad moments. Looking back, my life has been a roller-coaster ride with both bitter and sweet memories, but I feel blessed to have spent so much time with the masters who are no more. I have had the opportunity to learn of art and art practice from them first hand, rather than go through books. This knowledge, which came from listening and experiencing art along with the masters, is unparalleled.

Husain inspired me to start a gallery. He went around looking for a space for the gallery, designed the logo and gave espace its first show of his autobiographical works till he was 14, in October 1989. I had no idea of how to run a gallery, but I learnt on the floor

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I am proud to say that I never took favours or used anyone to climb the ladder of success. Once, Manjit Bawa, one of my dearest friends among artists, whom I lovingly called Manjit Bhai, said he would promote me, with the help of a friend, a well-known journalist. I thanked him and refused very firmly, but gently. I believed in myself and the higher power with me. Of course, Manjit’s guidance and all that I learnt from him in the course of our very intense discussions have always helped me greatly.

I used to visit Manjit at least twice a week and would chat with him while he painted. I did not visit artists’ studios to seek works to sell. My quest was for knowledge and a better understanding of the art world and the art practice of the day that was unknown to me.

Manjit was also my confidant and would protect me from negative elements in the art world. Husain Sa’ab had advised me right at the outset not to serve alcohol at exhibition openings at Espace. He said that with my background, I would not be able to handle drunken artists. It turned out to be true. I often hid behind Manjit’s back till he shooed them out.

In 1990, Manjit took me to meet J Swaminathan in Bhopal. Swami was then director of Bharat Bhavan. It must have been around 10 in the morning that we entered Swami’s office in Bharat Bhavan, and I saw him sitting wearing a crisp white kurta and lungi behind a large desk in his beautifully located office. I had heard so much about Swami from Manjit that I was a little nervous to meet him. But I warmed up to him in no time, and thus began my personal and professional relationship with this philosopher, thinker and wonderful artist which has enriched my life immensely. I learnt about materiality in art from Swami—how artists use material and why they do so. He would talk about his use of geru, haldi and mitti in the abstract works that he had started during the 1990s. When he moved to Delhi, I became a frequent visitor to his house at South Extension, dropping in at least once every 10 days.

I also think back fondly of the many hours I spent with my writer and critic friends like KK Nair, Shanto Dutta and Prayag Shukla who enriched my knowledge of the aesthetics of Indian art. I learnt from them the sources and inspirations of Jogen Chowdhury, Arpita Singh, Jeram Patel, Himmat Shah, the Bengal School, and so many more.

Many Indian contemporary artists had turned to installations in the 1990s, and I remember my discussions with Swami and Husain Sa’ab on the subject. Husain spoke of the beauty of the installation of clotheslines at a dhobighat or different condiments in a paan shop, while Swami talked about the beauty and geometry of the havan kund. These conversations made me consider installations in a completely new light.

There was greater ease and casualness in artist-gallerist relationships in those times, each supporting the other in multiple ways. Swami would often call me and ask me to help an emerging artist by acquiring his works, irrespective of whether I liked the works or not. Once Swami called me and said he was sending across a tribal artist who needed financial help. So, he prodded me to buy his works, and I bought his watercolours. That artist turned out to be Jangarh Singh Shyam.

The Indian art world is again in the throes of a radical change over the past two years, with technology and social media intruding into our lives. It has been a Herculean task to keep up with the changing times, but it has also helped to bring Indian art closer to an international audience in a way that offline exhibitions never managed

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Another time, Manjit told me, “There is a boy from Bihar who has come; go and see his works and if you like, then you can show him.” It was Subodh Gupta that he sent me to. At the time, Subodh was living in a 10×12 room; he had a large canvas of a bandwallah on one wall, and a cotton mattress and a stove on one side. I loved his work. The work which was part of a show at the gallery was acquired by my sister-in-law, and hangs in her home in Nagpur to this day.

Those years, there was a certain bonhomie among artists that was endearing, and there was less competition. I remember in 1990, Manjit requested Nilima Sheikh to introduce me to everyone in Baroda. Nilimaji took me around Baroda, and I began representing her. There has been no looking back in my relationship with her.

My relationship with artists is what I have enjoyed the most in this journey. Zarina is one such special relationship that I nurtured for two decades. I was introduced to her work in 1997 when we were working on the Mini Prints show curated by Anupam Sud. I fell in love with her prints and proposed to show Zarina in Delhi. She checked up on my gallery and agreed. Those years, we were also showing Krishna Reddy, her dear friend. We had our first Zarina solo exhibition in 2000, and our friendship grew both at a personal and professional level.

Over the past three decades, I have seen the art world go through a sea change. Traditions and culture change with the times, and the growth of an individual or an institution depends upon how well one adapts to the changing times. We, at Espace, have always tried to be ahead of the times by being aware of change, but not losing the inherent values that I believed in when I started the gallery. I have believed in each of the artists we have shown.

Artist camps were quite the fashion in the late 1990s-early 2000s—gallerists would take artists on tours to exotic locations, with the understanding that they would get a work in return. I did not believe in such a transactional arrangement. The interaction among artists or with artists should be more meaningful and engaging, in my opinion.

Gallery Espace had organised one such interaction in Haridwar in 2000 with four artist friends—Bhupen Khakhar, Amit Ambalal, Atul and Anju Dodiya. Raksha Ambalal, Amitbhai’s wife, accompanied us. The purpose of this interaction and trip was to have a show at the end of it. Their experiences, Haridwar itself and the informal discussions they would have in the evenings, would all be a part of the experience. I had also invited Sunil Mehra, journalist and art writer, to document the trip. It was a memorable trip and several incidents from those days remain etched in my mind.

We stayed in Haridwar for six days. Our days would start with Navtej Johar, the Bharatnatyam dancer, giving yoga lessons.

Bhupen would take his sketchbook and early in the morning, roam around the ghats looking for subjects. Later, we all got to see his wonderful drawings. Atul would photograph whatever caught his eye, while Anju and Amitbhai just experienced life in Haridwar. It was in Haridwar that we received news of the Twin Towers falling (9/11). There was just a small black-and-white TV in the manager’s room, and I remember we all huddled together to watch in horror. One of Atul’s works in Leela, the 2003 show at Gallery Espace which had all the works made during the trip, depicts the falling towers, as also the yoga classes with Navtej. The evening discussions were always animated with both Atul and Amitbhai prodding Bhupen, who would sometimes entertain us by singing in Gujarati.

I used to visit Manjit at least twice a week and would chat with him while he painted. I did not visit artists’ studios to seek works to sell. My quest was for knowledge and a better understanding of the art world and the art practice of the day that was unknown to me

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I will always regret not acquiring the two accordion watercolour books that Bhupen made during his stay at Modi Bhavan. He even called me up and asked me to acquire them, but I didn’t. This feeling of regret on missing out on important works happens with all collectors.

Most people think of the art world as being one of glamour and fame, but there’s a lot of hard work and long hours involved. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing for me. The Indian art market went through two major depressions in late-1990s and in 2008-10, but I managed to survive well both times. In spite of the depressed market conditions, we presented a year-long video project in 2008. This pioneering project to show video art from all across the country was titled Video Wednesdays. The videos would be screened every first Wednesday of the month. The first edition was curated by Johny ML, with a second edition curated by Gayatri Sinha, presented in 2010. This one had videos by Chinese artists alongside those by our Indian artists. Both these editions got an overwhelming response.

Awareness of art has grown substantially. A whole new generation of young collectors is seriously researching artists and collecting art, though sadly, many of them are still ruled by auction results. Sculpture, a medium not looked at, has got more attention lately. I smile when I remember how a few art buyers in 1995 were shocked to see Soman’s football on the floor, Rimzon’s hospital bed and Pushpamala’s burnt khadau installation at a large sculpture show of artists under 40 years of age in Delhi’s Lalit Kala Akademi. Indian sculptures, to them, were the mother-and-child figures being done at the Garhi studios.

It has always given me joy when we sell a young artist’s work. In the early 1990s, I wanted to show Indian artists internationally, the way Chinese artists were. But it was not to be. I was to regret it, as a decade later, a well-known Western gallerist told me that he had been looking at Indian art “from the corners of our eyes” because contemporary artists like Subodh were fetching such high prices at auctions.

As a gallerist, I have seen major shifts in the art world. Sometime during the turn of the century, the Indian art world started to evolve into a structured industry. Auction houses, foundations, Kochi-Muziris Biennale, private museums like the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, India’s participation in the Venice Biennale—all these have given further impetus to the art industry, and put Indian art on the international art calendar. The India Art Fair, too, has been greatly responsible for the international community looking at our artists.

The Indian art world is again in the throes of a radical change over the past two years, with technology and social media intruding into our lives. It has been a Herculean task to keep up with the changing times, but it has also helped bring Indian art closer to an international audience in a way that offline exhibitions never managed. And now with Covid, the digital world has become the new norm. Of course, I am a traditionalist and still prefer to see and show art in the flesh.

Interestingly, I have seen three generations of artists, collectors, writers and curators. Every generation has brought with it something new. I am happy to keep pace with them for spreading awareness about art, and creating intelligent collectors has always been my motto.

And I am ever grateful to God for the blessings He has showered on me.

About The Author

Renu Modi

Renu Modi is an art collector and founder-director of Gallery Espace