About Us
‘In nature, I find plenty of
food for my imagination’
I vaguely remember that some 70 years ago when I was
in Berhampur as a four-year-old, my favourite game
was creating animal shapes with tamarind seeds. I
would sit on the floor and for hours play with the seeds.
Perhaps, that was the first sign of my creative urge. As
years passed by, while children of my age played rough
and tumble games, I would draw various shapes with a
piece of charcoal or chalk on the floors and walls.
As a young boy, nature was my greatest joy; the clean
water of the river Ganges, the blue sky, green fields,
various creepers and flowers. It all had a great impact
on me. I was, as is said, born and brought up in the lap
of nature. That prompted me to paint nature and till
date I am doing just that. I have travelled the length and
breadth of India and have also been abroad several times
but everywhere it is nature that has attracted me most.
In nature, I find plenty of food for my imagination—its
diversity and beauty has left me spellbound.
My parents did not want me to be an artist. Painting
was considered a waste of time. Boys were discouraged
from painting and drawing, but I wasn’t interested in
studies. In school, my copies were full of portraits of my
teachers, classmates and landscapes. After matriculation
I was anxious to join the arts school in Calcutta. At that
time, my father, who was a government servant and
posted in Delhi, was holidaying in our ancestral home
at Faridpur, now in Bangladesh. So, one night, I quietly
slipped to Faridpur. There I begged my father to admit me in the arts school at
Calcutta and provide me with money for some time. Somehow, he agreed and in
1937, I joined the Government School of Art in Calcutta.
Things were not easy and for a while, I gave tuitions to make ends meet. Paints were
expensive and with no money in my pocket, I was forced to borrow even the paint
to fill the canvas.
T
hen the Second World War started and in no time, normal life came to a standstill.
When Calcutta was bombed, the arts school was closed down. My father called me
to Delhi and forced me to join the war office as a clerk. I was absolutely broken and
found it difficult to adjust to the new situation.
I would weep for hours. One day, one of my officers, one Major Huxley, saw my
watercolours and decided I was wasting my talent pouring over office files. He sent
me to the war office in Calcutta as the assistant director of Victory, a magazine
published by the war department. I was responsible for the visualization, layouts
and illustrations of the magazine. I enjoyed the work but some of the Britishers
there did not like the idea of an Indian handling an important post. So, I was sent
back to Delhi. Back in the capital, I started doing freelance work. In 1951, I appeared
for a special examination conducted by the headmaster Raman Chakravarty of the
arts school for students who had had to discontinue their studies due to the war. By
that time, I had done a lot of watercolours.
My work took a distinct turn immediately after my sojourn in Europe in 1962. For
six months I toured Poland, Germany and France. There I saw the works of great
European masters. Meeting several artists and critics proved extremely rewarding.
It was then that I realized the limitations of watercolours. I was fascinated and
overpowered by the oils. But of late I have stopped painting in oils because my
health does not permit it. As soon as I touch oil paints, I break into a rash. So, I do
watercolours and acrylic.
In 1955, during my visit to Kerala, I was greatly inspired by the fisherfolk there
and for the next three-four years, I concentrated on figures. Then again, I reverted
to nature. For a brief spell, I even tried my hand at cubism. Then for some time, it
was tantric art but as the quest for expression continued, I seemed to discover my
subjects in nature itself.
The nature I depict is not realistic. It is very semi-abstract. In fact, whenever I got a
chance to travel to Europe, I went by ship. This gave me a good chance to study the
sea. For 19 days each way, I would watch the sea in its different colours and moods.
T
hat is why, from 1970 to 1982, most of my paintings were scenes from under the
sea. Nature has proved to be an unlimited storehouse. Today, I can paint nature
from memory.
Times have changed a great deal. Earlier, there was no awareness about arts among
the people. There were no sales at all. My watercolours sold for three rupees. Then
they went for Rs 250 and now the same paintings fetch for me up to Rs 10,000. But
more important is that now there is an awareness among the people. There are a
lot of galleries and buyers. The media is paying attention to artists. Almost all the
newspapers have an art critic.
But a disturbing feature of this age is the ravishing of nature. Wherever I travel in
the country, I notice that trees have been mercilessly cut off for some developmental
project or the other. The mountains are bare. I find that nature’s beauty is dying, and
this causes me immense pain. Rivers are polluted and the treeless land looks like a
cremation ground.
I paint only when I am in the mood. The colours are always there in my heart and
some unseen power just drives me to put them on canvas.
‘If one must apply a label to this artist, one can remark upon his versatility, and which
makes him try out different media but remaining very catholic in his inner vision, a
vision piercing into the secret heart of nature. All his works have the air of effortless
ease which comes only from supreme skill and confidence.’
— Keshav Malik in Kala Darshan, April-June 1988