One of the great things about art has always been the impossibility of a logical definition. A dead butterfly was as much art, as it was a biological phenomenon; a pear was a nutritious fruit and also a delicate still-life painting. When art loses these multiple meanings, it drops a few notches from philosophy to science to mere data, thereby also losing the essential element of redundancy that keeps it alive and well and kicking. When governments enter the fray, art begins to flounder further.
Last week’s inauguration of the India Art Architecture and Design Biennale (IAADB) at Delhi’s Red Fort set off alarm bells amongst several artists and writers. An official endorsement by the government of what constitutes Indian art and design is not just troubling from the standpoint of its content, but also for the fact that art should be so brazenly claimed by the government. It has taken many decades to establish a notable independence from political patronage, but this official government support – and its ready acceptance by many artists and supposedly autonomous institutions – comes as a surprise.
Not to say that government funds are not required for the arts, but it does stand to reason that bureaucratic support and money should ideally go where most needed. The Atmanirbhar Bharat Centre established in support of traditional artists and crafts is a commendable recent initiative to keep the country’s crafts alive, especially so at a time when the elite arts of painting, sculpture, installation, etc., are now either wholly international or receive enough support from private galleries and foundations. The government’s revival of dying practices and struggling folk traditions is a step in the right direction; the politicisation of art, however, is an altogether different matter.
Certainly, Biennales in Venice, Singapore and Dubai all receive city and federal support, but they are run as autonomous private events, without bureaucracy or government presence. Even national museums and galleries in the US which get federal funding remain independent and entirely free to select and showcase art. In the 1980s, when the Gallery of American Art placed a burger stand and McDonald’s arches in an exhibition on ordinary American vernacular architecture, it was done without a government banner overhanging the exhibit. The show raised a lot of eyebrows and asked questions about the relevance of such banal buildings inside a gallery; but nowhere was the exhibit derided as a waste of cultural resources. Would our National Gallery of Modern Art consider placing a 2BHK builder flat in its main hall to draw attention to the state of India’s domestic architecture? Or would the IGNCA spend its budget on a display of India’s mall buildings?
Though the Biennale exhibition does attempt to be broad-based by including works by some unknown artists in new mediums, its overall historical and cultural stance overshadows the possibility of a more secular and inclusive perspective on art. While calling the show a celebration of India’s art, architecture and design, its real intent it seems is to primarily showcase craft and promote the idea that valuable Indian art comes from a collective discipline, an effort directed towards the development of the country – like stone carvers chiselling the panel of a temple, or bronze casters working on a religious statue. Doubtless, Indian temples, gardens, traditional doors and baolis on exhibit are a source of enormous cultural pride, and their inclusion in the show highlights the painstaking manner in which these architectural elements were constructed and crafted. But to call them all works of art wrongly presumes that everything accomplished before the British occupation had great artistic merit. Though finely crafted, many Rajasthani haveli doors and palace chattris were inherently unattractive, even ugly; many gardens and temples don’t qualify for inclusion for the same reason.
The real problem of course remains with the sponsorship itself. However well-intentioned the government, the visible face behind art will always be suspect. Few federal governments anywhere in the world make so brazen a representation of themselves. Sadly when the Indian government gives money for art, it wants the public to not only know, but it must also select the work and showcase it under the umbrella of its own institutions. The Lalit Kala Academy, the Council of Architecture, the National Gallery of Modern Art, and the Archaeological Survey of India are of course independent entities, with their independent voices. However, their artistic message is not – and should not be – in bureaucratic control. The government’s casual indifference to art’s complex reasoning, value and presentation, needs funding support that leaves the art and the artist alone.
Yet with so robust a showing for art at the Biennale, the government may opt for ventures into other arts. Soon enough there may be national events in stand-up comedy – The Great Indian Comedy Show – with jokes written and vetted by the Ministry of Education, and another for theatre and films. With an audience so large, dispersed and mixed it may be good to know what is art, what is humour, and what, a good story.
Gautam Bhatia is a Delhi-based architect and sculptor.
