Shifting Perceptions
One thing I strongly believe, like many, is that we all have a spirit animal. I however, have two. And I have painted both. Those of you familiar with my work are likely to guess what they might be. Let me start with the raven. Often represented as sinister, witchy and up to no good, these misconceptions couldn’t be further from the truth. Ravens are in fact playful, intelligent and incredibly loyal in nature and I like to think of myself as sharing these qualities. A non conventional subject for art perhaps, ravens often do not take centre stage, but in my most recent study of them, I have tried to shift perspectives and paint them as devoted companions; each brushstroke exemplifying their softer nature. Art in this way is a real platform by which our conventional views are confronted and challenged — art allows us to see the world through a different lens if we are willing to look hard enough.
When asked where my curiosity for ravens was first ignited, I had nostalgic recollections of R K Lexman, a prominent cartoonist for the Times of India. He had a particular interest in ravens and as an admirer of his work, I could not help but be inspired. Bullishly, I strode purposefully into his offices one day, without an appointment, and asked if I could watch him draw. My unabashed confidence paid off, and I was able to observe his work. I took great pleasure in watching the behaviour of ravens — and still do. If you remove their bird status as it were, you could easily be watching children playing, diving and tumbling, or entrepreneurial problem solvers calculating their next move. Again, qualities that reflect my own eclectic personality.
Yet my second spirit animal could be regarded as entirely different. The bull. This will come as no surprise, inspired by Zamma, a companion from my childhood, the bull is perhaps the creature I associate with the most. Strong, independent and uncompromising, the bull is a majestic beast that has a silent grace, but fearsome power. An animal with integrity, I feel most powerful when I think about these principles — we can learn a lot from them. When painting bulls, I produce my best work. I am unleashed and my energy is directed undiluted onto the canvas. My bulls are never fenced or caged, only free. Caged bulls do not exist in my mind. I cannot imagine it. But each bull has its own story, its own personality and its own character — some or fiercer than others. Each of them has their own tale. I guess what I am saying is that when I am producing bulls as subjects, I am capturing my own feelings and moods — especially in their eyes. I am not the first to have done so; I implore you to take a look at Francis Bacon’s Study of a Bull (1991). It is far removed from his works Study of a Bullfight (1969 and 1971). Look at the stark contrast in colour, shape and mood. The ambiguity in what was one of his last works, one year before his death, certainly paints a picture of uncertainty and unease.
So what can we take from these ideas about perspectives and artists’ ability to shift them, or at least encourage a shift? Not only do I personally wish for audiences to wear a new lens when viewing the world around them and look at nature and animals with undogmatic liberalism, I wish for them to leave their prejudices behind and be open to new ideas. Look beyond. See beyond. Feel beyond what is captured at first sight. Afterall, you never know what or who you might find.
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