Mumbai blues on Art Avenue

On the street bang outside the tony Jehangir Art Gallery is a long-running display of struggling artists who can't afford the charges of the established galleries. There is good, affordable art here and, despite the penury, a lot of heart.

By Yatish Yadav

Kala Ghoda Street in Mumbai is packed in the evenings, not just with locals, after-office loiterers but also with people thronging to the eponymous Jehangir Art Gallery.

In front of this glamorous gallery is a lane that wears a normal Mumbai look—bustle, a little seediness, lots of charm. Rajesh comes to Kala Ghoda Street every single day bearing a burden of canvases to exhibit on the road itself. A "Mumbai return" friend of his from his village had suggested to this young artist that he exhibit free here. With a clutch of rupees in his pocket, Rajesh moved in to break the fence between him and the elite art shows. He paints here and sells his canvases here. He has seen it all, the lights, the cocktail parties, the big buck artists—but from a distance.

"For the past four years, I have seen a terrific alteration in the art world," he says. "Some artists are getting crores, but a lot of them end up here on the street, with just a mere dream."

The Kala Ghoda area is renowned for its upmarket galleries, some of which are booked till the year 2012. The average price for a day’s booking is Rs 11,000. "I certainly cannot afford to rent a gallery for the day," says Rajesh ruefully. "I lack everything that I need to turn into a bigshot artist." But the avenue that he exhibits on—which is maintained by the artist community—saves his day, day after day. The community office charges Rs 100 a day—it's called "maintenance cost"—from every artist exhibiting there. The loose collective has paid for the iron grill on which the canvases hang.

Says Sanjay, a graduate in fine arts from Nanded, "We are exhibiting our work on the street right across the well-known galleries. Just a wall divides us, but this little distance seems to be pretty insurmountable. I'm selling some of my work for Rs 500 only, but I know that similar works in the gallery would fetch Rs 1 lakh. They've got lights and I have rain," he adds with no little irony.

The fact that they are on the street, with nothing to separate their works from the hurly-burly of street life, brings its own little fulfilments. Despite the lack of shelter from the elements and the real threat of their works being ruined in inclement weather, the direct contact with strollers and gawkers helps a little towards making up for an absence of la-de-da recognition. Sanjay is often so taken by the responses that his Kangra-style miniatures elicit that he doesn't mind negotiating his prices. "They appreciate my work, and that's everything I'm looking for," he says.

Hussein, as the "chairperson" of this street art community, both paints and manages the street for the other artists. "Some of the artists are brilliant, at par with our wannabe Page 3 artists," he says. "Our street artists have talent but are penniless. My idea is to give a space to their creativity. Otherwise, their vision will die out of frustration." He has sometimes been able to rope in veteran artists as critics, people to bounce off new ideas against who will also assess the works on display without being patronising. Jehangir Sabawala and M F Hussein have applauded some of the works here, he says. "Except money, we get everything," he gushes.

There is always a crowd surrounding the canvases of Vijay Parasnaik, a 58-year-old painter.
A graduate of the prestigious J J School of Art and former art editor of a popular newspaper, Parasnaik settled on to the sidewalk of Jehangir Art Gallery seven years ago.

"I came here to meet common people and give them my art in the form of love," he says. He takes scant minutes to draw people's faces for Rs 100 a mug. "I do almost all forms of the painting, but them at an affordable price. The common Mumbaikars don't have much money. They cannot afford paintings sold at the galleries. As for me, I needed people, not money." So it's a fair enough exchange.

Parasnaik believes in figurative art, which he says is fast losing its way in the overcrowded maze of abstract contemporary art. "It's about drawing purity," he says. Some years ago, M F Hussein padded down the avenue in bare feet and autographed Parasnaik's works. "It was a nice gesture from a big artist," says Parasnaik. "People know me now. But, truth to tell, I never intended, nor had courage, to cross this wall of the Jehangir Art Gallery. I'm happy here. This street has accepted me now."