by Gayatri Sinha
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Anupam Sud has pursued an individualistic and challenging course in her
choice of print-making, a medium both physically demanding and financially
unrewarding. In 1967 she trained in art from the College of Art, Delhi,
and in 1971-72 studied print-mixing at the Slade School, London, under
a British Council scholarship. Since 1967, Anupam has participated consistently
in group shows in India and abroad with a remarkable consistency; such
participations brought in their wake sufficient awards and recognition
to make Anupam probably the most widely recognised print-maker in India.
Characteristically modest, there is very little introspection or comment
from her about the 'value' and nature of such a contribution. Even in her
work, the enigma for the viewer lies in trying to locate Anupam in the
carefully deliberated passage of images. The self-absorption of the figures,
their inchoate feelings of muted despair and desire, petrified in a Kafkaesque
world of irresolution, is a constant theme. Anupam works through fractured
association; the everyday is rendered other worldly; sensory touch need
not define desire. There are no statements, only suggestions.
Sud's choice of medium is a self-imposed limitation which she revels in.
Not for her the easy luxury of paint, a medium she has used occasionally.
Instead she pushes the possibilities of the zinc plate to the limits, seeking
within it the contour and sensuality of sculpture, and the palpable warmth
of oil paint. Anupam works in a restrictive mode, even as she strives successfully
for greater plasticity in a rigid medium. In recent times she speaks matter
of factly of growing eye strain, of a weakening vision which resists the
concentrated effort of working on a plate. In this context her paintings
appear to provide a form of relief. The detail and taut chiaroscuro of
the prints make way for the joyful play of colour, with large bodies creating
a dramatic change of scale and palette.
If the great printmakers of the past, Albrecht Durer, Daumier, Kathe Kollwitz
used print-making for its monochromatic power of statement, Anupam uses
it as a language of metaphor. Her's is an instinctive modernism, arrived
at through a Renaissance sensibility, a Spinozan conformation of man at
the centre of the universe. Correspondingly, there is a strongly fatalistic
streak of the kind that informs the writing of nurnerous periods of literary
history: Roman stoicism, the brooding tragedy of Greek theatre, the angst
of existentialism, the homelessness that informs the writing of Saul Bellow.
In her best works, Anupam can evoke 'the nameless unrest and longing discontent'
which Thomas Carlyle identified as the dominant mood of Goethe's The Sorrows
of the Young Werther (1774). That her figures have an innate classic
noblesse reinforces the brooding air of the tragic, even in situations
that are banal and 'modem'.
Anupam's characters have freed themselves from mythic prototype, a seductive
alleyway into which several Indian artists stray. Yet these figures seem
unable to break themselves free of the chain of events that determine their
present. It is a view steeped in scepticism, and edged with sorrow. Their
tragic flaw, in a sense, is their odd displacement in time and space; classically
sculpted heads and bodies resembling male mannequins or graceful dancers
and athletes are placed in a middle-class milieu of crumbling stone facades
and values. In an almost obsessive love for the beauty of the perfect nude
figure, male and female, Anupam repeats this form. Yet desire and its tactile
fruition, the interplay of contact and conversation are frozen in an irresolute
limbo. As austere sculpted forms they are virtually untouched by what goes
on around them; in fact they are the only unhappy certainty in a shiftless
world.
Anupam in her use of space and form imbues both with a duality of perception.
Primary attraction is for the line, with its 'electric quality' which she
follows with a fine understanding of tones. The figure, clean of hair,
tautly muscular for its 'animalistic' quality mutates in subtly dramatic
ways, and we may vaguely identify prostitutes, doctors, masked men, nude
mannequin figures, strangers on a city bench. Suggestion rather than statement
prevails, in the delicate balance between theme and pictorial quality.
In representing figures, Anupam has moved through some distinct phases.
In the mid1970s, architectural forms, limbs and human figures appear in
a twilight world. In the late 1970s, preoccupation with the feminine subject
prevailed, an approach common among contemporary women artists of the time.
Anupam placed these women frequently in positions of deprivation and exploitation,
the body itself, young and desirable, becoming a zone of contest. Several
of these were images of degradation, and ran counter to the prevailing
feminist credo. In a consciously representative phase, the urban poor and
homeless of India were seen, sometimes only as a pair of neglected limbs.
Behind these is the mouldering urban Indian city, passively constructed
in a state of terminal decay. Later, themes of manipulation: dice, prostitution,
invasive medical techniques, are depicted with clinical detachment. Within
apparent fracture and dismemberment, a freeloading anxiety prevails. The
unspoken question however is, what is the artist's relationship with these
figures and the situations that they represent?
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